Page 93 of Dustwalker
“Noted,” he replied, mouth plates ticking up on one side. “I’m sorry, Lara. I misjudged you. Are you going to apologize to me, now?”
“I have nothing to say sorry for.” When he opened his mouth to reply, she cut him off. “I missed. And you could’ve just called my name when you came in and avoided all of that, instead of scaring the shit outta me.”
“Shit. Quite a versatile word…” He lightly touched his forehead to hers. “Iamsorry, Lara Brooks. This was not my intention.”
“I know.” She drew back and looked him over, that hint of humor vanishing from her expression. “What can I do to help?”
“The clinic is the only facility that can repair this damage, but you can help remove some of the shrapnel and damaged skin. At least then we can trade some of it to the scrapper and make a bit of profit from this.”
She scrunched her nose. “That’s morbid.”
“I am more than the sum of my parts.”
Lara tilted her head.
Ronin couldn’t explain the thoughts behind his words, wasn’t sure of their origins, so he rerouted back to the matter at hand. “It’s practical. The technicians at the clinic are likely to keep any such materials they remove for reuse, without offering compensation.”
He released his embrace and put a hand on the staircase railing, stabilizing himself. With his single optic, he looked up to the second floor. He’d have to handle this like he had the stairs in that basement—slowly, one step at a time.
“I moved my tools into my pack. Bring them upstairs, and get the spare pliers out of the chest. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay,” she said, and immediately went to retrieve his pack.
Ronin waited for her to go up before beginning his journey. The upward climb was slow, but rhythmic. The creak of the banister, the groan of a step, the thump of his damaged leg, over and over, until he finally reached the top one minute and twenty-two seconds later.
He kept his head angled down as he walked toward his bedroom,staring at the metal planes of his chest and abdomen, at his charred clothing and melted skin. Ronin currently bore little resemblance to a human, but Lara had thrown her arms around him and held him. She wouldn’t have done the same that first night he’d brought her here.
They’d both changed so much in such a short time.
Lara had the tools spread out on the storage chest when he entered the room. Some of them were smudged with soot or singed, their grips warped from the heat.
Standing next to the bed, she gestured toward it. “Lie down and tell me what to do.”
Despite his best efforts, his right leg dragged as he moved to the bed. The sheet was rumpled, the blankets tossed aside.
Was she sleeping here when I came home?
Ronin shifted the focus of his right optic to Lara. It was only then that he realized she was wearing one of his shirts instead of the clothing he’d purchased for her. Though it was smeared with soot from their embrace, he couldn’t ignore the allure of seeing it on her. The hem hung to her mid-thighs, leaving those long, tantalizing legs on display, and if it were to be drawn up just a little bit higher…
No. This is not the time for such thoughts. Not the time for such…temptations.
The springs creaked as he sat, and he recalled the many sounds the bed had made during more pleasant activities. He raised his left leg, unlaced his boot, and removed it, dropping it to the floor before swinging that leg onto the bed. His right leg proved somewhat more problematic. Lara allowed him only a moment’s struggle before she took off his other boot. Grasping his ankle, she helped him move his damaged leg onto the bed.
“Lie back.” She pressed her palms to his chest and guided him down onto the mattress.
“You’ll need to pull out the shrapnel. Use the pliers.”
Lara went to the chest, retrieved the pliers, and returned to him. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she looked over Ronin. Without a word, she climbed atop him, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle his abdomen with her back facing him. The hem of her shirt slid up her thighs. Her bare skin was warm against his casing.
She looked over her shoulder. “So…just pull them out? It won’t hurt you, right? Won’t do any more damage?”
“I’ll be fine. Just take out whatever you can.”
The heat of her ass and legs pulsed through his pants. He knew she wasn’t wearing anything beneath the shirt, and with her position…
He focused his attention on the points of damage. This wasn’t a sexual act. She was simply assisting in the first step of repairing his casing.
“Okay, I can do this,” she muttered as she faced forward, leaned down, and tore his pants open around his knee. There was no pain when she clamped the pliers on the shrapnel, only pressure and the sound of metal scraping metal when she wiggled the tool and tugged.
