Page 68 of Savage Assassin

I have no way of contacting anyone, and the radio won’t work. I don’t have any means of fixing it, either. By now, I know that the Kings, Viktor, and Luca will be trying to find out what happened to Elena and me, but it’s going to be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Our flight would have been logged as heading to Boston, with no record of where Diego had paid the pilot to actually go.

I’ve failed again.I’m not going to be able to protect her.

I know what my motivation was in coming to rescue Elena. I don’t need someone to psychoanalyze me to know that I’d been trying to redeem myself for what happened to Lidiya by helping her–that's all I’ve ever been trying to do, over and over again…with Ana, with Sasha, and now her. I want to make up for losing the woman I loved, somehow, as if that failure can ever really be redeemed. As if I can ever do enough penance to make up for not having been there for her.

At least I got Liam to Ana, and Max to Sasha.I think of Max, back in Boston with his now-wife, and all the many hours we’ve spent half-arguing over the ways we don’t see eye to eye. A priest–even a former priest–is the last sort of man I’d have thought I’d make friends with, and yet Max has always been a good counterpoint to my nihilism.

The situation I’ve found myself in now has me wishing I could feel more about things the way he does. I wish I could believe that I’ll see Lidiya again, that something good could come out of the end other than snuffing out a life lived in blood, danger–and, ultimately, failure.

What happens when the food is gone?I can try to hunt with the small bit of ammunition I have, but that will only go so far. I’m not a survivalist, and if we’re not found, this only ends one way–with us dying of starvation. It’s not a good way to go. It is, in theory, something that ends with me having to decide at what point all hope is lost, and whether or not I’ll need to take steps to make the end easier on us.

Just the thought is horrifying enough that I know in an instant that I won’t be able to do it. For myself, maybe, but not for her. I won’t even be able to spare her that.

I glance over at where she’s still sleeping, curled on her side. I know she cares for me–maybe more than she should. But I also know I’m not worthy of it.

I hope that I made her happy, for the night at least. It can’t happen again, but I wanted to give her something good. To give her the chance, at least, to find out what it’s like to be with someone who cares about her, who she wants in return. She was right that it wasn’t something she would have gotten otherwise, and I wanted her to have some small part of this awful situation to feel as if it were for the better. For there to be something in all of this that would make her happy.

I can’t save her. But I could at least give her that.

Elena

Iwake in the morning thoroughly sore–and very happy. As I blink awake in the sunlight, I stretch experimentally, feeling soreness in muscles I didn’t know I’d use–and a very pleasant, lingering soreness between my thighs.

Levin is sitting by the fire, heating up chunks of the snake meat. I wrinkle my nose at the smell, and he catches sight of my expression as he hears me shifting on the blankets and looks over at me.

“There’s still rations,” he says, nodding at the bag. “I thought I’d eat the meat for now, and leave you something you’d prefer. It won’t keep forever anyway; we don’t have any way to keep it cold. I might as well start in on it.

“Thanks.” I press my lips together tightly, feeling suddenly shy as I look at him. I’m struck with an immediate wave of memory–the sensation of his arms around me, his lips on mine, the heavy pressure of his body above me as he’d touched me in all the ways I’d fantasized about for the very first time.

I’m not a virgin anymore.I don’t entirely know how to feel about that. I’m not sad about it at all–I know that. I’m glad that if I ever do go back home to my father, it won’t all be idle speculation about whether or not I’m still “pure.” I won’t be, and that will have been entirely on my own terms.

It had been everything I could have hoped for. I didn’t need a bed or a fancy room or all the things Levin had thought I should have. All I needed was what I’d gotten–tenderness and pleasure, and someone who would care about what it was like for me.

I start to gather up my clothes, keeping the top blanket tucked above my breasts as I do. There’s no real reason to be shy–Levin has seen every inch of me by now, had his hands and his mouth all over me, been literallyinsideof me–but I can’t help feeling a little self-conscious, out in the daylight like this.

“Are you alright?” Levin glances over at me as I struggle to get my clothes back on without dropping the blanket, trying not to jostle my hurt ankle too much. He starts to stand up, his brow creasing. “Don’t do too much–”

“I think I can make it. I’m just going to go down to the water and, um–clean up. From–” I feel my cheeks flush, and when he looks away quickly, I feel a drop in the pit of my stomach.

I don’t want to think that he regrets it. I don’t want there to be even a chance of that, because Idefinitelydon’t.

“Of course.” Levin clears his throat. “I can help you–”

My cheeks heat even more at the thought. “No, that’s okay. I can manage. I’ll just be careful.”

It’s a lot harder to make it down to the water’s edge than I thought it would be. I have to almost hop through the sand, dragging my hurt ankle, and I glance back to see Levin looking at me with a distressed expression on his face. I know he wants to help, but when I see him try to stand again, I wave him off.

“I’m fine!” I yell back, and I can see the sigh he lets out as he sinks back down to sit in front of the fire. I know he wants to help, but for this, I need my privacy.

It’s even more awkward trying to clean up. I end up taking my shorts and top off, wading into the chilly water to give myself some semblance of a bath. The saltwater stings between my thighs, and I let out a small hiss of pain, clenching my teeth as it hits both the soreness there and the still-healing cut on my side.

For someone who has spent her entire life without any injuries other than a stubbed toe or bumped elbow, this is a lot to take in all at once.

I glance over my shoulder a few times as I clean up, to see if Levin is watching, but he’s not. In fact, he seems to be studiouslyavoidingwatching, and somehow that feels worse.

I’d hoped that he would wake up and want me again. That this would mean we would spend whatever remaining time we had enjoying each other, rather than simply waiting for the end. But it doesn’t seem like that’s going to be the case.

If anything, he seems more distant than before. And without that to distract me, I can feel the fear starting to creep in again, chilling me down to the bone as I finish rinsing off and dry myself with the blanket, wishing to the very depths of my soul for a hot shower and a real towel.

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