Page 15 of Skyn
Am I being poisoned?
Did they feed me mushrooms?
I’ve seen people with cybernetic parts before—1 percent, maybe 4 percent at most. But this…person looks like he’s 80 to 85 percent metal, if not more. I don’t have a wand or anything, and you can’t tell that type of thing just by glancing, but he justlookslike he has a platinum heart.
Curiosity tugs at me. I step closer, forgetting for a moment that I’m stark naked, save for sunglasses, and vulnerable in the way only a body without mods can be. But his skin—it’s a marvel: dark, rich—the kind of tone that implies years of sun exposure, a luxury I can barely fathom. Where his flesh meets his cybernetic parts, there’s no harsh divide, no jarring interruption, just a strange, terrifying beauty. My hand reaches out before I can stop it, hovering over the place where flesh turns into unyielding metal. One of the mannies glides forward, moving with a kind of deadly grace, like it’s ready to intervene.
“Sorry,” I murmur, trying to laugh it off, though my voice shakes a little. “Maybe I should’ve offered you a drink first.”
God, what am I even saying?
There’s nothing quite like standing bare-assed next to a fully clothed person to make you feel utterly out of your mind.
But that skin…miraculous. The metal doesn’t fight the flesh; every damned seam is smooth, like molten platinum was poured over his body and left to set. His irises are dark, nearly black, with these blue cybernetic pupils that give me the unsettling impression that he can see everything—every flaw, every scar, every thought—whenever he wants. He walks toward the bed, and there’s no clicking, no grinding of gears as he moves. None of that rusty-train-car sound that plagued Josh’s secondhand arm.
I’ve seen this machine’s face before, but I can’t place him.
“Somebody said we were supposed to get married?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. I chuckle at the end, so he can join in on the absurdity.
“The event you anticipate has already transpired.” He shakes his head, and the metal ripples like skin.How is that even possible?His voice is low, flat—without joy, without sorrow. Just empty. “Wearehusband and wife.”
“Now?” I blink, incredulous.
“Now.” He repeated it like a fact, nothing more.
“Where was I?”
I didn’t even get cake. No dress, no vows, no nothing. This is ridiculous.
“In absentia,” he replies, as if this is a thing that happens all the time.
“Didyouget cake?” I shoot back, trying to grasp at some thread of normalcy.
His response is bone-dry. “That was a low-probability statement.”
“Okay, so we are Mrs. and Mr…”
“Iku. Benjamin Nehemiah Iku,” he says.
Shit, it’s him. The son. The face. THE Ben.
His gaze is the opposite of his tone—hot and questioning. It drifts from my face, tracking the slope of my bare shoulder, pausing at the diamond set into my collarbone. He’s staring at it like it’s an anomaly, a glitch in the system. I forgot to cover it. Shit. At least the Chins didn’t see.
“Was it a contest?” he asks, his voice faintly curious.
I blink, thrown off. “What?”
He tilts his head, his expression neither cruel nor kind, just…intent. “How did they select you? I find it unlikely they would choose an intelligent wife.”
I tap my diamond, feeling the cool metal under my fingertips. “Oh, this?” I try for casual. “I…kind of hid this.”
A flicker of muted surprise. Then a twitch of something he quickly tamps down. “Bigger fools than I thought,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Did my brother promise you anything? Do you owe allegiance to him or another sector? If you try to lie I will sense it.”
“No and no,” I say, holding his gaze steady, refusing to flinch.
“They have calibrated your allure with such”—his voice falters—“exquisite detail,” he finishes. “But I won’t give my brother the victory of carnal weakness. I will leave you and your body in peace,” he says, a cool finality in his tone. His eyes flick to my mouth, just for a second.
I shouldn’t be able tofeelhis eyes, but I do.
