Page 45 of Heart of the Deep

If only the scars had been the sole consequence of her bleeding heart on that long-ago day.

She pressed her lips together and looked away from him. She was used to looks of discomfort and disgust from the few people who’d seen her scars; most men she’d been intimate with had turned away from the sight of them and seemed to avoid touching them as though they were contagious. They were jagged, pink and puckered, poorly healed — the only treatment available when she was injured had been improvised in the field, and the infection that followed hadn’t helped.

But she’d never seen anyone get angry about the scars. Her father had averted his gaze, unwilling or unable to acknowledge their existence or what they represented, and Randall’s expression always fell when he caught sight of them. She’d taken to wearing longer shirts beneath her usual clothes so her beltline would remain hidden.

Unlike everyone else, she couldn’t pretend they didn’t exist. She’d live with the reminder for the rest of her life.

“Just let go of me, Dracchus.” Tears welled in her eyes. Even all these years later, those emotions were still raw. She’d accept the irreversible damage that had been done to her own body without complaint if she could have her mother back.

She wouldn’t let those tears fall. Not after holding them in for so long.

His hands lingered on her waist, and his thumb brushed over the exposed tip of the scars. Then he released her and backed away.

Larkin faced away from him and hurriedly yanked the suit on, thrusting her arms into the sleeves. She trembled, but she wasn’t sure if it was her body coming down from her prior arousal, the adrenaline rush of her anger, or the emotional pain she always suffered when reminded of what had happened.

She heard Dracchus move farther away from her.

Larkin closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to calm herself. He wasn’t at fault. She just… She was tired of being looked at as though she were damaged, as though she were less than a woman, as though she were unworthy. She wanted to matter in someone’s eyes. To have someone look at her and not see her scars and what they represented, but to seeher. To want her.Allof her.

The back of the suit gaped open, exposing her skin to the already warm air.

“How do I close this?” she asked.

“Slide your fingers around the edge of the round piece.”

She glanced down at the plastic chest piece and lifted a hand to it, running her covered fingertips along its outside. She nearly shuddered as the suit sealed itself up her back; it was amongst the strangest sensations she’d ever experienced.

“The hood will need to be raised,” he said.

Reaching behind her neck, she caught hold of the hood and drew it up, tucking her hair beneath it. That done, she looked down at herself, turning her hands slowly. The suit clung to her like a second skin, though it wasn’t uncomfortable.

When she turned toward Dracchus, he extended an arm, offering the piece of clear glass. As she accepted it, she noticed a thin, black border around the edges.

“This…is for my face, right?”

He nodded.

“How do I put it on?”

Dracchus spread his fingers and lifted his hand to his face. “It will seal itself.” His frown hadn’t eased, which only made her regret the way she’d spoken to him.

She held the mask in both hands and stared down at it. Though it was large enough to cover the entire opening in the hood, there were no visible means to fasten it in place. Still, he’d been right so far. She raised the mask, leaning her head down to meet it. The sudden, soft hiss startled her, and she felt the weight of the mask lift off her hands as it connected to the hood.

“Hello,” said a pleasant voice, “I am Sam, your system assistant and monitor. Field generator active.” A tingling sensation pulsed across Larkin’s skin, gone as quickly as it had come. “Automatically adjusting vision for poor lighting conditions.”

Larkin’s eyes widened as everything in her field of view brightened; it was like the sun had fully risen in an instant. This tech was more advanced, but it was similar in function to the spectra goggles the rangers had found under the lighthouse.

“You will have to learn the feel of the suit while we travel,” Dracchus said.

She looked up at him and frowned. “You just got back. Shouldn’t you rest?” Her voice sounded strange, its tone slightly altered by some sort of audio transmitter in the mask.

“I will rest when we have reached the Facility.”

“What facility?”

“It is the name of my people’s home.” He held out his hand to her, palm up. “Come, female. We have a long journey ahead, and I am eager to see its end.”

Larkin stared at his hand; if he were anyone else — excluding her brother — she would have slapped it away, offended. She didn’t need her hand held. She’d proven herself, had earned her place. But Dracchus wasn’t offering because he thought her weak. It was a gesture of reassurance; they were about to enter territory wholly unknown to Larkin, and he would be with her the whole time.

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