A heartbeat passed, two. His gaze never faltered. “What's wrong with you, Elyse?"
The change of subject caught her by surprise, something that rarely happened, but she recovered fast. Sipping the una, she looked at him consideringly. How much do I tell you, Shaque?
Again, it was as if he read her mind. His eyes narrowed.
Elyse shrugged. What the hell did it matter really? He wouldn't tell anyone. That much she knew about Shaque. He'd tell not one living soul if she asked him not to.
Placing the mug of una down on the table with a decisive click, she looked directly at him. “Your word you'll tell no one. Not Donika, not Brina, not Sonja. No one."
"My word,” he replied.
"I'm dying."
The word seemed to sit in the very air between them. Seconds ticked past. The music played softly. Shaque's eyes flickered.
Elyse waited.
"You're what?” he finally asked.
"I'm dying.” She shrugged. “It's really quite simple. The mutant gene in me was never destroyed as it was in Sonja. The mutant gene was able to hide, disappear, whatever, long enough to convince the scientists that I was normal again. Surprise.” She raised one brow mockingly. “It didn't."
No expression crossed Shaque's face. “How long before you found out?"
"Not long after we were released from prison. The red in the eyes came and went. I could feel the slight change inside me, the missing piece that seemed to come back. That little part of me that went into hiding reappearing. Only it was stronger."
"What happened? And why didn't you go to a Daamen medic?"
"The bloody noses. Little things at first. I didn't know who to go to. I didn't want it to be on Daamen, for Sonja would be bound to find out that I was seeing medics there. Someone would have spotted me entering the medic centre. I certainly wasn't going to trust just anyone.” She paused. “And when I suspected what was happening, I wanted to be near people who were strong enough to handle me if I turned mutant."
"The Saalms are big men."
"Like the Daamens.” Elyse nodded, took a thoughtful sip of the una. “Byron ran some tests and it confirmed the missing gene was reappearing. It had never left, but somehow attached to a normal gene and avoided detection. But now it's working on its own."
"He never told the authorities."
"I had been judged and served my time. I'd been cleared of being a mutant. Legally, there was no need to inform the authorities. I wasn't a danger. More a danger of dying than anything else. I was up in space when the first big attack hit me, but I was able to send a transmission to Saalm, and the medic ship came out. They were able to subdue the mutant gene and get me back on my feet."
"You were a danger to others.” Shaque watched her unblinkingly.
"No. I was a danger to myself. I burned up, chilled down, never quite reaching the point of death, but close. Very close several times. Byron was able to develop medication that kept my body temperature under control, and a blood tranquilizer that helped to subdue the mutant gene enough to enable me to live a relatively normal life.” Elyse shrugged. “But the gene is getting stronger; my organs seem to be changing. I need stronger medication."
"You're turning mutant without trying to."
"That's about it.” She folded her arms on the table. “But my body isn't coping with it. My body can't cope with it. As the mutant inside me gets stronger, it takes away from my body. The mutant gene and my normal genes aren't surviving side-by-side."
"A battle of genes.” Shaque sat back. “But it's still you."
"Still me,” she agreed. “But it seems my cells, organs, whatever, can't handle the changes. The growing changes. I'm dying."
Shaque's gaze slid over her face, studying her. There was nothing to indicate his thoughts.
Getting up, Elyse refilled the mug with fresh una and resumed her seat.
"Why did you need to find Nerissa?” Shaque asked.
"She might have heard something, anything, to indicate who the donor of the strange gene is in my body."
"And you think this child we're trying to find might have heard something from Nerissa?"
"One never knows, though it's a long shot in the dark."
"You have the genes from your parents and a mutant.” He nodded. “And a third gene from a mysterious donor. You think this third gene might save you?"
"There's always the hope that if I find who the third donor was, there might be something that can be done.” Elyse added quietly, “I don't want to die. Not like this."
She hadn't meant to say it, but somehow, sitting here with Shaque, it slipped past her lips unbidden. And she wasn't embarrassed.
He looked at her with understanding.
"So now you know."
"Now I know,” he echoed.
"Kind of takes the thrill from the hunt, don't you think?"
His smile was cold. “No. You're still alive, you're strong. We still have unfinished business. That doesn't change."
She relaxed, relief filling her. It surprised her to realize that she had been worried that he'd suddenly change, think differently. Be softer, somehow. But he hadn't changed his thinking or attitude.
"No.” Again he knew what she was thinking. “It changes nothing, Elyse. You are ex-pirate, part mutant, and we have unfinished business. And we have work to do.” Standing up, he strode to the door, only to stop and cast one burning look at her. “And your danger draws me like a moth to a flame. But be aware, Elyse, unlike a moth, I won't burn in your flame."
"Being nice to the dying girl?” She taunted, tweaking the danger inside him.
"You know there's nothing nice about me, Elyse.” He left the cabin.
Leaning back in the chair Elyse smiled slightly. No, there was nothing nice about Shaque. Not in the way most people thought.
* * * *
Sitting in the control cabin, Shaque stared unseeingly out of the space shield. Elyse was dying. Just the thought made him feel ... he didn't know what, but it wasn't a good feeling.
She wasn't supposed to die unless it was by his hand. Or he by her hand. That was the unspoken deal of the universe. That was their fate, their destiny.
She wasn't supposed to die through past mistakes, through the sins of others. A product of an experiment, a creation that should never have been, yet she lived. And was dying.
Turning on the viscomm, he brought up the files supplied by Atyon and scanned through them. The photo image of Elyse, naked and floating in the tank of green liquid back on that fateful night on Inka, came up. He looked at her, the wild redness of her eyes, the snarl on her lips. So beautiful and dangerous.
An abomination. He remembered that word being whispered, and it had never worried him, but now it made his fists clench, his knuckles whiten.
Elyse was no abomination.
Elyse was ... Elyse.
Taking a deep breath, he checked the coordinates. They were closing in on the slave ship. Another day, maybe two, and they'd be boarding it. The child would be there. She might be his niece, and she might have answers.
She might have answers to save Elyse.
It struck him as ironic that Elyse might be saved so that he could face her in a fight. But then again, it was unfinished business, and business was never meant to be unfinished.
* * * *
The slave ship drifted through space. Smoke curled from the ruins. The space door in the cargo hold was gone. The bodies of the slavers lay slaughtered on the floor. The cells were empty.
Fredrico checked the status systems in the control cabin. The viscomm was destroyed, the radar smashed beyond repair.
He met his men in the main corridor. They shook their heads. Not a living soul was onboard the slave ship. Whoever had raided it, most probably space pirates, were long gone with their living prizes.
Striding through the tunnel connected to the emergency escape, he led them back into his spaceship. Going to the control cabin, he sat in one of the four chairs and looked at the slav
e ship.
Vaguely he made out the shadow that partially blurred the stars behind the slave ship. The outline of a horned head, the muzzle of a bull, the gleaming of demonic eyes. A monstrous shadow that waited.
Leaning back in the chair, he rubbed one finger against his chin.
"Your orders, Captain?” Cato looked at him.
"We wait.” Resting one elbow on the armrest, he propped his chin on his fist. “Off radar, blockers in full use."
"They could still see us,” Cato warned.
The monstrous shadow outside moved, came closer. The chill went through Fredrico, the darkness flitting through the cabin. Every man there watched bleakly as the shadow moved over the ship.
"No,” Fredrico said quietly. “They won't see us."
The spaceship vanished from sight.
* * * *
Restless, Elyse paced around the cargo hold. The mutant inside her had never made her restless as it had Sonja. Sonja had become dangerous, uncontrollable, if she didn't have release in the form of a fight, destroying things, using her energy.
Elyse had never had that problem. Controlled at all times, cool and calm, she'd watched out for Sonja, been her buffer between Sonja and the crew if things got too dangerous. But Sonja was free of that now. There were no more uncontrollable rages.
It seemed that whatever had affected Sonja was starting to repeat itself in Elyse, but her friend had never mentioned that it felt like something touching her mind, a cold prickling of icy fingers probing deeper, pulling at her.
Pulling at the mutant inside her. Drawing it, calling it forth.
Moodily she contemplated the cases of weapons on the wall of the cargo hold. Energy thrummed through her, her pulses beat hard and fast, adrenalin coursed through her body.
She felt energized, alive, a bounce in her step. But the heaviness of savagery was also in her. She could feel it simmering beneath the surface.
In one vicious move, she spun around, shooting her leg out straight, her booted foot smashing into a crate. The wood gave and she yanked her foot back from the broken hole.
Taking a deep breath, she moved slowly, circling, looking around. She needed something, anything, to vent her growing rage on. To work out the balls of fury that threatened to uncurl inside her.
Glancing up at the roof, she wondered where Shaque was, hoping he'd stay away. She could feel the unpredictability coursing through her, and she wanted him away until she'd regained control.
Control.
In a fast, hard move, she slammed her fist into the barrel in the corner, whipping her hand back to watch the glints of silver powder pour through the hole.
Now she ached to hit, lash out, use her energy on something. Anything. Her breath came faster, the mutant inside her struggling to break free to the surface. She fought it down, pushing mentally, clenching her teeth at the effort.
"Well, well,” Shaque drawled from the stairwell. “And what do we have going on here?"
"Get out.” Standing rigidly, she scowled over her shoulder. “Now!"
"Going mutant, Elyse?” He started down the stairs, each metal step ringing under his boots.
"You don't want to be here.” Hearing the deepening of her voice, she took a deep breath. “Go."
His winter gaze swept over her face, one brow arched mockingly. Continuing to come down the stairwell, every step sure, he exuded confidence. His cold calmness was like an invisible cloak enfolding him. Coiled up in one hand was his bullwhip.
Anger bubbled to the surface, and she snarled, turning to face him. “I said to bloody go away!"
"You're looking edgy there, Elyse.” His boots hit the floor of the cargo hold and without pausing he strode across the cargo hold towards her. Shaking the bullwhip out to the side, he cracked the lash with a loud popping sound against the floor. “Real edgy."
Anticipation surged through her, causing the mutant to strain a little closer to the surface. “It's your turn not to push me, hunter.” Even as she spoke, she picked up the long staff resting against the wall in its holder.
"And when did you ever take notice of that?” The lash cracked again. Shaking it out, Shaque circled her slowly, his gaze never leaving hers.
The staff whirled around her fingers in practiced loops.
Circling each other, their gazes assessing, they waited their chance.
Both acted together.
The lash of the whip snaked out towards her, and she ducked, rolling forward towards him.
His feet moved fast, dexterity in every step as he shifted back, cracking the bullwhip as he did so.
The lash flicked past her shoulder, slicing through the material but not marring the skin. Moving just as fast, she grabbed the end of the bullwhip, throwing herself forward to wrap the lash around her hand.
Shaque's eyes gleamed in satisfaction and he pulled.
Elyse shifted, knowing instinctively that he planned the move, wanted her close for some reason. Quickly she let the lash go, twisting her hand to release it.
The bullwhip snapped back as he flicked the lash over his shoulder, then out to the side, shaking it loose once more.
Using the staff as a shield, she moved it in fast whirls in front of her, the figure of eight pattern a blur of movement that whirred in the still air of the cargo hold.
The lash snapped forward and actually pinged off the fast moving staff.
The mutant inside her gave a roar of triumph, and savage recklessness surged through her. Throwing the staff aside, she lunged forward. A red haze covered her vision, her attention focused only on the man and the weapon.
He was no fool. Springing back, he worked the whip. The lash snapped around her wrists, by some miracle not breaking the flesh, and he sprang past her, coming behind her, the movements jerking her wrists up and over her head, forcing her to stumble backwards as he pulled on the whip.
The move was so practiced, so precise, that she knew he'd done the same manoeuvre before. Trying to regain control of her feet, she knew it was too late when she felt the backs of her thighs smack against the bench behind her. Glancing up, she saw Shaque loop the bullwhip around the rail that hung from the ceiling overhead.
She was caught, trapped. Wrists lashed with the bullwhip, arms stretched upwards, hands pulled up above her head.
Rage slid through her, and she twisted, trying to jerk her hands free. The lash bit deeper.
"I wouldn't advise it,” Shaque said quietly. “You'll only hurt yourself."
She glared at him, her breasts heaving with each angry breath she drew and released.
Lounging back against the crate, Shaque glanced briefly at the holes left by her foot, and then looked back at her again. Gaze sweeping leisurely over her, a faint, cold smile flickered across his lips.
The only sound in the cargo hold was the quiet growls that slipped past her lips. They watched each other, her furiously, he assessingly.
"Well,” he finally drawled. “Seems the mutant in you is more aggressive than smart, Elyse."
Lifting her lip, she snarled.
"Normally you would never have fallen for that little trick. Nor would you have thrown your weapon away and come at me with your bare hands. Very reckless of your mutant side, Elyse.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “However, seeing you at the mercy of me and my bullwhip, well now, that does provide some interesting ideas.” Pushing away from the crate, he moved to stand directly in front of her.
She recognized the cold fire in his eyes. It brought an answering surge of heat between her legs, making her angrier.
Reaching out, Shaque lightly ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “I'd never whip you, Elyse. I don't believe in beating women and children or old folk. Only outlaws and pirates and other scum. But seeing you here, tied with my bullwhip, knowing it was me who captured you, well now, that turns me on, sick bastard that I am.” Leaning forward a little, he ran his thumb across her cheek and down her throat, resting it on the pulse that throbbed in the side of her neck. “Having you at
my mercy was a dream, Elyse. But this ... this is fantasy, and I never thought having you at my mercy like this would ever come true."
"You speak in riddles.” The words rumbled out from deep inside her.
"A dream to capture you.” His hand slid around to cup her nape. “But a fantasy to have you at my mercy for this."
He moved in fast, pressing against her, his lips meeting hers, crushing them in an intoxicating kiss that seared through her like lightning.
Hunger rose, thick and full, and she arched into him.
One of his hands tangled in her hair, holding her still for his devouring mouth. He took without mercy, licking in a hot sweep, taking her essence. His flavour burst through her, clean and masculine and dominant, and the mutant in her roared, the female in her responded, and the predator in her rose to the challenge.
She kissed him back hard, seeking to take what he had, wanting it all. She tugged at the bindings on her wrists, cursing the confinement through a hot haze.
Shaque laughed softly, an edge of danger to his husky tone. His hands flicked the buttons of her shirt open even as he continued to ravage her mouth. The support garment unsnapped and he pushed it aside, freeing her breasts to tumble into his calloused palms.
Things were happening in a haze of furious passion, savage heat, and dangerous anticipation. Desire mixed with rage, the concupiscence of the moment licked with the flames of menace. The precarious balance of mutant and woman threatened to tip off the razor edge at any second, but it didn't make Shaque more cautious. Instead, he thrived on it. Demanded it. Took control, leaving her at his mercy physically.
His mouth ate at her hungrily, his hands firm, touching, caressing, making her nipples harden, her loins clench. She was hot, wet, and she strained at the lash binding her wrists. The position he'd put her in left her vulnerable to his desire.
And God help her, the knowledge that she was at his mercy, that she could try to fight but not win this round, sent sparks of lust skittering under her skin.
Shaque was a predator, he was dominant, and he'd take her this way because he'd won the fight. He'd take her because her carnal desire matched his, their voracious appetite craving each other, and the perilousness of their situation only fanned the lust hotter and higher until it burned like a furnace between them.
Soul of a Predator Page 26
