The Last Time I Died, Pt. 4
Title: The Last Time I Died
Author: Aeneas
Pairing/Character: Riddick/Buffy
Word Count: About 17,900
Rating: R
Summary: After the defeat of the First Evil, the universe has plans for Buffy.
Spoilers/Warnings: Through Chosen and Chronicles of Riddick.
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, I just play there. All things belong to Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy and David Twohy/Universal, respectively.
A/N: Challenge prompt was - “There is no death, only a change of worlds.” American Indian Proverb, Duwamish. Note to the requester, I tried Angel meeting Riddick first and got completely stuck at about 10,000 words. This was intended to be a much shorter alternate fic when it became apparent that I was going to miss the deadline. Famous last words.
By the time they reached the Basilica, Riddick was convinced that she had been telling him the truth. The fact that she was still alive, her heart beating strong and steady was proof enough that she was unlike any human being he had encountered. If that was what it meant to be a Slayer, he’d call her a Slayer. His muscles were screaming with exhaustion, only pride and determination keeping his feet moving up the steps into the ship and through the courtyard. Pushing himself to the extreme was nothing new.
Vaako remained silently hostile as he passed by. Either gloating over the dried blood covering both Riddick and the woman in his arms or intimidated by the unspoken threat in the glare he received. He ignored questions from the other Commanders, who were unused to him returning before the sun had risen, and ordered food to be brought to him before entering his chambers.
Laying Buffy as gently as possible on the floor of the shower area, he carefully stripped away her torn and bloody clothing. There were deep gashes over her right shoulder, neck, and arms; ugly bruises beginning to blossom over her pale skin. He cleaned each wound carefully before applying the clear spray that coated skin and accelerated healing. It was one of the things that the Necromongers had gotten right in their strange, macabre world.
Once he was satisfied that the bleeding had stopped and she was no longer in imminent danger, he softly wiped the water from her skin and wrapped her in one of the linen blankets. He placed her on the large bed, checking her pulse once more before returning to the shower.
His encounter with one of the creatures had left him with wounds and bruises of his own before he’d managed to drive the spear through its chest. As difficult as the single Turok-Han had been to kill, there was no choice but to follow the others when they’d lost interest in him and turned back toward the cave. It made a certain amount of sense that if she could sense their presence, they could sense her. Even as he argued that he should leave her to fend for herself, he’d circled back to ensure they didn’t snap her tiny body in half.
Scrubbing furiously at the blood and dirt, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to scour away the dirt or the restlessness that always seemed to crawl under his skin when Buffy was involved. She distracted him. With her pale gold skin and thick, silken hair, the brief touch of her lips against his permanently seared into his memory. Those were distractions he didn’t need when there was an entire army waiting for him to die. He couldn’t let his guard down for a woman, regardless of how beautiful she was or how long it had been.
But there was something about her.
The trust in her eyes when she looked at him, the teasing in her voice even as she insulted him. She was so very human in a very inhuman world and he was more than unsettled to realize that he craved the feeling of humanity. Maybe being around her could show him how to be human. Then again, she might just drive him mad. He shook the conflicted thoughts away with the water dripping down his skin and wrapped another thick swath of fabric around his waist.
There was a feast fit for the Lord Marshal when he returned to the bedroom. Largely, he ignored exactly what he was putting into his mouth and focused simply on filling his stomach. In Slam, it didn’t pay to look too closely at the ingredients. Inmates had been known to die painfully from eating bits of metal and composite that had been mixed into the slop by a sadistic guard.
Once he’d eaten his fill, he checked the chamber doors and barred them from the inside. The last thing he wanted was to be bothered by another one of Vaako’s requests to join the battles in the south. He found a stack of clothing piled beside the food as he had asked but hesitated before dressing.
She was bright and warm, lying in a sea of cold and harsh. Everything about her was counter to this world, to his world. That she’d crawled out of the cave nearly blind and managed to find the right direction, knowing full well what was lurking out in the dark, was both idiotic and impressive. She’d killed one of the creatures, which was no small feat in itself, before the second had pushed her into the water. Maybe it was because the only other residents of this godforsaken place were Necromongers who were little more than the walking dead, but she looked like comfort and light incarnate.
It was more than he’d wanted in years. More than he’d dared let himself dream of. Trying to survive in Slam or any of the planets he’d been on could scarcely be called living; no time to think of anything but finding food and staying out of Death’s path. Even at night, sleeping with one eye open most times, there was no point in dreaming of a life that was any different. The same cruel world would still be there when he opened his eyes. He’d given up on seeing anything else a long time ago.
He passed over the clothing and stretched out on the bed, watching her sleep. Getting dressed would break his tenuous grasp on the idea that his world could change, that having her with him would make the darkness at little less cold. More curious than anything else, he eased close enough to feel the heat from her skin. She seemed to instinctively curl into him, pressing her back against his chest.
Fatigue reared its ugly head and gained strength from the comforting heat of their bodies together, gnawing at his muscles until he couldn’t hold his head up any longer. Despite her small size, carrying her at a run across the nearly fifty clicks to the Basilica came with a hefty price. Soft hair brushing against his face, he closed his eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep, not quite able push away the feeling that he’d missed something important.
Disjointed dreams paraded through his mind, filled with broken images, fire, and voices screaming senseless words. He never used to dream. Before he’d left Jack on Helion Prime, before she’d lost what was left of her innocence and become Kyra. That was the way of the world; he knew that better than most. Innocence shattered and lives full of meaningless nothing. But there were flashes in his dreams that felt like meaning, felt like truth; pieces that he could never hold onto once they faded away. In his dreams, he was back on T2 with the shrieking creatures flapping above him, only this time it was Buffy getting ripped out of his arms instead of Carolyn. Far off in the distance, Kyra was calling his name.
“Riddick. Wake up, Riddick.”
He jolted out of sleep and grabbed onto the wrist in front of his face, tensing in anticipation of a blade. When enough of the dream had cleared from his mind, he recognized Buffy’s face leaning over him and let go.
“You were having a nightmare.” Her fingers stroked gently over his scalp, her naked body pressed tightly against his side.
“How long?” The words rasped against his dry throat.
“Have you been asleep? A while. I’ve been in and out myself. I think the sun’s up now, so however long that is.” She smiled benevolently and continued to caress his head. “Go back to sleep. I’ll keep the monsters away. It’s my job, remember? Sacred calling, chosen one, it’s what I do.”
He blinked at her, almost laughing at the idea that he needed protection from monsters when he, in fact, was the monster. A playful wink let him know that she understood the irony. The casual humor twisted like a knife in a part of him that he hadn’t used for years, his soul. One thing was guaranteed, if she stayed with him then she was going to tear his world apart from end to end.
“Riddick?” She looked concerned and pressed her hand against his forehead. “You’re warm. Are you hurt?”
Shaking his head, he brushed her hand away. “I’ve had worse.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Ducking her head to hide the smile, she dropped her hand to his chest and casually traced one of his scars. “Thank you. For saving my life.”
The proximity of her skin and the shy blush dusted over her cheeks had him fighting for control of the spinning turmoil in his head. There she was, touching him as though this was perfectly normal, as though there wasn’t an entire army outside their doors just waiting to slit his throat. As though it was natural for her to care if he was injured, to curl against him, or to treat him like a human being. Even though she wasn’t attacking him, he didn’t know how to do anything but defend himself. Didn’t know how to get a handle on anything that couldn’t be wielded as a weapon.
“You’re quieter than usual, which I didn’t think was actually possible. What’s up?” she prodded, fingers still skimming along his scars.
Catching her hand, he held it still against his chest as he searched his face for any sign of duplicity. There was nothing but open concern and compassion, neither of which made any sense in his world. He was out of his element and searching for any sort of solid ground, wanting to believe she was genuine but unable to make that leap.
Her brow furrowed at his continued silence. “I’m sorry about before. In the cave. I didn’t mean…it sort of came out wrong. I wasn’t trying to, you know, insult you or anything--”
“Shut up,” he interrupted gruffly.
“I was just trying to apologize. If you want to be a grouch about it, that’s fine with me.”
Sliding his fingers into her hair, he pulled her down and kissed her as hard as he could, to stop the continual onslaught of words and also in an attempt to quiet the voices in his head. She kissed him back just as fiercely, gripping his shoulders with unnaturally strong fingers. They wrestled for dominance; rolling over the bed and tearing away any fabric that came between them, completely oblivious to wounds and bruises that got hit in the tangle of limbs.
The heat of her body was intoxicating; her moans and fingernails raking over his skin sending shivers down his spine. He pinned her down and she bucked against him, biting down on his shoulder. Legs wrapped around his waist and twisted him to the side, a predatory grin on her lips as she straddled him.
“You like it rough then. I can do rough,” she said breathily.
“You're still talking,” he growled.
“Why don’t you make me stop?”
Twisting beneath her threw her off balance, she fell back and they both tumbled to the floor, still clawing at each other’s bodies. Cold stone hit his back, stunning him long enough for Buffy to pull away from his grip. Warm fingers wrapped around his cock, demanding his immediate attention. She caught his eye with a coy look before lowering her head and sliding her lips over the tip.
He caught her hair before the warmth and wetness of her mouth tested his control, pulling her away and wrenching her down onto the floor. A foot caught him square in the chest and tossed him away from her onto the bed. She was on him the instant he landed, pressing wet kisses along his stomach and chest.
Her lips hovered next to his ear, breath hot against his skin. “You’re holding back. Don’t.”
Growling low in his throat, he grabbed onto her hips and hauled her with him as he rolled. He caught her wrists and pinned them against the bed, taking a second to find a good angle before he thrust into her. The sound of his heart pounding was so loud that he barely heard her cry out. She bucked against him and struggled to pull her hands free. He loosened his grip but she immediately shook her head and he clamped down again.
Adjusting his grip gave her an instant to slip her hands away and lock her legs around his waist, flipping him over. Turnabout was fair play. Her eyes closed as she rocked back and forth, head lolling to the side and the sound of her moans almost as loud as his heartbeat. Her nails dug into his chest, leaving small crescent shaped indentations in his skin as she adjusted and readjusted her grip. Soft blonde hair cascaded down over her shoulders, dancing and falling in waves with each toss of her head. The entrancingly subtle bounce of her breasts punctuated each time she sunk down onto his cock.
He saw the expression on her face change, eyes widening the instant before she tightened around him and threw her head back with a cry verging on pain. Body quivering and blood pounding, he wasn’t sure he could let go of his self-control even for the few seconds he craved. She looked down at him with heavy lidded eyes, lashes fluttering, and stroked his chest almost lovingly.
Years of pent up sexual frustration and desperation to feel anything other than the cold turned to sound and welled up in his throat, every muscle in his body taut as steel cable. A guttural shout forced its way through clenched teeth and he nearly blacked out when his body finally overrode his mind with a brutally raw climax.
They lay curled together, slicked with sweat, until the cool in the air began to chill their heated skin. Buffy stirred first, pulling away to reach for one of the tangled sheets to wrap around her body.
“You heal quickly,” he commented softly, brushing his fingertips over the wounds on her back.
“Part of the Slayer package.” Rolling lazily onto her back, she nuzzled his hand. “We should have done this weeks ago.”
He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face and chose not to disagree with her on that point. “Think there are more of those things out there?” It wasn’t really a question, he was simply looking for confirmation of his own suspicions.
“Does it matter? There is always some demon out there trying to kill you. Or me, as it were.” She noticed the pile of clothing and crawled toward the end of the bed to get a closer look. “My shoes! How? How did you fix them?” Awestruck, she kept turning the boots over in her hands until she realized that the rest of her clothing was folded neatly in the pile. Each tear had been mended with nearly invisible stitches and all traces of the bloodstains had vanished.
It took effort to convince his body to move and reach for his own clothing. Working the stiffness out of his joints, he tugged on the familiar gray pants and tank style black shirt. “Got sick of you whining about your clothes.”
“Remind me to whine more often.” She stopped admiring the fit of her pants long enough to give him a wide grin. “Is it my birthday? Cause this is the best present ever.”
Before Riddick could respond, the room began to shake. Trays of food clattered to the floor and one of the statues along the wall crashed down, breaking into chunks of jagged stone on impact. She stumbled, grabbing onto the bed for support as the room was rocked again.
“Earthquake?” she shouted over the rumbling.
Riddick tipped his head to the side, listening for a moment, and then launched himself toward her. He twisted to the side as his arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her over the bed, rolling off the far side and pressing her hard against the floor. The instant they hit the floor the main chamber doors exploded into bits of shrapnel. He didn’t wait for the dust to settle before reaching under the bed to pull out the selection of weaponry he’d begun to store there. Too many years of watching his back made it impossible to sleep without at least one blade within reach. He handed her one of the smaller Necromonger blast guns and a long dagger with a serrated edge.
“If we get separated, stay low and find a way out. Don’t wait for me,” he growled.
“Riddick?”
He gave her a hard look. “Do not wait for me.”
There was no way she would listen to him and he knew that. He also knew that she could hold her own against any of the Necromongers in hand to hand as long as she could stay out of range of their guns. All they had to do was escape and that was one thing he was very good at.
Keep reading..."
Author: Aeneas
Pairing/Character: Riddick/Buffy
Word Count: About 17,900
Rating: R
Summary: After the defeat of the First Evil, the universe has plans for Buffy.
Spoilers/Warnings: Through Chosen and Chronicles of Riddick.
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, I just play there. All things belong to Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy and David Twohy/Universal, respectively.
A/N: Challenge prompt was - “There is no death, only a change of worlds.” American Indian Proverb, Duwamish. Note to the requester, I tried Angel meeting Riddick first and got completely stuck at about 10,000 words. This was intended to be a much shorter alternate fic when it became apparent that I was going to miss the deadline. Famous last words.
By the time they reached the Basilica, Riddick was convinced that she had been telling him the truth. The fact that she was still alive, her heart beating strong and steady was proof enough that she was unlike any human being he had encountered. If that was what it meant to be a Slayer, he’d call her a Slayer. His muscles were screaming with exhaustion, only pride and determination keeping his feet moving up the steps into the ship and through the courtyard. Pushing himself to the extreme was nothing new.
Vaako remained silently hostile as he passed by. Either gloating over the dried blood covering both Riddick and the woman in his arms or intimidated by the unspoken threat in the glare he received. He ignored questions from the other Commanders, who were unused to him returning before the sun had risen, and ordered food to be brought to him before entering his chambers.
Laying Buffy as gently as possible on the floor of the shower area, he carefully stripped away her torn and bloody clothing. There were deep gashes over her right shoulder, neck, and arms; ugly bruises beginning to blossom over her pale skin. He cleaned each wound carefully before applying the clear spray that coated skin and accelerated healing. It was one of the things that the Necromongers had gotten right in their strange, macabre world.
Once he was satisfied that the bleeding had stopped and she was no longer in imminent danger, he softly wiped the water from her skin and wrapped her in one of the linen blankets. He placed her on the large bed, checking her pulse once more before returning to the shower.
His encounter with one of the creatures had left him with wounds and bruises of his own before he’d managed to drive the spear through its chest. As difficult as the single Turok-Han had been to kill, there was no choice but to follow the others when they’d lost interest in him and turned back toward the cave. It made a certain amount of sense that if she could sense their presence, they could sense her. Even as he argued that he should leave her to fend for herself, he’d circled back to ensure they didn’t snap her tiny body in half.
Scrubbing furiously at the blood and dirt, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to scour away the dirt or the restlessness that always seemed to crawl under his skin when Buffy was involved. She distracted him. With her pale gold skin and thick, silken hair, the brief touch of her lips against his permanently seared into his memory. Those were distractions he didn’t need when there was an entire army waiting for him to die. He couldn’t let his guard down for a woman, regardless of how beautiful she was or how long it had been.
But there was something about her.
The trust in her eyes when she looked at him, the teasing in her voice even as she insulted him. She was so very human in a very inhuman world and he was more than unsettled to realize that he craved the feeling of humanity. Maybe being around her could show him how to be human. Then again, she might just drive him mad. He shook the conflicted thoughts away with the water dripping down his skin and wrapped another thick swath of fabric around his waist.
There was a feast fit for the Lord Marshal when he returned to the bedroom. Largely, he ignored exactly what he was putting into his mouth and focused simply on filling his stomach. In Slam, it didn’t pay to look too closely at the ingredients. Inmates had been known to die painfully from eating bits of metal and composite that had been mixed into the slop by a sadistic guard.
Once he’d eaten his fill, he checked the chamber doors and barred them from the inside. The last thing he wanted was to be bothered by another one of Vaako’s requests to join the battles in the south. He found a stack of clothing piled beside the food as he had asked but hesitated before dressing.
She was bright and warm, lying in a sea of cold and harsh. Everything about her was counter to this world, to his world. That she’d crawled out of the cave nearly blind and managed to find the right direction, knowing full well what was lurking out in the dark, was both idiotic and impressive. She’d killed one of the creatures, which was no small feat in itself, before the second had pushed her into the water. Maybe it was because the only other residents of this godforsaken place were Necromongers who were little more than the walking dead, but she looked like comfort and light incarnate.
It was more than he’d wanted in years. More than he’d dared let himself dream of. Trying to survive in Slam or any of the planets he’d been on could scarcely be called living; no time to think of anything but finding food and staying out of Death’s path. Even at night, sleeping with one eye open most times, there was no point in dreaming of a life that was any different. The same cruel world would still be there when he opened his eyes. He’d given up on seeing anything else a long time ago.
He passed over the clothing and stretched out on the bed, watching her sleep. Getting dressed would break his tenuous grasp on the idea that his world could change, that having her with him would make the darkness at little less cold. More curious than anything else, he eased close enough to feel the heat from her skin. She seemed to instinctively curl into him, pressing her back against his chest.
Fatigue reared its ugly head and gained strength from the comforting heat of their bodies together, gnawing at his muscles until he couldn’t hold his head up any longer. Despite her small size, carrying her at a run across the nearly fifty clicks to the Basilica came with a hefty price. Soft hair brushing against his face, he closed his eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep, not quite able push away the feeling that he’d missed something important.
Disjointed dreams paraded through his mind, filled with broken images, fire, and voices screaming senseless words. He never used to dream. Before he’d left Jack on Helion Prime, before she’d lost what was left of her innocence and become Kyra. That was the way of the world; he knew that better than most. Innocence shattered and lives full of meaningless nothing. But there were flashes in his dreams that felt like meaning, felt like truth; pieces that he could never hold onto once they faded away. In his dreams, he was back on T2 with the shrieking creatures flapping above him, only this time it was Buffy getting ripped out of his arms instead of Carolyn. Far off in the distance, Kyra was calling his name.
“Riddick. Wake up, Riddick.”
He jolted out of sleep and grabbed onto the wrist in front of his face, tensing in anticipation of a blade. When enough of the dream had cleared from his mind, he recognized Buffy’s face leaning over him and let go.
“You were having a nightmare.” Her fingers stroked gently over his scalp, her naked body pressed tightly against his side.
“How long?” The words rasped against his dry throat.
“Have you been asleep? A while. I’ve been in and out myself. I think the sun’s up now, so however long that is.” She smiled benevolently and continued to caress his head. “Go back to sleep. I’ll keep the monsters away. It’s my job, remember? Sacred calling, chosen one, it’s what I do.”
He blinked at her, almost laughing at the idea that he needed protection from monsters when he, in fact, was the monster. A playful wink let him know that she understood the irony. The casual humor twisted like a knife in a part of him that he hadn’t used for years, his soul. One thing was guaranteed, if she stayed with him then she was going to tear his world apart from end to end.
“Riddick?” She looked concerned and pressed her hand against his forehead. “You’re warm. Are you hurt?”
Shaking his head, he brushed her hand away. “I’ve had worse.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Ducking her head to hide the smile, she dropped her hand to his chest and casually traced one of his scars. “Thank you. For saving my life.”
The proximity of her skin and the shy blush dusted over her cheeks had him fighting for control of the spinning turmoil in his head. There she was, touching him as though this was perfectly normal, as though there wasn’t an entire army outside their doors just waiting to slit his throat. As though it was natural for her to care if he was injured, to curl against him, or to treat him like a human being. Even though she wasn’t attacking him, he didn’t know how to do anything but defend himself. Didn’t know how to get a handle on anything that couldn’t be wielded as a weapon.
“You’re quieter than usual, which I didn’t think was actually possible. What’s up?” she prodded, fingers still skimming along his scars.
Catching her hand, he held it still against his chest as he searched his face for any sign of duplicity. There was nothing but open concern and compassion, neither of which made any sense in his world. He was out of his element and searching for any sort of solid ground, wanting to believe she was genuine but unable to make that leap.
Her brow furrowed at his continued silence. “I’m sorry about before. In the cave. I didn’t mean…it sort of came out wrong. I wasn’t trying to, you know, insult you or anything--”
“Shut up,” he interrupted gruffly.
“I was just trying to apologize. If you want to be a grouch about it, that’s fine with me.”
Sliding his fingers into her hair, he pulled her down and kissed her as hard as he could, to stop the continual onslaught of words and also in an attempt to quiet the voices in his head. She kissed him back just as fiercely, gripping his shoulders with unnaturally strong fingers. They wrestled for dominance; rolling over the bed and tearing away any fabric that came between them, completely oblivious to wounds and bruises that got hit in the tangle of limbs.
The heat of her body was intoxicating; her moans and fingernails raking over his skin sending shivers down his spine. He pinned her down and she bucked against him, biting down on his shoulder. Legs wrapped around his waist and twisted him to the side, a predatory grin on her lips as she straddled him.
“You like it rough then. I can do rough,” she said breathily.
“You're still talking,” he growled.
“Why don’t you make me stop?”
Twisting beneath her threw her off balance, she fell back and they both tumbled to the floor, still clawing at each other’s bodies. Cold stone hit his back, stunning him long enough for Buffy to pull away from his grip. Warm fingers wrapped around his cock, demanding his immediate attention. She caught his eye with a coy look before lowering her head and sliding her lips over the tip.
He caught her hair before the warmth and wetness of her mouth tested his control, pulling her away and wrenching her down onto the floor. A foot caught him square in the chest and tossed him away from her onto the bed. She was on him the instant he landed, pressing wet kisses along his stomach and chest.
Her lips hovered next to his ear, breath hot against his skin. “You’re holding back. Don’t.”
Growling low in his throat, he grabbed onto her hips and hauled her with him as he rolled. He caught her wrists and pinned them against the bed, taking a second to find a good angle before he thrust into her. The sound of his heart pounding was so loud that he barely heard her cry out. She bucked against him and struggled to pull her hands free. He loosened his grip but she immediately shook her head and he clamped down again.
Adjusting his grip gave her an instant to slip her hands away and lock her legs around his waist, flipping him over. Turnabout was fair play. Her eyes closed as she rocked back and forth, head lolling to the side and the sound of her moans almost as loud as his heartbeat. Her nails dug into his chest, leaving small crescent shaped indentations in his skin as she adjusted and readjusted her grip. Soft blonde hair cascaded down over her shoulders, dancing and falling in waves with each toss of her head. The entrancingly subtle bounce of her breasts punctuated each time she sunk down onto his cock.
He saw the expression on her face change, eyes widening the instant before she tightened around him and threw her head back with a cry verging on pain. Body quivering and blood pounding, he wasn’t sure he could let go of his self-control even for the few seconds he craved. She looked down at him with heavy lidded eyes, lashes fluttering, and stroked his chest almost lovingly.
Years of pent up sexual frustration and desperation to feel anything other than the cold turned to sound and welled up in his throat, every muscle in his body taut as steel cable. A guttural shout forced its way through clenched teeth and he nearly blacked out when his body finally overrode his mind with a brutally raw climax.
They lay curled together, slicked with sweat, until the cool in the air began to chill their heated skin. Buffy stirred first, pulling away to reach for one of the tangled sheets to wrap around her body.
“You heal quickly,” he commented softly, brushing his fingertips over the wounds on her back.
“Part of the Slayer package.” Rolling lazily onto her back, she nuzzled his hand. “We should have done this weeks ago.”
He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face and chose not to disagree with her on that point. “Think there are more of those things out there?” It wasn’t really a question, he was simply looking for confirmation of his own suspicions.
“Does it matter? There is always some demon out there trying to kill you. Or me, as it were.” She noticed the pile of clothing and crawled toward the end of the bed to get a closer look. “My shoes! How? How did you fix them?” Awestruck, she kept turning the boots over in her hands until she realized that the rest of her clothing was folded neatly in the pile. Each tear had been mended with nearly invisible stitches and all traces of the bloodstains had vanished.
It took effort to convince his body to move and reach for his own clothing. Working the stiffness out of his joints, he tugged on the familiar gray pants and tank style black shirt. “Got sick of you whining about your clothes.”
“Remind me to whine more often.” She stopped admiring the fit of her pants long enough to give him a wide grin. “Is it my birthday? Cause this is the best present ever.”
Before Riddick could respond, the room began to shake. Trays of food clattered to the floor and one of the statues along the wall crashed down, breaking into chunks of jagged stone on impact. She stumbled, grabbing onto the bed for support as the room was rocked again.
“Earthquake?” she shouted over the rumbling.
Riddick tipped his head to the side, listening for a moment, and then launched himself toward her. He twisted to the side as his arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her over the bed, rolling off the far side and pressing her hard against the floor. The instant they hit the floor the main chamber doors exploded into bits of shrapnel. He didn’t wait for the dust to settle before reaching under the bed to pull out the selection of weaponry he’d begun to store there. Too many years of watching his back made it impossible to sleep without at least one blade within reach. He handed her one of the smaller Necromonger blast guns and a long dagger with a serrated edge.
“If we get separated, stay low and find a way out. Don’t wait for me,” he growled.
“Riddick?”
He gave her a hard look. “Do not wait for me.”
There was no way she would listen to him and he knew that. He also knew that she could hold her own against any of the Necromongers in hand to hand as long as she could stay out of range of their guns. All they had to do was escape and that was one thing he was very good at.
Keep reading..."