by user
As he bent to lay the woman on the cool grass, Baran looked up to see Druas standing in the doorway. Something gleamed dully through the billowing smoke; a thin gold chain wrapped around the killer’s gloved fist. A locket dangled from the chain.
Just as Baran realized he recognized that locket, Druas caught it between his thumb and forefinger.
From its center appeared a hologram image of Baran. Not as the man he was, but as the sixteen-year-old boy he’d been when he’d given Liisa the necklace.
With an incoherent roar of rage, Baran rose from the woman and started toward his enemy. If he could just pin the bastard long enough to disable his T-suit, he could take the Xeran apart.
BOOM! Wood splinters flew as the sonic boom from Druas’ T-jump blew out the doorframe.
Leaving Baran staring in helpless fury at the spot where his enemy had been. “Fuck,” he snarled, just as a man in a bulky gray and yellow suit ran around the corner, Jane and Freika at his heels.
“Fire trucks just got here,” she said breathlessly as the suited man dropped to his knees beside the woman.
The man looked up. “Anybody still in the house?”
Baran clenched his fists. “Nobody.”
The SUV was filled with the smell of smoke as Jane drove them all home after yet another interrogation. The silence from Baran’s side of the truck was so leaden with fury, even Freika seemed subdued.
The woman had been medevaced to a burn unit in Georgia that was the closest facility available to treat such severe injuries. Baran had miraculously escaped any serious bums, though his face and hands were bright red. He’d seemed grateful for the oxygen the fire fighters had pressed on him, though. He kept coughing, and the lining of his nose was black with soot.
They’d been lucky the first paramedic had been too busy with the woman to notice the hot coal blaze of his eyes. Jane had barely managed to slip him a spare pair of sunglasses before anybody else noticed.
She’d wanted to take him home, but Tom had other ideas. The detective had grilled them mercilessly yet again.
Before he’d let them leave, he’d told them he was ordering a tap on Jane’s phones, both at home and at the paper. She didn’t dare protest.
Baran had answered the cop’s questions in a low, deadly monotone that made Jane nervous. Judging by the way Tom eyed him, she suspected they were lucky they had an entire newspaper office full of people who could alibi the Warlord for the time the fire was set.
Baran hadn’t said a word since.
“You want to tell me what the hell’s wrong?” Jane said, unable to endure the icy silence any longer.
He shrugged his powerful shoulders. His face could have been chiseled from granite for all the emotion he showed. “I went in, I got the girl out, Druas played his games. There’s not much else to tell.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why I feel as if I’m sitting next to a nuclear bomb, waiting for the explosion. What happened?”
“Nothing I have any intention of discussing with you.” The snarl was so low and deadly, Jane felt her courage desert her.
Maybe, just this once, she should leave well enough the hell alone.
Baran had never known who’d murdered Liisa. It wasn’t for lack of trying; he’d interrogated every Xeran he’d hunted down for the torture and murder of his team. Even those who’d participated in her rape seemed to have no idea who’d butchered her. He suspected they’d have given the killer up if they had. The Xerans were a vicious lot, but even so, many of them had been disgusted at the sick brutality of her murder.
In retrospect, Baran should have realized Druas was the killer when he’d seen what the Xeran had done to Mary Kelly. Her body had been mutilated the same way as his lover’s had been.
The mystery had haunted him for more than two decades. Now it was solved, but he felt no sense of relief, no sense he was close to the revenge he’d thought would bring him peace and lay Liisa’s ghost to rest.
Oh, he knew he’d eventually either kill Druas or die in the attempt.
What terrified him was the very real possibility that the Jumpkiller would get to Jane first. And he knew the Xeran had every intention of doing so.
Baran also knew exactly how it felt to be at the mercy of a man like that. Gelar had told him in great detail exactly how he intended to kill him while he was paralyzed and helpless.
He’d never had any interest in having sex with another man. The idea wasn’t an anathema to him, but neither did it have any appeal. Yet being raped, having another man take from him what he had no desire to give ...
Baran was a Warlord. He’d been raised to fight, trained to die rather than surrender, taught that failure was never an option. By capturing and torturing him—by raping him—the Xerans had rubbed his face in his failure. And by using his comp, the source of his complete control over his body, they’d stripped away his identity as a Warlord.
And in a way he’d never gotten it back, even though he’d successfully tricked Gelar into freeing him. The fact was, he still hadn’t been in time to save the rest of his team. Not even Liisa, who’d believed in him.
As the years passed, he’d hunted down each and every one of the Xeran murderers he could identify, and he’d killed them—most through challenge and combat, a few by simple execution. Yet no amount of Xeran blood could ever change the fact that he’d failed the team.
Failed the woman he loved.
He’d never allowed himself to be a permanent member of another team again. That was why he’d volunteered to become a military assassin, a job most Warlords considered dishonorable. He’d thought it would allow him to work alone. Instead, the High Command had assigned Freika as his partner. By rights, working with an animal should have been safe, but the wolf had refused to let him keep his distance. Slowly, relentlessly, Freika’s intelligence and humor had seduced him into caring again, had broken through his cold emotionless shield.
Yet bright as Freika was, Baran could tell himself the wolf was still only an animal, still as much artificial intelligence as living being.
He couldn’t fool himself about Jane.
To make matters worse, she was not only human, she was even more delicate and fragile than Liisa had been. At least Liisa had been a Warfem. Jane was just prey. If Druas got his hands on her, she was dead.
He turned his head to study her as she drove, and was struck again by the clean, delicate lines of her profile. Her full lips seemed to pout slightly, as though begging a kiss. Her breasts rose and fell under her silk blouse as she drove. Looking at them, he thought he could see the gentle contours of her nipples beneath the fabric.
The sudden rise of hunger took him by surprise. He knew it shouldn’t have. He’d been in riatt, after all; the downslope from the hyper state was at least part of the reason he was in such a foul mood.
The other part was his fear that he’d fail her. As he’d failed Liisa and his team and all the women Druas had murdered.
It would have been so much easier if she’d been what she was supposed to be: just another human female. Someone to protect and fuck, but without the ability to touch him on any level other than the physical.
Jane was so much more than that. She was as bright and fiery as she was beautiful. What was worse, she was also maddeningly unaware of her own vulnerability. She’d seen what Druas could do, yet she kept insisting on taking a role in the hunt, even if it meant putting herself in harm’s way.
And she’d made him care about her as he’d been careful not to care about anyone else in decades.
It was all going to end in pain. Even if he did succeed in protecting her, he was going to have to leave, and he’d never see her again. Never even have the possibility of seeing her again; she’d be centuries dead the minute he got back to his own time.
The thought sent a shaft of grief shooting through him. Damn her anyway. She was going to make him suffer for the rest of his life. How had she done this to him? He hadn’t even known her that long.
Eyes
fixed on her face in a dark combination of hunger and angry despair, he watched her turn the wheel to send the SUV into the driveway of her house. His eyes drifted down to the rise of her breasts again. A hot, angry lust rose.
If he had to suffer, he was damn well going to enjoy himself in the meantime.
Jane turned the key and sat slumped as the SUV’s engine growled into silence. She shot a look at Baran. He smelled of smoke, and his face was soot-streaked and red from the radiant heat burn. That ticking-bomb feeling she had about him had not gone away.
She knew why when he reached up and pulled off his sunglasses. His pupils blazed in that particular way she’d come to recognize as a combination of lust and rage. Perversely, she felt her body tighten.
Oh, that’s sick, she thought, and jerked the door handle of the SUV. The man wants to give me another dominance fuck, and instead of being pissed, I get turned on. Aloud she said, “Forget it,” and thrust the door open.
“Forget what?” Baran said in that low, hot voice he used whenever lust was simmering just under the surface.
She swung out of the truck and strode for the front door. He opened the passenger door and followed, Freika at his heels.
“You’re not pinning me against the wall and screwing me because you’re in a bad mood.” She dug the keys from her purse and reached to unlock the door.
Before she could swing it open, he stepped up behind her and lowered his head. His teeth closed over the lobe of her ear in a gentle erotic bite that made her knees weaken. “Why not?” he breathed, and cupped her breasts in big hands. Long fingers found and squeezed her nipples through the satin of her bra. “You like it when I pin you against the wall. When I pull down your pants. When I start working my cock into your tight little cunt an inch at a—“
“Now you’re being a bastard,” she managed, the keys rattling desperately as she struggled to get the door open before he seduced her on the front steps in front of half of Tayanita. Though that would probably put the whole gay rumor to rest, she thought wildly.
The key finally slid in and turned, and she shoved the door open. Freika slipped past her, blocking her path for an instant as he scooted inside.
That instant was all Baran needed. He bent smoothly, hooked an arm under her thighs, and scooped her neatly off her feet. “But, Jane,” he said, carrying her inside without missing a beat, “I thought you knew—I am a bastard.”
At her height Jane had never had a man pick her up and carry her. Baran did it as easily as if she weighed no more than Octopussy. Perversely, she found the sense of helplessness arousing.
And that pissed her off. She squirmed. “Put me down, dammit!”
He looked down at her with a slow, dark smile. “No.”
She glared into his eyes. Her nipples were hardening, and that made her even madder. “Are you going to rape me, you son of a bitch?”
Stepping into the living room, he spilled her back onto her feet. “Would you like me to?”
“Asshole!”
“I think we just covered that,” he said, stepping in closer as she backed away until he crowded her against the wall. She would have ducked aside, but he extended both brawny arms to cage her between them. The sense of being surrounded by heat and masculinity was dizzying.
His voice dropped. “I also think you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He met her eyes, his gaze steady. “Are you really telling me no?”
She looked up into those glowing eyes and felt a quiver roll across her skin. “No.”
His face shuttered. He pulled away.
Jane reached out and cupped his face in both hands. “No, I mean—no, I’m not refusing you.” Slowly she rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.
When she drew back, a hot white smile spread across his face, and the glow in his eyes leaped into a blaze. “Good.”
Before she could pull her hands away, his hands flashed up and wrapped around her wrists. He stepped fully against her body, pinning her to the wall as he lifted her arms over her head, around a curving light fixture that thrust out from the wall above her. Trapping both her hands in one of his, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold cable.
She gasped out a laugh as he bound her wrists to the fixture. “Do you carry that for a reason other than tying me up?”
His mouth flattened, and something deadly leaped behind his eyes. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Wide-eyed, she decided she wasn’t going to ask him to elaborate.
He gathered the hem of her knit shirt in both big hands and jerked it up over her head and behind her neck, leaving her torso bare but her arms still in the sleeves. Deftly he reached between her breasts and opened the front catch of her bra. Her breasts spilled free into the cool air and the heat of his gaze.
She blinked at him. She could feel herself getting wet.
He reached down to unbutton her jeans, then caught the tab of her zipper. The hiss of its descent sounded loud against the counterpoint of their rough breathing. Dropping to his knees, he caught the waistband and began to pull it down over her hips, taking her panties with it. The legs of her jeans were just wide enough that he was able to drag them off without removing her boots.
He threw them aside. Jane looked down at him, twisting her bound hands together, feeling the cool air on her nipples. She’d never felt so deliriously, erotically helpless.
Sitting back on his heels, he was eye level with her sex. He inhaled once, sharply. “God, you’re wet.” He licked his lips. “I can smell it.”
Swallowing, she set her feet a bit farther apart in silent invitation. He took it, reaching between her thighs, touching the soft nest of hair. A long, thick forefinger brushed the tender seam of her lips, slipped between. Inside.
She moaned and let her head fall back against the wall at the delicious sensation.
“I was right.” His voice was rough, deep. “Wet.”
Slowly, gently, he pumped his finger in and out of Jane’s tight entrance. His thumb found the erect nub of her clit, stroked delicately. She whimpered. He drew out his finger, added a second, screwed them deep inside.
“God, Baran,” she moaned, arching her back against the wall. The plaster felt cool and smooth against her bare back. “You make me so hot.”
“Just wait.” He leaned forward. She inhaled sharply as his breath gusted warmly over her wet sex.
His tongue slid across creamy flesh as a third finger joined the ones delving deep inside her. “Baran!” Her body pulled into a hard arch over his head. He reached up a hand and cupped one full, shivering breast.
Barely aware of what she did, she lifted a leg and hooked it over his brawny shoulder, spreading herself more thoroughly for him. He gave her exactly what she wanted, fingering, stroking, licking, thumb and forefinger working her desperately hard nipple until her heart thundered in her ears and the heat coiled tighter and tighter and ...
She screamed, coming in long, endless waves, drowning in fire.
The silken pulses hadn’t even begun to fade when he growled, dragged her leg off his shoulder, and rose to his feet with the speed of a man in rut. She heard the hiss of his zipper. Then he grabbed her thighs, spread her wide, and stepped between.
“Baran!” she gasped.
He impaled her. It seemed he drove his entire massive length all the way to her belly button in one stroke. She yelped and grabbed the light fixture over her head.
“Now,” he said against her mouth, buried in her to the balls. “Let’s find out how fast I can make you come again.”
He drew out of her slowly, the plunged back in again. Jane could feel his massive shaft stroking its way up her core. She shuddered and gasped, wrapping both hands around the light fixture.
He pressed against her, all heat and working muscle as he rolled his hips, pulling out, plunging in, fucking her mercilessly. “That’s it,”, he said, tightening his grip on her butt and angling her so he could reach even deeper with his lo
ng, hard cock. “Let it go. Surrender to me.”
He picked up speed, bucking his shaft in and out in powerful, dizzying strokes. She could only wrap her calves around his muscled ass and hold on for dear life as pleasure battered her like a storm.
“God, you feel so good,” Baran gritted. “So wet, so tight.” His voice lifted into a roar. “I’m coming!”
He shoved deep and stiffened. She screamed as the long, hot orgasm she’d began under his mouth trip-hammered to an explosive finish. “God, Baran,” Jane cried, “I love you!”
It was minutes later as they rested against each other in the exhausted aftermath that she realized what she’d said.
Baran was trying to remember if anyone had ever said the words to him before. He finally decided they hadn’t, which might explain why such a simple sentence held such dizzying power for him now.
As a child, he’d been raised in the Warrior’s Creche by paid caretakers who stayed only a few years before leaving. They had too many children to oversee to get emotionally involved with any of them. His relationships with the other cadets had been no warmer; the Creche was an environment where competition was as ruthlessly encouraged as discipline and achievement. Open affection was nowhere in the curriculum.
Baran’s emotional horizons had expanded when he’d joined the team. With only five members, his unit had bonded with the kind of desperate intensity combat can foster. Then he and Liisa had become sex partners, and he’d fallen for her as only a sixteen-year-old can. Yet he’d never told her he loved her. Somehow it wasn’t the kind of thing one warrior told another.
The closest he’d been able to come to admitting his feelings was giving her the necklace. In turn, Liisa had presented him with a locket embedded with her trid, then added one of him to her own. For both of them, it had been a silent declaration of love. It was the best they could manage.
After she’d died—after they’d all died—Baran had been left feeling that a hole had been scooped out of his chest. He had sex with women when his Warlord body demanded it, but he never slept with the same woman twice. In the end, he’d become a skilled fucker, but he was coming to realize he’d never been a lover.
