Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

to understand. "I need it, Owen."
    "Why didn't you tell me before?"
    "Because I knew you'd react like this! You don't understand the pressures I've been under!"
    "We've been together from the beginning. What have you been through that I haven't? Dammit, Hazel, I was depending on you to hold up your end in Mistport!
    I can't do everything! Our work here is important!"
    "I know!" Hazel glared at him, her hands clenched into fists. "You depend on me, the underground depends on me, the whole bloody rebellion depends on me! Did it never occur to anyone that I might get tired of carrying so much weight? We can't all be superhuman like you, Owen. We can't all be bloody heroes. You've never had a moment's indecision in your life, have you? You've always known the right thing to do, the right thing to say. But we can't all be perfect!"
    "I'm not perfect," said Owen. "I just do my job. And that's all I've ever expected of you."
    "You're not listening to me," said Hazel. "You never listen to me."
    "Why did you never tell me about you and Silver?"
    "Because it was none of your business!"
    "You never told me about him. You never told about the Blood. What else haven't you told me about? I thought I could trust you, Hazel. I thought I could trust
    you, at least."
    "You see? You're doing it again! Trying to put all the weight on my shoulders so you can be the victim of the piece! Well to hell with that, and to hell with you, Owen Deathstalker, I'm not going to carry it anymore. I'm sick of carrying the weight of your needs and your expectations! And I'm sick of you…"
    "Yes," said Owen. "You'd rather have him, and the poison he feeds you. Anything to avoid having to grow up and be a responsible adult. To support those who depend on you. To care about the people who care about you. You want him; he's all yours. I'm going out to get some fresh air."
    And he turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him, because there was so much anger burning inside him that the only other thing he could have done was hit her, and they both knew she would never have forgotten or forgiven that.
    And because he wanted to kill John Silver so badly he could taste it. He'd thought that he and Hazel, that someday the two of them might… but he'd thought many things, and none of them ever worked out the way he hoped. He'd already lost so many things he cared for. He shouldn't be surprised that the only woman he ever loved would be taken away from him, too.
    He should never have come back to Mistport. Nothing ever went right here. It wasn't as though he'd had any hold on Hazel. She went her own way and always would. He'd known that. But he thought she'd chosen to walk with him, for a while at least. She could have come to him about her worries. She could have come to him about the drug. He would have tried to understand, tried to help. He understood about pressure. He'd spent all his life trying to live up to the Deathstalker name.
    He strode heavily down the stairs and pushed his way through the packed crowd in the tavern. Some people made as though to object. Then they saw his face, and
    thought better of it. They knew sudden death walking when they saw it. Owen pushed open the door and stepped out into the street, and the cold air hit him, sobering him like a slap in the face. The door swung shut behind him, cutting off most of the tavern roar, and he leaned back against it, damping down his rage, getting it under control again. It took him a moment to realize that the street was completely empty. Which was unusual, to say the least, in a perpetually busy city like Mistport. Faces watched from darkened windows, as though expecting something to happen. Owen pushed himself away from the door, his hands falling to the sword and disrupter on his hips. There was danger here, close and ready. He'd have noticed it earlier if he hadn't been so wrapped up in himself. Three men were suddenly standing on the opposite side of the street, staring at him. Either they were teleporters, or more likely they'd hidden their presence behind a telepathic shield. They didn't look like much. Average height, plain average faces, they wore the same thick furs as everyone else. But there was a power in them. Owen could feel it, even if he didn't quite understand what it was yet. The man in the middle stepped forward. His eyes were very dark in a pale face.
    "You have enemies, Deathstalker. Powerful men require your death."
    "Well hell," said Owen. "Gosh, I am scared. What