Kriegspiel [Sequel to The Turing Test]

21. The Final Failure

"What have they done to you?"

The breath of Sven's whisper flits across my forehead as he peels back my beanie, examining the incision in my temple. I fight the urge to flinch away, hating how it always ends like this. The power is back in his hands. I stayed, but how long until he decides that he'll destroy the vial anyway if I don't play along with his sudden outpouring of love and concern?

It's like a switch has flipped. One second, he was cold and unforgiving, willing to threaten me and all of humanity to get what he wanted; now he's back to the fiancé I used to think he was, caring and compassionate.

I wonder if I'll ever know which is the real him.

As he presses a kiss to my forehead, I close my eyes and wish I could pretend his lips belong to Davis.

"I'm fine," I whisper. "You should go lay down."

Please go lay down.

But when I open my eyes, he still hovers over me like a thundercloud before a storm.

I lick my lips and try again. "We should go to the doctor."

Sven's eyes follow the sweep of my tongue with enough intensity to make me shift away. "I missed you," he says instead of answering.

"Don't change the subject, I—"

"I missed you," he says over me, much louder this time. It's not a confession anymore, it's a command. "So much."

There was a time when the desire lacing his words would have fluttered my heart, but now the adrenaline pulsing in my veins is the same that I felt several months ago, when I'd gotten caught in a crowd of angry protesters. Panic. Does Davis's one chance include a chance to fall back out of love? Or am I stuck loving Sven forever, because I loved him once?

I turn away, wrapping my arms tightly around myself as if they can replace the ones I really miss. I stare out the window, noting my faint reflection and wishing that Davis's face would appear over my shoulder.

I wish he was the one telling me how much he misses me. I wish I was home alone with anyone but Sven.

I feel his hulking presence close in behind me, casting a shadow like a skyscraper. Before I can turn around, his arm snakes firmly over my shoulder and across my chest, holding me to him like a safety harness. His other hand fits perfectly under my jaw, his palm searing my throat—a reminder that it wouldn't take much to squeeze if he wanted to.

"I love you, Ronnie." With gentle pressure, he angles my head, exposing my neck. I struggle madly as he leans down, his breath ghosting across my skin. The way he touches me, his proximity, everything is a sacrilege to Davis's confession. I don't want this, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if I ever really have.

"Stop. No," I plead, shuffling awkwardly in place, bringing my feet down in an attempt to stomp on his toes, but I can't see to aim properly.

A final puff of breath scrapes my neck. One second before his lips touch me, something changes. A fuse inside me blows, rendering everything untouchable and faraway. I go limp, putty in Sven's arms. Sounds are distorted, fading away into nothingness until all I feel is the dull pounding of my own heart.

And then out of the void, a single voice lets out a high-pitched scream that settles into a mantra.

This isn't love!

Sven's lips trace lazy circles into my shoulder, a deceptively gentle, sensual dance across my skin. My own breaths rattle like earthquakes in my ears, the air weighed down and settling heavily in my lungs.