Stalemate
Chapter 10
Three days.
Three Earth-norm days of existing in parallel universes, separate bubbles in the ship. It has been a series of misses and near-hits. She sometimes would spot him as he turned a corner or a glimpse of his shiny goggles as she left the mess.
It's strange and not all together pleasant. Like there's a ghost on the ship she can't quite see, but she knows is there.
Frowning, Kyra slides a comb through her hair. The previous owners, or technically current owners without their ship, had left nice toiletries behind.
After washing her hair with actual conditioner, her unruly snarls now melt under the fine teeth of the comb.
With all the excess time she now has, Kyra spends it reading or simply staring off in space. At first, it seemed great, like a vacation of sorts.
But now that restless feeling vibrates deep in her bones, and she's not sure how she will last much longer in the absolute silence.
As much as she hates to admit it, even talking to Riddick holds an appeal rather than the dead silence. In any other time or place, she would have badgered someone into talking to her.
But this situation…she hates how out of control she feels. She isn't this weakling, she never has been.
Her frown deepens and she sets the comb down and yanks her hair back into a quick bun fastened securely.
She can't take at least another three weeks of this, no one sane can.
So if he insists on remaining a ghost, she'll just have to provoke him. It's a stupid, rash plan, but she likes it.
And she hasn't had a good fight in a long time.
She quickly puts on her favorite fitted pants and shirt and slips a couple of knives in, just in case. She stares down at the sleek metal gun, contemplating it, but she shrugs it off.
If she brings the gun, she's suggesting something more serious than a little fight.
A familiar rush curls in her stomach, and she grins. Her feet are encased in slim sneakers that she uses when working out, and they hardly make a sound as she walks to the make-shift gym.
Boldly, Kyra saunters into the room and leans against the metal wall, arms crossed.
"Thought I told you to stay out."
His intimidation is like a wet paper towel, and she retorts, "Thought I told you you're just a payday."
Riddick clearly eyes her stance, her ready muscles. She keeps her chin high and her eyes flinty cold. He stalks closer, his goggles flashing as he looms over her.
"Do you know what you're doin'?"
Her answer is her fist hurling into his face.
He backhands her in response, and Kyra's head snaps to the side. A flying kick hits his jaw, another to his neck. He gives her a sucker punch to the stomach and a kick to her thigh in return.
It doesn't take long for their series of blows-for-blows to become more complex, a dance of intricate kicks and punches leaving them bruised and heady with the rush of adrenaline.
Kyra rolls away from his kick and jams her own foot into his side. With ease, he captures her legs and hoists her up high before flinging her body into the harsh metal bumps of the wall.
Her body, battered with bruises and small cuts, quivers as she holds herself up. Her knees buckle a little when she tries to pull away from the support. "You're an asshole."
"Tell me somethin' new, Jack." They circle each other now, and it pisses her off that he is being a damn gentleman, waiting for her to strike.
"It's Kyra," she tells him, "and stop goin' easy on me. Fucking fight me, Riddick." She says it to egg him on, and she is surprised by the approval that seems to flit across his face, if only for a moment.
Then he leaps forward, grabbing her shoulder and slamming her back into the detestable wall. She crumples to floor and uses the opportunity to snatch a hidden blade from her calf. Kyra swings out her arm, intent on slashing his middle, but instead she hits air.
A fucking screw up.
Riddick hauls her back up by her neck, and she groans painfully. His other hand squeezes her wrist until her hand goes slack and the knife fumbles from her fingers.
But instead of his fist, his mouth attacks her. Rough and angry, his lips try to devour her own, almost to the point of bruising.
A fire in her belly and in her chest burns as he continues. She slides her hand around his neck, urging him closer, struggling to fuse them together. But even in her haze of lust, she finds her second blade, tucked in at the base of her spine.
He nips her lip, and then releases her too fast, and she has to steady herself. As he walks away, Kyra runs her hand along the tiny blade before hurling it, a perfect aim.
It lodges in his right shoulder, and he stops, reaching for the hilt. If it hurt, he didn't show it. Pulling it out, Riddick examines the scarlet smeared metal.
"Not bad."
(A/N: sorrry for the wait, I'm reeallyyy busy right now, but I'll try and update at least once a week. thanks for the reviews!)