Wyvern’s Angel

by Deborah Cooke

  One final night of savoring sensation.

  Bond would have no regrets.

  When the Carrier took her hand and placed a kiss in her palm, Percipia knew he was on fire, too. She saw it in the dark heat of his eyes, the intensity of his expression, the taut line of his shoulders. His gaze burned as he watched her, and it seemed he didn’t even blink.

  It was sad, in a way, that this would be over so quickly.

  The Seed must have influenced the Carrier, too. She could see how his attention never wavered from her, how intent he was on making her look good on the dance floor. He never released her from his embrace—when one of her hands left his grasp, he caught the other. A part of her was always touching a part of him, tingling, humming with awareness, feeding her desire. He spun her and dipped her, and whirled her around so that she was almost dizzy. She’d never danced with such abandon before, but it was easy to remember the steps with him, easy to be graceful, easy to be elegant.

  That couldn’t entirely be the effect of his adoration.

  That hadn’t been the result with Sansor, after all.

  The scent of the Seed also made Percipia keenly aware of her surroundings. She noted the Carrier’s hot gaze and his firm grip upon her, but also the heat on the dance floor, the pulse of the music, the color of the lights. She heard the others clapping and cheering, and tore her gaze from his to glance around. She spotted her sisters, all seven of them having found partners—though none were as handsome as the Carrier—and thought she could read their emotions in a quick glance.

  Was the allure of the Carrier due to the influence of the Seed, or was he as spectacular as she believed?

  Percipia looked again, comparing and contrasting, eyeing the men and women in their finery. There was beauty aplenty in the club and she guessed that Enigma was right about its popularity. Even though the club was full and the dance floor crowded, Percipia noticed four people who weren’t dancing.

  They didn’t belong.

  They wore unobtrusive clothing, similar in design to that of the Carrier, and she assumed that they had also just come into port. The two men stood surprisingly close to the front and rear exits. The woman sat with her arms folded across her chest alone at a table, one that Percipia realized was near the emergency exit. A short triped waited near the bar, holding a drink that remained untasted.

  Who were they?

  All four of them watched the Carrier at intervals, two scanning the club and the other two watching the Carrier at any moment in time. They changed shifts with such precision that it could only be arranged or timed.

  Maybe they were his crewmates, watching his back.

  Maybe they defended him when he indulged.

  The Carrier spun her again, catching her in his arms, and Percipia forgot his companions for the moment. She took a long deep breath, feeling the Seed’s scent tingle as it spread through her body, and he stared at her in awe.

  “Your eyes are sparkling,” he whispered, not releasing her at all. “Like ocean waves in the sun.”

  Percipia laughed. “That sounds cool, but I’m so very hot.”

  “Maybe more like sparks flying from the fire, then,” he teased.

  “Yes. That sounds more like it.” She leaned against him and whispered in his ear. “What if we start a fire?”

  “I think we already have.” His voice was a low rumble that made her quiver deep inside.

  “Maybe we should explore it then.”

  He lifted a brow, looking wicked and unpredictable. “Wouldn’t that make it burn hotter?”

  “The hotter the better.”

  “Aren’t you afraid to be burned?”

  “No. I’m afraid to miss an opportunity.”

  He caught his breath, as if surprised that she was so outspoken, and glanced down at the floor. Percipia feared she had been too blunt, but realized he was composing himself. When he looked up again, his gaze was shimmering. He swallowed. “I’ve never felt such desire before,” he whispered and she believed him.

  It was the Seed.

  “Me neither,” she confessed.

  He lifted a hand to her cheek. “There’s something marvelous about you...”

  “Or about us together.” She captured his hand, knowing that it was the influence of the mating sign responsible. Once they had consummated their match, he’d be less interested in her. “Let’s explore it.”

  “I don’t have a place to stay.”

  “But I don’t want to go home.” There was no way that Percipia was taking a Carrier back to the palace to seduce him.

  The Carrier looked across the club with purpose. “Maybe they offer rooms.”

  Percipia smiled. “I like men with ideas,” she purred, feeling like the seductress she’d never imagined she could be.

  He didn’t laugh at her, though. He didn’t mock her or tease her for putting on airs. He stared at her in wonder, like a man who couldn’t look at her enough, and when the music changed to a slower tune, Percipia melted into his embrace. He felt so good, strong and solid, and his touch was the ideal combination of gentle and firm. She was thrumming with anticipation for their mating. She wanted it immediately but she also wanted to linger in the aura created by the Seed.

  How strange and wonderful to feel so conflicted. Percipia had the sense that once she’d claimed the Seed and her senses returned to normal, life would seem like a pale shadow of what it could be.

  Every treasure had its price, she supposed.

  “Do you have a name?” he whispered into her hair and even the fan of his breath made her shiver with need.

  “Everyone has a name,” she replied, sounding more like her usual self. “What’s yours?”

  “Bond.”

  “Just Bond?” She pulled back to look at him. Was he Anguissa’s co-pilot? The one with the gift for breaking into any system?

  His eyes glimmered with amusement. “Just Bond, to you.”

  To her? Percipia felt her eyes narrow, although she really didn’t need to know more than that. Why did she get only an increment of his identity?

  Although, if he was the Bond who worked with Anguissa, his evasiveness would be consistent with that. Anguissa almost never answered a question directly.

  Did he have more than that to hide?

  “And yours?” he prompted.

  “Diverta,” she lied on impulse, but he wasn’t insulted. He laughed.

  Wherever he was from and whatever he was, subterfuge was familiar to him. Percipia would have to remember that.

  “An apt name. Let’s distract each other tonight, Diverta, and remain friends when our paths part.”

  She couldn’t be insulted, not when he was so honest about his expectations—which were identical to her own.

  She was disgruntled, though, and wondered at that. He didn’t know they’d be conceiving a child and that he’d be abandoning it to her. She couldn’t blame him for that.

  But it annoyed her that he didn’t consider it.

  Actually, it irked her that he wouldn’t tell her his full name. She wasn’t used to being given partial information or being considered untrustworthy.

  “Should we get a room?” Bond whispered.

  Before she could agree, Percipia felt a presence behind her and beside her. She thought it was another couple but caught a whiff of Enigma’s perfume in the press of the crowd. Something swiped over the thin computer screen adhered to her left arm and she glanced over her shoulder. She saw her sister’s wink before Enigma disappeared into the throng of dancers.

  Trust Enigma to see to the practical details.

  “You don’t need to ask,” Percipia told Bond. “I have a room now.”

  “Your sister?” he asked, giving a curious emphasis to the word.

  “Yes. She just gave me an access code.”

  “Did she read your mind?” Bond asked, his tone playful.

  “Maybe she read yours,” Percipia replied in kind and he laughed.

  “I like women who know what they want
and aren’t afraid to ask for it.”

  Percipia ran a hand across his chest. “Then we might just be a perfect match. I’ve been criticized in the past for being too blunt.”

  “Really? Maybe your friends aren’t brave enough to hear the truth.”

  “Maybe not.”

  He pulled her closer, touching his lips to her ear. Percipia almost swooned at the flurry of his breath there and the shivers it launched over her flesh. “What do you want?” he whispered and she was wet with need. “Tell me exactly.”

  “You,” she replied in a heated whisper and it was no lie. “Your skin against mine. Your heat inside me. I want it all and I want it now.”

  She thought he groaned under his breath. “How far is this room?” he asked, his words strained in a way that perfectly echoed her own feelings.

  “Let me show you,” she replied, because she didn’t know exactly.

  When they left the dance floor, Percipia stroked a fingertip over the screen adhered to her arm. It illuminated, then showed the layout of the club. Ambrosia was much larger than she’d realized. A path was displayed on the thin screen, undoubtedly showing a course from where they stood to the room. Percipia followed the directions, Bond right behind her. His hand was on the back of her waist, his presence warm. There was a doorway beside the bar to the hotel rooms and the triped averted its gaze as they passed.

  Bond seemed not to notice the creature, and Percipia assumed it was a subordinate.

  One who had been instructed to stay out of the way.

  That worked for Percipia. She had no desire of an audience for this mating. She wanted only Bond.

  Her heart skipped with the certainty that she would have him soon.

  Two

  The sound of the music dimmed as soon as they were in the corridor leading to the private rooms. Percipia felt as if they’d passed through an invisible barrier to another realm. She could hear the dance music, but it sounded so distant that it might have had nothing to do with her.

  In contrast, the scent of the Seed seemed to grow more potent and her awareness of Bond’s touch grew even stronger. She could smell his skin, feel his heartbeat, and was keenly aware of his fingertips on the back of her waist. Desire simmered in her veins.

  The corridor had many turns, possibly to keep people from seeing who else was there, and the light was dim. Percipia heard the footfalls of someone following at a distance that would ensure he or she was out of sight.

  It was a firm tread and she assumed it was one of the men from the club who had been watching Bond. She tensed inside, wondering again what Bond did that required him to have such protection. She’d noticed that he carried a large laze, a comparatively new and powerful version, in a holster on his belt. She suspected that the bulge on his calf was another smaller laze, hidden beneath his pants. Did he have more weapons than that? It wouldn’t have surprised her. She had a knife in her boot. Few people carried weapons openly in Incendium city as it was considered to be so safe.

  There was another set of footsteps traveling along the outside of the building. Percipia could just barely discern them, thanks to her keen dragon hearing and her heightened awareness. She guessed it was the second man, keeping step with them.

  Where was the woman?

  Had the triped staying in the bar?

  Percipia felt as she did when she was on the cusp of change, when all of her perceptions were sharper. No, it was even more powerful than that. Her dragon was roused by the scent of the Seed. Percipia realized belatedly that was why everything seemed so much more vivid. She felt passionate and volatile, her dragon not quite as firmly under control as usual. She felt fiercely possessive of Bond and intent upon claiming the Seed from him, regardless of the price.

  Would she kill to defend him? Percipia wasn’t a violent person or even a possessive one, but surrounded by the scent of the Seed, she thought she just might.

  When she opened the door of their room, she had a momentary glimpse of the second man in the windows of the room, in the alley beyond. Her dragon seethed and she didn’t doubt that the man, even at a distance, caught a glimpse of her reaction in her eyes.

  She glanced at Bond but if he’d noticed the man, he hid his reaction well.

  Of course, if she was right that the others were guarding him, he would have expected the man’s presence.

  The man ducked out of sight, maybe to save his own skin, maybe to follow instructions. Maybe Bond didn’t like to be reminded of the need for his protection. Her father was like that when he left the palace, and she’d heard many arguments between the king and the Captain of the Guard about ensuring his safety.

  Percipia’s dragon growled, distrusting the situation.

  She touched the control on the wall and shut the blinds, then turned the lights low. All the while, she tried to temper her dragon’s reaction.

  Bond closed the door behind them and locked it, leaning back against it with a smile. “What’s your pleasure, Diverta?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I told you already.”

  “Tell me again.”

  “You,” she said, and it was easier the second time. “Naked and willing.”

  “I can deliver that,” Bond said, and reached for the front fastening on his garment. With his other hand, he caught Percipia’s nape and drew her into his embrace again, his mouth slanting over hers with a possessiveness that thrilled her.

  His kiss recalled her passion and dismissed her agitation. Percipia found herself spearing her fingers into his hair and holding him close to feast upon his mouth. He made a sound of surrender and backed her into the wall, his hands roving over her. She tore open the front of his uniform, wanting to feel his skin, and purred when she slid her hands beneath the fabric. He was as hard and muscled as she’d guessed. She followed her hands with her lips, flicking her tongue across his nipple and grazing it with her teeth.

  He groaned, then unfastened her clothes with impatient hands. The tunic was pushed over her shoulders, his hands warm on her skin, then he bent to capture her nipple in his mouth. Percipia arched her back and moaned, loving how he teased her with his teeth and his tongue. She pushed down her pants and he helped her, his hand between her thighs. When he caressed her there, she let out a cry of such yearning that she surprised herself.

  “Temptress,” he whispered.

  “Tease,” she replied and tugged his uniform over his shoulders. They stumbled to the bed, halfway out of their clothes, kissing and caressing all the while. Percipia kicked off her boots and clothes so that she was naked, and Bond stared at her as he removed his tunic. Oh, he was perfect. Tanned and toned, an ideal specimen of masculinity. She wanted to possess him completely and immediately.

  There was an answering awe in his expression that made her want to preen.

  “You are beautiful, Diverta,” he whispered, then reached for her.

  She had time to blush and lift her face for his kiss before the laser shots came through the door.

  Diverta.

  With the sound of the first shot, Bond knew he’d been distracted.

  On purpose.

  And he’d been stupid enough to fall for it. His body had conspired against him, as had the sensation she so expertly conjured, and he hated the weakness of this body. His companion’s name made sense, even though her ploys were as old as time. He gritted his teeth, hating that he’d been so predictable.

  The trap to snare him had been baited perfectly to ensure success.

  The long volley of shots came through the door, leaving such large smoking holes in it that he could see into the corridor beyond. The assault didn’t do many favors for the room either. The wall display had been shattered and the screen fell to the floor in shards. An alarm went off and the room began to fill with smoke. Annoyance filled Bond, even as he fired back at the unknown assailant with his own laze.

  He wanted his old powers back. He wanted to be able to think himself elsewhere. He wanted to know the thoughts of his fellows with perfect c
larity to best gauge the threat.

  But he would have to run, on his own two feet, with only the information from his own senses.

  That sent fury surging through him.

  The ruined door was kicked open from the corridor and Bond fired again with gusto, but the attacker had stepped back. As soon as his volley was done, a man appeared silhouetted in the opening and the blaze of laser light came right at Bond.

  He tumbled over the bed, taking cover.

  Diverta could defend herself. Some instinct urged him to protect her but she’d gotten him into this, and her allies would hardly injure her.

  Bond had to save himself.

  Fortunately, he was still wearing his pants and boots. He could run, even if he couldn’t fly. He reached for the second laze strapped to his shin and discovered that the holster was empty.

  There was a blast as Diverta fired it over his head at the window. He heard a cry of pain and turned to see her nod with grim satisfaction. She was still nude, still magnificent, but now it looked like there was a shimmer of light around the perimeter of her body. Bond blinked but the illusion didn’t disappear.

  Was he losing his mind, right before losing his life?

  Or maybe someone had given him a drug somehow. He hadn’t consumed anything, but he supposed there could have been an injection. Other than the shimmer around Diverta, though, he couldn’t feel any effects.

  That meant it was a possibility to consider later.

  Once he survived.

  “That’s one,” Diverta said and he realized the attacker outside the window had been silenced. She tilted her head, listening, and Bond watched that glimmer of light brighten. Maybe there was something in the air that prompted visual illusions. He heard fleeing footsteps in the corridor. “The second is giving it up.” Her gaze met his and she smiled. “I guess they weren’t your friends after all.”

  They?

  “Who?”

  She descended from the bed, seizing her clothes and briskly dressed. He put out his hand but she didn’t surrender his laze. “Four of them in the club, watching you. I thought they were your guard.”