Duality (Part 1)

I can hear footsteps.

Several of them, tramping like elephants through the labyrinth of caves, the noise echoing off rocky walls.

I gently take the safety off my handgun and press myself against a concrete support column, listening carefully. Sounds are unpredictable here, bouncing off walls, ceiling and floor so that I can't tell where they're coming from.

I keep still as a statue until the footsteps fade, obviously passing down another passage.

A high scream sends a shudder of fear through me, for I know that voice better than my own. I can feel her terror as if it were my own.

Just hold on, Lyssa, please, I'm coming. I'll get you out of here, I promise.

I feel naked and vulnerable without my twin covering my back. Just knowing that she's safely tucked away somewhere behind me, ready to take out any opposition I may face with that calm, sure aim she has with that rifle of hers, gives me the courage to complete our objectives.

The scream echoes around the cavern once again and my heart and stomach lurch in fear for her safety, her terror coursing through me. I'll get her out of here if it's the last thing I do.

I creep out from my hiding place and make my way through the passages, praying that I have memorised the map correctly. That's usually Lyssa's department, guiding me through our com-link.

I peer round a corner and abruptly flatten myself against the wall. There's a dark haired man crouched there, speaking softly to himself, also trying to remain hidden.

I need to get past him.

My first instinct is to kill him; we're mercenaries, it's what we do. But he obviously doesn't belong here either, and I don't like to kill just for the hell of it. I could just knock him out, but that leaves him easy prey for the occupants of this maze, and I wouldn't want to do that. I do have a conscience of sorts, and her name is Lyssa.

I creep round the corner, my gun before me. I make no sound, but he senses my presence and turns to face the snout of my weapon, still firmly gripping his own gun. He's very handsome, with dark hair flopping over pale eyes that are glaring at me.

"Friend or foe?" I ask in a whisper.

The answer doesn't come from him, but rather the cold metal pressed gently but firmly to the back of my neck. I hesitate and the metal pushes harder against me, a low harsh voice ordering me to lower my gun.

Reluctantly I capitulate, glaring now myself. I place my back against the rough wall and raise my hands, my gun dangling from my thumb. A second man steps into view and I find myself gazing into startlingly blue eyes, almond shaped and almost beautiful in their clear innocence. But the face that owns them is anything but innocent, handsome for sure, but hard, his jaw clenching as he studies me, analysing whether I am a real threat or not. This close I can almost taste his masculine scent and if it weren't for the overriding worry of my sister, captive, I would be fighting the urge to take this man as captive of my own.

Instead I wait defiantly for their decision on what to do with me, only hoping that they keep me alive long enough so that I may escape and free Lyssa.

They ask me what I'm doing here, and I explain my mission in its barest details. They decide to take me with them though the blue-eyed one takes my handgun, slipping it into the belt of his black combats. They both wear the same uniform with matching black jumpers and utility belts, all hugging trim figures. Although the pale-eyed man possesses his own masculine beauty my eyes are drawn to the blue-eyed one, slim hipped and broad-shouldered, power and athletic grace demonstrated in his every movement.

We make our way to the centre of the maze and find what we are looking for along with far too many of the enemy. The dark haired man volunteers to go free my sister and find the papers they have come here for, if we two would provide a distraction. Both my blue-eyed boy with his soft accent and I argue against that but a comment of 'It's your turn' from his companion changes his mind, though he continues to argue that I should go with his partner.

I take exception to the implication that I cannot look after myself and yank my handgun from the American's belt, stating that I'll give them five minutes to get my sister out before I go looking for myself. The dark haired Englishman grins lopsidedly at the scowling American before vanishing into the shadows.

We drop to the floor and wriggle forward, keeping out of view, ready for when the time comes to provide the distraction. With little space he lies alongside me, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip and thigh to thigh.

I can feel the play of rippling muscles through the fabric, and examine his face in shadowed profile even as he studies the enemy ahead. A small frown mars the smooth brow as he considers his options, and his eyes are hypnotically exotic as I feel the first flickers of... something, ignite within me at his warm, solid proximity. I wonder how much he'd object if I leant in and tasted those temptingly kissable lips.

He turns to me and I blush in embarrassment as I realise that I've been caught. A faint spark twinkles in his eyes and a smile almost makes an appearance on the full lips, hinting at - oh, my... my heart just missed a beat - I do believe he has dimples, how outrageously sexy.

But then his expression hardens as he suggests I keep out of the way. I snort my disapproval; there is no way in hell I'm hanging back. He flashes a grin and... yes! Dimples! I saw them... oh my...

A commotion interrupts and we know that his partner has taken the papers. My companion and I leap forward in unison to provide the distraction needed to get my sister out of there...

*****

LYSSA

They want me to be quiet.

Tough.

Anya is coming to get me and I need to tell her where I am. I can feel her presence drawing nearer. I can feel her anxiety as she worries about me.

They've gagged me again, so tight it hurts, but I will work it free again. I can't do anything about the handcuffs, though. Anya's the one who's good at getting out of this kind of stuff. Mind you, Anya's good at getting herself into these kinds of messes on a regular basis, and it's me that usually gets her out.

I'm not used to being the helpless one. My admiration for my twin is boundless, for she never appears helpless even when the odds are stacked against her. In my position, even now, she would be giving her captors some serious grief, distracting them, doing everything she could to free herself, make it easy for me to free her. Her faith in me is absolute and her vision of freedom always includes me.

I hear a shuffling at the door and sudden gunfire down the hall, and know with utter certainty that Anya is here. Mentally, I beg her to be careful, but that is not in her nature. I'm the cautious one, the planner. I dread to think what she may have done, for she's the wild one and I'm well aware that I have the conscience that she often lacks.

The door creaks open and a shadow appears, all in black, slim and elegant, movements short, swift and efficient. This is not my sister, though I know she is close.

It's a man, that much I can tell in the shadows. He steps into the pool of light that I am bathed in and, taking me by the shoulders, he tells me that he is a friend, that Anya's nearby.

The words flow past me, barely registering as I gaze into the most amazing silver-green eyes I have ever seen, almost colourless in the half-light and framed by eyelashes that are to die for. He smiles encouragingly, and I find it charmingly understated, almost shy. I'm fascinated by his mobile lips and would love nothing more than to nibble upon that full lower lip, explore the long elegant throat, surrender myself to him... but now is neither the time nor the place.

With long agile fingers he unties me, looses me from the handcuffs and removes the suffocating gag. The feel of his strong, gentle hands sends shivers of delight through me and in an attempt to stop thinking about them I ask him where Anya is. He replies that she's helping his partner distract the men.

I follow this man with the strong, rich voice out into the passage, a feeling of security enclosing me within his presence. He is cool and calm, reassuring and strong, and I press close to his back, finding shelter in his masculine warmth.

I see the spurt of gunfire ahead, and recognise Anya's favourite handgun by its unique report, a welcoming cheer to my attuned ears.

As we draw closer I catch her eyes, mirroring my own, as much of a welcome as either of us have time to give. The happy reunion must wait until we're safe.

We run in pairs, Anya and her companion, another young man, handsome in a boyish sense, leading the way, checking side passages with a fluid ease that makes me jealous.

I stay with my silvery green-eyed saviour, his dark glossy hair falling over his eyes, guarding the rear and covering our partners.

Until the earth starts shaking.

Rocks fall from the ceiling, from the walls, dust coating us as grit invades our eyes, nose and mouth.

Something heavy pushes me to the ground and I feel a warm, supple weight upon me, his arms enfolding me protectively as the ceiling rains down upon us.

Blinking through powdered air I see Anya calling out to me, though I cannot hear the words, as she beats away her companion's attempts to hold her back. He suddenly yanks her off her feet, throwing himself on top of her as the ceiling falls down on top of us all...

*****

ANYA

It's the silence, in sharp contrast with the seemingly endless thunder of tumbling rock that was my last memory, that percolates my stunned state first, swiftly followed by awareness of a heavy but strangely pliant weight pressing down on me. I drag in a gasping breath, catching a trace of a vaguely familiar masculine scent on the choking dust-laden air and my body reacts of its own accord, re-igniting those faint flickers deep in the pit of my stomach as I identify the owner of the warm, muscular firmness moulded against me.

Cracking my eyes open to what seems to be total darkness, I realise slowly that in fact my head is tucked into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, his arms raised to protect me from the falling danger. And although I'm not normally prone to either needing or being impressed by such chivalry, I find the resulting close contact with him verges on the overwhelming, and the urge to press my lips against the pulse I can feel beating at the base of his throat almost irresistible.

I shift slightly, raising a hand to slide up across the broad expanse of his back, drawn to explore in other ways that which I can't see. My progress is hindered by what seems to be fragments of rock and other debris, and my still fuzzy brain can't quite work out the significance of the rips I encounter in the thin black fabric under my fingers.

My touch seems to rouse him and, with a sharp intake of breath, he raises his head from next to mine, looking away behind me. In the dim backwash of light from the adjoining tunnel I can see his dirt-streaked features, strongly handsome still yet anything but hard at this moment, and his expression chills my blood for reasons I don't understand. I dimly register the blood oozing from his hairline, but the fleeting look of despair in his blue eyes is all I can focus on.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind a voice starts to cry out, quietly at first but rising in volume and intensity, leaving me with only one thought. Lyssa. God, Lyssa!

I struggle to push him aside, to scramble to my feet, but it takes time - too much time - to free myself from his now confining weight. Oblivious to his whispered cautions and grunts of effort and pain as he tries to move enough under the rubble holding him down to release us, I wriggle back until I can sit and turn to face the place I last saw my sister.

That place is now a solid wall of jumbled rocks and boulders reaching from the floor to what is left of the ceiling, and a sob of anguish escapes me as I imagine Lyssa lying crushed underneath it.

I hurl myself at the obstruction, dragging rocks away with my bare hands, ignoring the rough sharpness against my fingers and palms, intent on tearing the wall down. Behind me I can hear him talking quietly, calling... Sam?... almost begging him to respond, but there is obviously no reply on their com-link.

Distantly over my increasingly ragged breathing and pounding heart I hear other voices approaching, panicked overtones clear, and my companion moves up beside me to lay a surprisingly gentle hand on my arm. Despite my efforts to shrug him off he persists in his attempts to halt my frantic digging and I finally give in, turning my attention to him.

His blue eyes shine out of the shadows part-concealing his face, sadness warring with the grim determination there as he whispers that we need to get to some sort of cover. I start to argue, to tell him there's no way I'm going anywhere, but he silences me with dust-covered fingers, overcoming my resistance all too easily to pull me with him into the shelter of the nearest side passage.

He places his hands firmly on my shoulders, pushing me back against the wall, his breath tickling my ear as he leans close to whisper that we're not going to leave them - but that we can't help them if we're dead...

He doesn't add the expected 'too', and I can feel that he isn't letting himself believe the worst any more than I'm prepared to, but I recognise the truth of his words. I force myself to relax, calming my breathing, trying to push aside the thumping headache that suddenly assails me so I can focus on the voices coming ever closer.

But my mind is already reaching out in another direction, searching for that voice inside again, hearing it echoing as if from far away. Its tones are soothing now, though I can recognise undercurrents of fear and pain, and somehow I know she's still alive. My head sags forward to come to rest against the solid breadth of his chest as relief washes through me, and my only clear thought is that all I have to do now is stay free - and alive - long enough to find her.

Just hold on, Lyssa. Please. I'm coming.

*****