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Chapter Five

B rianna

If I wasn’t so concerned about waking Braxx, I’d be kicking the metal basin around the floor like a soccer ball. I’m so angry I could spontaneously combust, and I don’t know what to do with all that energy. I read somewhere you could dig your nails into a bar of soap to express your anger, but there’s only a liquid soap dispenser. The same article said you could tear up a phone book; too bad those have gone the way of MySpace and the VCR.

I slip into the tiny attached bathroom, shuck my clothes, and step into a freezing cold shower. Wow! That’s awful, who came up with that idea as a coping mechanism? I turn up the temp and scrub myself as hard as I can bear.

I’m so pissed I can’t think. All I can do is chant, “Fuck him,” over and over in my head. Ten gallons of water later, my skin is pink, bordering on red, and I’ve calmed down enough for other words to begin to seep into my thoughts.

Anger. Betrayal. Hurt. Confusion. Impotence.

They’re all shitty feelings. I don’t know which is worse. Yes, I do, actually—impotence. There’s nothing I can do. Having a better understanding of why he’s an asshole doesn’t make him less of an asshole. And it doesn’t make me better equipped to deal with his assholery.

Oh, add “bitter,” to my litany of feelings. But I always come back to pissed. It’s the easiest emotion to tolerate; it’s motivating. I could dream up a hundred ideas for revenge. That would keep me busy and I wouldn’t have to experience all those other crappy emotions.

My shower’s cold now and I haven’t turned down the heat. Rumor has it there’s a governor on these things to keep anyone from using too much water. Water’s like gold on a vessel; I knew better than to waste it.

I dress, change Braxx’s bandage, feed him some soup, and watch several episodes of a shitty nature show about white bears on an ice planet, all while having a very angry conversation with Axxios in my mind. How is it that I’m conducting both sides of the conversation and I’m still losing?

H ours later I’m startled awake. My eyes fly open to find Braxxus staring at me with those beautiful turquoise eyes.

“You okay, Braxxus?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” he nods, a serious expression on his handsome face.

He’s been asleep for hours, I check his back then warm him some leftover soup.

Even though he’s shoving the food in his mouth as fast as a person can without inhaling it, he hasn’t taken his eyes off me.

“I’m not an angel, Braxxus. I don’t even know why you think I am.”

He tips the mug up and swallows the last of the broth. “I’ve seen your picture since I was five. I’ve memorized every curve of your face, the color of your hair, the arch of your eyebrow. When I was ten I took art lessons so I could draw you, then paint you. You’ve always been my angel— our angel.” He penetrates me with a look I can’t describe, like he wants to dive into me—join me under my skin.

I shake my head. “Braxxus, I still don’t understand.”

“Our fathers became governors when Axx and I were five. The governors’ mansion was even finer than the house we grew up in; almost every room had murals on the walls and ceilings. Our bedroom was huge, and the domed ceiling was painted with angels. None were silver, gray, or gold like the Mythrian people, their skin was like yours.

“Axx and I would lie on our backs on the plush carpet and make up stories about the angels in the pictures. We created very interesting lives and relationships and heroic tales about the dozens of individuals depicted on our ceiling. And you, Br…”

He stops, eyes widening in fear, then, making a conscious effort, says my name, “Brianna, your story was always the same. You would come down from your cloud to Mythros and fall in love with us and become our bondmate. Axx and I wove many stories about you and us. We had imaginary children and hundreds of adventures together.

“There were many beautiful females on that mural, but it was never them we loved, never them we bonded with. Never them we had adventures with. It was always you.”

His eyes have never left mine. He’s totally sincere.

I nod while I think of a nice way to tell him how ridiculous this is. Strategy number one—don’t use the word ridiculous.

“You’d never seen an Earth person before. Maybe my coloring is the same as the female in the painting. But it’s not me, Braxxus. I’m just the closest person you’ve ever seen to what was in that painting.” There, that should change his mind.

“I filled over ten sketch pads with your face. I’m intimately acquainted with the tilt of your head, the sparkle in your eye, the curve of your breast. I’ve been in love with you for thirty years, Brianna.” He spears me with the warmest, most sincere, most heartfelt gaze one person could bestow upon another. Then he must realize the heavy import of his info dump, because his eyes slide from mine.

Holy shit, he didn’t just say that. But the sincerity on his face, the timbre of his voice—he did just say it. In fact, this moment was so poignant, so deeply heartfelt, I’ll be able to recite that speech, word for word fifty years from now.

“You don’t know me, Braxx. You fell in love with an angel you didn’t know, and trust me, I’m no angel. I’m a person, a very flawed one at that. Now that you know me, you’ll figure that out real quick.”

“I heard you talk to me when I was in a coma. Some of your words floated into my brain. Everything you said was kind and caring.”

“Well, yeah. I’m nice—most of the time. But still, you don’t know me.”

“I felt your touch. You bathed me every day. Your hands were soft; your touch was tender. You cared for me without resentment.”

“That’s what I do...did for a living back home. It’s the way I was trained.”

“You can’t be trained to care like that. Don’t you see? It’s even better if you’re not an angel. You’re a real female, and you were always meant for Axx and me.”

I pluck the mug from his hand and set it on his bedside table, then give him a warm washcloth to clean his hands and face.

“Enough Braxx. You’ve tired me out. I can’t argue with you for one more second.” I crawl into bed and lie on my side, away from him. “Computer, lights out.”

Braxxus

Maybe she’s right. I guess she’s not an angel. But someone painted her face on the ceiling of our bedroom. Out of all the beings depicted there, it was her face that called to Axx and me. And after Axx became golden, it was me who kept the idea of her alive. I’m the one who nurtured her memory, first in my sketchpad and then in my heart. When I lay dying on Aeon II, it was her face that haunted my dreams. It was thoughts of her that made me try to stay alive when I was ready to give up.

A xxios

Dr. Drayke told me I could bring sumra for Braxx’s breakfast. Warm noodles in a sweet, milky sauce. It’s a common dish all over the galaxy.

I’ve never cooked before, but I remember watching my mother in excited anticipation as she made our favorite breakfast dish. With a little help from Maddie, this tastes a lot like it came from my mother’s kitchen.

My hands are full with the tray, which is heaped with tea and bread and butter and sumra; I shoulder open the medbay door.

Brianna’s up, her movements brisk as she rolls Braxx onto his side and by some sleight of hand makes his bed with clean sheets with him still in it. She’s bustling, her back stiff. She gives me no eye contact, nor will she look at my brother. She’s upset, not just with me, but with him. I wonder what’s going on, but I’m sure she’ll blast me with the truth within one minima.

“Sumra,” I announce, pretending I’m not walking into a minefield, “just like our mother used to make.”

I set a huge, steaming bowl in front of Braxx. “Brianna? I think you’ll like it.” Smiling, I hold up a bowl toward her. It’s coming, I can see by the thunderous look on her face. I hunch my shoulders as if to ward off a physical blow.

“Axxios, tell him I’m not an angel.” She blasts me with a hard glare as she bundles all the dirty sheets in a pile.

“Braxx, you know she’s not an angel.” While her back is turned to the dirty laundry tube I give him the look I used to give him when we were kids. The look that said ‘whatever you do, don’t admit it to Mom.’

“I thought she was for a few hoaras yesterday,” he says so loudly it’s as if he thinks she’s hard of hearing. “Now I know that’s not it at all. The painting was just a sign to tell us we’d found our bondmate.”

Drack. I’d cradle my head in my hands if they weren’t still occupied with bowls of food. “Seriously, Braxx?” I hiss under my breath.

“Why can’t we talk about it? It’s got to be true—it was an omen.” He looks innocent and curious, as if he was a child who just put a piece of cake in the punchbowl to see if it would float and doesn’t understand why all the adults are furious.

Brianna still has her back to us, but her reflection in the mirror above the sink shows her cheeks are flaming pink like they used to be when our masters ordered us to mate.

“Braxx is obviously recuperating. Let’s organize shifts for the others to watch him. I have a lot of...reading to catch up on in my room,” her words are clipped; eye contact is non-existent.

“Dr. Drayke contacted me this morning, told me Braxx’s vitals are strong and stable and said if it stays that way he can go to his own room tomorrow.” I walk over to her and stick my face in front of hers. “One more day, Brie...anna? He hasn’t been unkind, has he?”

I don’t need to ask if he’s been improper. I know that’s not true.

“It’s just so freaking awkward.” She sits near his bed and grabs her bowl of sumra. “Delicious. You made this? I didn’t take you for the domestic type.” She laughs. She’s sexy when she smiles.

“Braxx, do you want me to stay with you until you move to a real cabin?” she asks.

He nods. “Axx, you and I won’t be together?” His brow furrows.

We’ve been together every night of our lives until we were assigned to captain different ships in the military. That is the way of Mythrian twins; the bond is so strong we don’t do well when separated. I still don’t know how our fathers pulled enough strings to get him his commission. He was as skilled as I was—he even performed slightly better than I on our exams—but he’s a silver. Silvers were never given captaincies. It’s believed they’re constitutionally incapable of command.

“There’s a large room in the abandoned wing, gem. I’ll get it cleaned and we can pull two beds in there. We’ll share a room again.” I smile at him. I feel so lucky his life was spared and I can feel my twin connection again.

“Braxxus, I’ll stay with you until you move into your cabin on one condition. No talk of angels or bondmates,” she says.

“That’s two conditions.” He flashes her a handsome smile.

“Fine, two conditions. Can you agree to that?”

“No angels. No bondmates. No fathers. No governors’ mansion. And don’t call you beautiful. All the things you don’t like to hear.” He nods his head with finality. “As you wish.”

“Are all silvers like rain-man?” she mutters under her breath, but the issue seems settled.