“Mmm.” Unquestioning, she opened wider, slid her tongue over his finger, tasting him, running her soft flesh over the bumps of his calluses. The pain at her nipple throbbed and awakened her lower down. His forcefulness spun her into sheer want, and a molten tide spread.
“Good. Keep licking while I talk, or I’ll put my fingers somewhere else, up inside you.”
He wouldn’t dare, would he? Emily would see.
Her pussy clenched, and moisture gathered. She sucked at him. A little groan teased out of her.
“You like that idea?” He chuckled. “I should’ve known.” He settled her body against him more comfortably but kept playing with her breasts and nipples and teasing her ear with his tongue. “To answer your question, I don’t think it ever was just fucking. When I first saw you commanding your airship, I dreamed of holding you.”
Eyes half closed from the pleasure, she let out a tiny sound of agreement past his hand. She loved his fingers in her mouth.
“I dreamed of having you up against me, with my arm beneath these.” He caressed the underside of her breasts, then fondled them some more, following all her heavy curves until she squirmed, then heaved in a slow, long breath.
“And I dreamed of whispering in your ear like I do now.”
She shuddered, half-convinced she too could remember this.
“And I dreamed that you shivered and I heard a sound.” He slipped his hand down over her mound, then through the leaves of her skirt to brush past her clit and onto the lips of her soaking wet pussy.
Oh. Too much. She moaned breathily and pushed herself up into his hand.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Like that. And so I knew that though you swore you hated frankenstructs, I’d aroused you. You were scared, yet I turned you on.” He pulled his fingers from her mouth and from below.
Then he tilted her head back with his hand cupping her chin. He growled. “I like it when you’re like this, butterfly. With your eyes all lost and big.”
She looked at him a while until she thought of the right words. She did feel lost, even if it was a nice sort of lost. There would be wrinkles on her forehead, she knew, right then, because recalling what he’d said was difficult to do. At last she summoned her reply.
“If you get to call me butterfly, can I call you something with four letters?”
He laughed, grinned widely. “No.” Then he bent down and kissed her softly. “That would be bad. You don’t want to know what I do with bad women.”
No? With his hard lips being so soft on hers, so gentle, maybe she did want to know. Her body hummed, ready to explode at the first brush of his hand in the right place. But just when she wanted him to touch her anywhere, he didn’t. She tried to grind her pelvis at his hand, and he moved it away. Tried to pull his mouth down on hers to crush her lips, and he caught her hand and stopped her.
After that soft kiss, he just moved away and watched her with those searing yet compassionate eyes. Arms around her yet stilled.
“I guess now might be a good time to say this.” For once Sten sounded uncertain. “I’ve never been a romantic type, not sure you are either, but I can see I need to say stuff. I want us to be more than just a few days of sex. You’re someone I could stand having around to talk to and…hell, not sure that came out right.” He trailed his finger along her lower lip, then frowned. “I know you find it hard to see past what I am and your military career notions, but I want you to try.”
Wow. How to answer? The very idea of romance made her ill. Flowers and love letters, ugh. But the way he held her, the slightly silly look on his face, and the thought that he wanted her to be with him, it did something odd to her insides.
A whole school of happy fish arrived in her stomach and did somersaults. But then she thought again and…a future together? How? It made her want to squirm. As if she were pinned under a big boulder and couldn’t move.
“That’s um…” She frowned, peeked at him. “I’m lost, Sten. I don’t know what to say.”
Yet something inside her pined for exactly what he proposed. Just plain being with him. Mouth scoured by the kissing, skin stinging, she looked at him and couldn’t do it. Couldn’t find it in her to offer herself up.
Besides, I’d lose myself in his world. He’s too much. I wouldn’t be me anymore. I’d be his. And I’m not his.
But strangely, it hurt so much not to be.
“I understand. Just think about it. Can you do that?”
Even saying yes to this was acceding something. Like the first step on a journey.
She fidgeted, dug a fingernail into her palm. “Sure. So long as you don't start writing me love letters.”
He grinned. “I can't write. Though I guess I could draw some hearts with arrows in them, or swords?”
“Ugh.” She screwed up her nose. “No, thank you.”
Nearly simultaneously, Cadrach burst into a growl that swelled into a roar, and Emily yelled. “Hey, you two! Company!”
By the time she scrambled apart from Sten and stood, Emily was confronting a zombie from on one knee beside where the gear was piled. She swung up the shotgun and zeroed it in on the thing’s head. Cadrach had another creature down on its back and writhing while he ripped at its throat.
The shotgun blast tore off the first one’s head and sent pieces scattering into the whirled-apart foliage of some shrubs. In two strides, Emily reached the other zombie and shot it at close range. Black blood splattered onto her legs and the wolf’s fur.
The clearing rang with the boom of the shots; then the water noises returned. Nothing else stirred. While Sten scanned one part of the perimeter, Kaysana did the reverse. She’d let her emotions overrule logic, and they’d almost paid for it with their deaths.
“You have one tough little librarian there, Captain. But…where the fuck did they come from?”
She shrugged. “Let’s get going. The world’s waiting.”
“Sure. Sure.” Sten gave her one last appraising stare, then strode toward Emily. “Rinse off, little lady, and Cadrach too. Faster than fast. We’ll watch. Then we leave!”
The little interlude of violence had changed everything. Sten’s proposal dropped away into the place she kept for lost things and silly notions. Zombies were her mission, not love or romance. Yes. Keep the priorities right. Onward—leave the mushy stuff behind.
They drove for six hours with very few stops, slowly winding up into the mountains. Mostly Kaysana slept. A few times, the ripples that signaled the effects of the plague hit them, but nothing unusual happened.
Am I cured, she wondered. The loss of the sexual compulsion that drew her to Sten left her empty.
Sex had always been a negotiated event for her. The right man picked, the right situation, no promises of love afterward. Clean, curt, and organized. With Sten sex was like being in the midst of a tropical storm—out of her control, wet, and damn he made her feel alive.
He winked at her.
Ack. Why did I stare at him?
When Kaysana next awoke, only the merest tinge of arousal reminded her of the bond she shared with Sten.
“There’s been a lot of people through here!” Emily yelled back. The chug of the engine overwhelmed her words. Though they’d taken turns driving, Emily seemed to find it therapeutic to take the wheel and watch the road.
Kaysana perched up and leaned between the seats with a hand on the back of each of them. Through the filthy windshield the dirt road was visible—meandering along a cliff edge that fell away to the right. Abandoned cars, clothing, and other human paraphernalia littered what should have been an isolated mountain.
At high altitude the chill crispness of the air and the bright clarity to colors always made her sink back in awe, no matter how many times she’d landed at such places. The purple of the blossoms in a bank of flowers almost seared her eyes, and the green swathes of grass seemed painted on.
A herd of yaks scattered to the left, climbing the grassed slope. Up ahead a building complex perched at the end o
f the road and the edge of the cliff. Their destination—the secondary base. On the mountain face beyond, a slender waterfall twined and plunged down the rock.
Above a rust-colored wall, the bottom stories of the building were square and painted white with a red-brown stripe running across the window section. Higher up the levels became circular, with timber screens decorating wide terraces. Floating in the winds and anchored to a golden spire on the very highest level was a gold and red airship.
“Barely a tenth the size of the Art of War,” she muttered.
“Looks like a monastery?” Sten scratched his chin.
“Yes. It does.”
At the front gate was a sign.
TRESPASSERS SHOT, FROZEN, AND DISASSEMBLED FOR PARTS.
“Ewww!” Emily braked, and their vehicle shuddered and squeaked to a halt. “Disgusting, but I havta say, we’ve not got more than a half hour of fuel left.”
On their few stops, they’d topped up the coal feeder on the roof from the bunker slung at the back of the half-track. The bunker was empty. Kaysana glanced at the sign again. “Not a monastery then. But this is where my instructions point us. And to get to Perihelion, we’re going to need that airship. We need to talk to whoever’s in there.”
“What’s it say?” Sten murmured.
She told him.
“Ah. Nasty.”
When Sten heaved open the side door and jumped down with the wolf, Kaysana put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Emily blinked, pulled a strand of her blonde hair across her eyes like a miniature veil.
“Good.” She smiled wanly. “Make sure you close the door. We don’t want any zombies hiding inside here.”
Emily shrugged. “Sure. And thanks for asking.”
“Hmm. Just doing my job—taking care of the babies like you has always been my job.” She paused and couldn’t decide what to say next. What she’d said was true, but she’d not always showed it before. Wearing your heart on your sleeve was a big no-no.
She checked the safety on her pistol and holstered it, then hopped down to join Sten and Cadrach.
The rust color of the wall wasn’t just paint—the wall and gate were metal. At the top, four yards up, sharp tines arched out.
“Can’t climb it easily,” Sten remarked. He walked up to the gate and hammered his fist on it. The clangs echoed away into silence; then something hummed and clicked. In the middle of the gate, a split appeared. Slowly it opened. Fine flakes of rust spun away in the wind.
“Looks like we’re invited in.” Emily swaggered up with a four-foot-long rifle in the crook of her arm. The sheen of oil on the blue steel barrel and the brass scope nestled on the top with innumerable little dials and knobs screamed either hunting or sniper rifle.
“Hey, ladies, it is open.” Sten looked Emily and the rifle up and down. “Nice. Where’d you get that?”
“Compartment above the windshield.” She grinned. “A beauty, isn’t it?”
“Mmm. For sure. I’ll go first. Wait here.”
Wait here? Kaysana pursed her lips. “With that sign there? Shot, frozen, and dismembered for parts? Not happening, sir.”
“No?” He studied her, then smiled. “I like the ‘sir.’ Not sure about you coming with me, though.”
His eyes met hers, and for the first time ever, she truly weighed him up and it seemed to her, he did the same. A little frisson ran through her. This man does mean something to me. I don’t want him hurt, and I think…I’m sure he thinks the same of me. Oh hell, am I in trouble. She drew in a deep breath. “Well, we are. We’ll all go in together.”
He nodded slightly. “Okay. Agreed, then.”
“Uh. Good.” Torn between the imminent danger and wondering whether to confiscate Emily’s newfound firearm, Kaysana swept her hand over the top of her hair, rearranging her ponytail. Cadrach padded in by Emily’s side with the canary perched on his head. “Emily. How long have you known the weapon was in there?”
“All day. Why?”
“So while we were looking for more weapons… Never mind. That box of napalm ammo Sten found may fit your rifle.”
After traversing a tiled courtyard, they walked up a flight of steps and into a two-story-high foyer. A hare hopped between pots of carmine flowers, then froze to watch them go past. A sweet scent meandered in the air. The three of them stopped midway and looked about. The hallway ahead led through open double doors into a large chamber. At the far end was a chair.
Empty. Quiet. Yet Kaysana inched her hand onto the butt of the pistol.
“Come closer.” A man’s amplified voice boomed through the dwelling. “Just make sure your dog does not eat my hare, or Clavis. I like my pets.” A gleaming python, as fat as a fire hose, made its way toward them through the doorway. The snake scrunched up the green carpet under its belly. “That is Clavis.”
Hissing and clicking, the snake undulated nearer. Kaysana stared. The skin shone like polished chain mail, and suddenly she understood why. Clavis was no flesh-and-blood snake. The skin was silver and black metal. The eyes were red as the finest rubies.
“We have no dog,” Sten called back. “He is a wolf, the biggest one you’ve yet seen. Tell that damn snake to back off.” He added in a low mutter, “Hate snakes.”
“Clavis will not bother you. Please, enter.”
With the clockwork snake circling around behind them, they walked along the carpet and entered a room where a double row of square columns supported the ceiling. Like many Tibetan buildings, the walls and columns were painted with an eye-scalding palette—blues, greens, oranges, and a spattering of red. A man stood beside a pile of traveling trunks and suitcases. A decorated rifle hung from his fingers.
“Welcome. I spotted you through my periscope.”
Midforties, thought Kaysana—silver-gray cropped hair and goatee, and fine wrinkling about the face. Distinctive blue eyes… She scanned the rest of him—the white cravat was in disarray, the shirt was untucked, and the dove gray frock coat was terribly creased.
“I saw you.” He rubbed absentmindedly at his lip. “One animal, two women, and this man who is more than he seems.” At that he whipped up the rifle and pointed it at Sten. The snick of the first stage of the trigger being depressed was loud.
By then Kaysana had her pistol trained on the man. The snake hissed and twined about Sten’s feet.
Sten froze in the midst of reaching up for his shotgun, his broad shoulders bunching.
Instinctively Kaysana sidestepped to stand in front of Sten, shielding him. Shock hit as she saw the stranger’s mouth gape and the small shift of his finger… He was about to fire, but she only set her feet firmly on the floor.
“Move, Kaysana.” Sten’s hands fastened at her waist, and he lifted her, swung around until he’d turned full circle and put himself between her and the stranger.
His back’s to the gun. She’d made it worse, and she cringed inside, waiting for the terrible sound of the gun firing.
“No! He won’t shoot me!” She squirmed about in Sten’s hands, went on tiptoes, and peered over his shoulder.
“Get your damn head down!” He crushed her to him, smothering her face into his shoulder.
“Mmm!” She wriggled, pushing at him with her hand—keeping the pistol pointed at the ceiling. She couldn’t budge him. The man’s a stone wall.
“Do you know what he is?” the stranger asked. “He’s a variant of the frankenstruct. Double muscled, strong, prone to uncontrollable rage. He’s a killer. I should shoot him.”
“No!”
“If you shoot now, you might get someone else.” Sten’s voice rumbled in his chest, right next to her ear. “Let me get clear of everyone. Please.”
Oh God. The thought of a bullet thumping into Sten while he held her, of feeling him jump, of his life draining away. Not again, not another person I—
“Decent of you,” the stranger said, sounding puzzled.
She wouldn’t let him die. “No! How can yo
u condemn him? I know him. I trust him.” She looked up into Sten’s eyes. “I do.”
“Well, and I guess you’ll have to shoot me too.” From the sound of it, Emily had moved between the man and Sten.
Thank you, Sten mouthed to Kaysana. Then he leaned down and, despite the threat behind him, kissed her slowly.
When he pulled away, she jerked up on tiptoes to check, then slumped back down and whispered, “He’s stopped aiming at us.”
He searched her face. “Good. Why’d you do that? Step in front.”
“I’m not sure.” She shot him a withering look. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
That drew a chuckle from him.
“Here.” Emily nudged Kaysana’s elbow. “When you two lovebirds are done, he’s stopped aiming that fancy gun at you and’s got something to say.”
“I do indeed.”
This time Kaysana faced him with Sten’s arm about her midriff. Emotions played havoc with her insides. “Who are you?”
“Me? You may call me Dr. F. I might ask the same question of you.” He sat on the pile of suitcases, letting his rifle rest on his thighs. Something whirred when he bent at the hip.
The weapon clattered against something as if Dr. F.’s grip was shaky. “You’ve convinced me about him.” He pointed at Sten. “He’s shown none of the telltale signs of aggression. How have you achieved this?”
“Whoever he is”—she gazed up at Sten—“he’s his own man, not some creation of mine. How do you know so much about frankenstructs? How do you know what signs there might be? I thought you were the last of your line, Sten?”
“I am. How do you know, Dr. F.?”
“I helped create you.”
At her waist, Sten’s fingers dug in. The man smiled.
“Perhaps you can help me load all of this”—he indicated the suitcases—“into my airship. Later I’ll dig out my old notes on frankenstructs.”
The snake, Clavis, traveled over to the pile, then wormed up to the top suitcase to lie quietly clicking, its ruby eyes vigilant.
Lust Plague (Steamwork Chronicles) Page 12
