“You have a beautiful home, Dr. Winters. Thank you for choosing me to share it,” Peyton said politely. He continued his study of the nearly silent female as they walked through her hallway.
Kyra nodded as she soundlessly crossed the terra-cotta tiled floor in her black non-conducting microfiber sandals. She listened to her new cyborg’s footfalls as he followed close behind. “You’re welcome, Peyton 313. I’m glad you’re here. Let me show you to your quarters.”
“Quarters?” Being away from her would not suit his plans. Peyton lowered his voice to the bedroom huskiness he knew made most women instantly wet with need. “A Cyber Husband resides in his wife’s quarters, Dr. Winters. I am programmed to meet your every need. May I call you Kyra now?” It was all he could do to hide his surprised reaction to her loud, disbelieving laughter.
“Wow. That’s a very charming bedside manner you have developed there, Peyton 313. Sorry to have to decline, but I do not require your services in bed tonight.”
Since her back was still turned to her new cyborg, Kyra rolled her eyes at their idiotic conversation. At six feet four inches, her new Cyber Husband was handsome and well-built enough to tempt any woman. So sure, her mind briefly fantasized about taking him up on his offer—just once maybe—even though she couldn’t ethically do that given her other plans for him. A decorated Marine hero like Captain Peyton Elliott deserved a hell of lot more than to live his life as a multimillion dollar gigolo—no matter how nice his shoulders were or how many muscles he sported. Or how sexy his voice was when he was trying to talk her into bed.
She stopped in front of her lab door and cleared her throat before speaking. “Voice authorization: Mankind Redefined Code X Delta 13 Omega Definition.”
After the door slid open, she pressed a button on the access panel forcing it to go into manual initialization.
“After entry of Dr. Kyra Winters, and cybernetic unit Peyton 313, delete all recent access authorizations and commence random cycling of entry codes. Offer prompts for new codes only on the following panel authorization—Third Time Is Charmed—with password phrase—Jackson Is A Cyber Dickwad.”
A series of lights flashed in multiple sequences. When the initialization for her orders had been completed, she stepped across the threshold and motioned her cyborg companion to follow.
Going to stand at the specially designed operating chair, she paused and looked back to see Peyton 313 hovering in the doorway. His human sense of danger was apparently still active.
Kyra allowed herself a moment of genuine happiness that all the rumors about the man’s cybernetic rebellions were true.
Maybe the human part of Peyton Elliott really was still alive inside the cybernetic machine he mostly was at the moment. She certainly hoped so. She couldn’t afford to buy another Cyber Husband, especially not a pricey one like Peyton. Buying the infamous Marine Captain had wiped out the last of her ill-gotten inheritance from Jackson. She needed her work retirement money to fund other things.
“Come in and sit in the chair,” Kyra ordered, pushing away her distaste for deceiving him. “I’m your wife, Peyton 313. I paid for you and you have to do what I ask. Check your programming.”
“I am not programmed for sadistic or masochistic games. I do not require aides to give you an orgasm, Dr. Winters. My sexual training is sufficient to meet all your pleasure needs,” Peyton declared.
Kyra barely repressed her elation at having her theory proved so quickly. Peyton’s hesitation obviously annoyed him on some yet inaccessible level. The glare he sent her way told her volumes about his emotional state over what she was asking. Kyra knew that on some level he also had to be feeling some genuine fear. His tone of voice had carried concern as he had offered logical reasons why he needed to disobey her request.
Kyra studied him closer, fascinated by the Marine captain’s struggle against his urge to protest more. Yet she could also see the torment chip beginning its work. In the end, Peyton wouldn’t be able to do anything other than what she asked him to do without suffering a fires-of-hell kind of pain torturing his body. The torment chip took it cues from the syntactical interpretation of her orders to him. The very act of hearing his assigned program wife speak forced him to obey the woman’s every command. As much as she regretted being the woman who caused his suffering today, it was an edge she would use until she had Peyton 313 in her operating chair.
Guessing the rebellious cyborg would continue tolerate the pain until he felt safer, Kyra walked back to the doorway and held out her hand, hoping to establish some form of a trust bond. It wasn’t like she could reveal what she planned to do to him, but she did have the best of intentions. She was pleased when Peyton 313 immediately responded to the gesture. His hand gripping hers was gentle and warm, even though he had the capacity to easily crush her fingers. Fortunately, Kyra knew that using too much force with her was something his current programming would never allow.
“Come with me, Peyton 313. I’m not going to take sexual advantage of you—not tonight and not ever. I did not purchase you for that reason. I just want to study you and learn as much as I can. At least come inside the lab. I can’t speak freely while the door is open.”
Kyra winced as Peyton studied her, no doubt registering the mild sheen of perspiration her pores exuded in her nervousness. She tried to control her reaction to his presence, but the man was so attractive that he would have made her nervous if he’d not been a cyborg. When he finally stepped across the lab’s threshold, the door slid quietly closed behind him.
Kyra sighed in relief and squeezed his fingers tightly before letting go. She could feel Peyton’s gaze on the back of her as she walked to stand beside the chair again.
“Forgive me, Captain Elliot, for taking these measures. If I am successful, this is the last time you will ever have to do what I, or any other human, orders you to do.”
Facing the inevitable, Kyra swallowed hard and cleared her throat as danger signals suddenly sent adrenaline to every cell in Peyton’s body. Some invisible command must activated inside him prompting him to take whatever measures were necessary to halt her speech. His intense gaze meeting hers with a fixed purpose had her fighting not to call out in alarm. Peyton started across the floor at a rapid clip toward her, but in the three seconds it took to reach her side, it was already too late.
“Activate program Mankind Redefined on Creator 2 of 2 Authorization Code 002970463. Machine ID is 98765320A7. Subject is a Cyber Soldier. Rank is Captain Marine—Name is Peyton Elliott—cybernetically redefined as Peyton 313. Commence Maximum Reboot. Transfer full control of all controller files to Dr. Kyra Winters. Delete all previous authorizations. Destroy primary processor and both Level 1 torment chips. Leave life support running at full and all secondary chips unharmed. New processor will be installed upon unit shutdown.”
Kyra watched current fly through Peyton’s chest and head as his cybernetic eyes flared with the processor’s death. His upper body bent forward from the pain. The man groaned, but didn’t call out. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat as he struggled against what was happening. Peyton Elliot’s current agony was wrong on so many levels that she almost couldn’t handle acknowledging her part in creating it. She immediately shut down her emotional reaction and did so with an efficiency not even the constant code programming could imitate. Her motivation was great and it wouldn’t help either of them if she ended up a weeping mess at his feet.
“Please get into the chair, Captain Elliot. Do it now before you pass out. My purpose for doing this is to help give you back your life—your real life. I swear you can trust me not to hurt you any more than is necessary.”
Unable to fight the excruciating torture of the complete reboot she had activated, Peyton automatically obeyed and stumbled to the chair. Kyra put her arms around him trying to help him to sit. She couldn’t prevent a tortured groan escaping her throat or stop her shock when she actually heard it followed by an audible sob. Was she actually on the verge of full out cryi
ng? She hugged the man in her arms hard as she eased him down to sit.
“Captain Elliott, I read your service record over a hundred times while I waited for you to be put back into the bidding system. I know how many people you saved during your military service. All those people in the dessert villages. . .and the children. . .you saved so many children. You deserve a hell of lot more than to be a fuck toy for the highest bidder. I’m trying to help you escape what they’ve done to you. I swear I really am.”
His gaze seemed barely focused enough to see her, but the cybernetic orbs he’d received in place of his eyes flared in surprise at the tears in hers.
Or maybe that was just his wishful thinking.
The muscles in his chest tensed and another little moan of despair leaked out of her mouth as he fought what was happening to him.
“I’m sorry. So sorry. There’s no other way,” Kyra whispered.
“Who the hell are you?” Peyton demanded, wincing as lightning flashed through his circuitry.
“Just someone who thinks this bullshit has gone on long enough,” Kyra answered, patting his hand. She knew one of his hands was cybernetic, but at the moment she couldn’t recall which one. She could only hope Captain Elliot felt her touch.
“No. . .Who are you really? You activated the creator code,” Peyton stated, his voice breaking through bursts of pain.
Kyra drew in a sharp breath. “Yes. I did activate the creator code, but how do you know about that? The code is buried in a locked file only Jackson or I can access.”
“Been trying. . .for years. . .to free myself,” Peyton admitted, groaning at what was happening in his head.
Kyra nodded and sniffed. “Good for you, Captain Elliott. I hope others are doing the same. Now stop fighting the reboot and shut completely down. It’s less painful if you don’t fight it. I’m going to remove your controller wiring. Please try not to kill me when you wake up.”
“Damn it. . .can’t kill you. . .programmed. . .to be. . .your. . .husband.” Peyton spat the words, letting his anger slip through the searing fire he was enduring. Being pissed was just too hard to block.
Kyra rubbed his arm as she sniffled harder. Even after watching others go through what he was, Peyton Elliot’s suffering was hard for her to witness. But sympathy had no place in what she was planning to do to him.
“Is that actually sarcasm, Captain Elliot? If so, I really like you for it. And thanks for proving the dickwad was wrong. The human brain is superior. I knew it was. . .or at least I’d hoped my suspicions were true.”
“This process. . .always hurts. . .like fucking hell,” Peyton declared.
Kyra used her sleeve to wipe his sweating brow, trying to soothe him. She was so out of practice. The woman that used to know how to give comfort had been gone for many years.
“I know it hurts bad. I’m sorry. It’s going to get much worse before it gets better. Hang in there. I can’t knock you out because I don’t have the equipment. But once the processor is dead, you won’t feel what I’m doing.”
“Will I. . .remember you. . .or anything?” Peyton asked.
Kyra bit her lip at the question. Guilt consumed her because she didn’t have a answer for him.
Then Peyton 313 groaned loudly as his upgrades sizzled and popped inside his head. His neural attachments were probably freaking out at the separation from the organic paths he had painstakingly created. Kyra winced because she was having to destroy them along with the cybernetic links, but hopefully they would build back quickly. . .and better without any blocks.
Kyra was immensely relieved when the power dimmed further in his cybernetic eyes. Unconsciousness had finally descended and rescued them both from the unnatural torture she had inflicted.
**Available now at your favorite ebook retailer.**
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Excerpt from READY TO WERE
SHIFT HAPPENS Series, Book 1
by
Robyn Peterman
Copyright 2014 by Robyn Peterman
Reprinted here with the author’s permission.
Book Description
I never planned on going back to Hung Island, Georgia. Ever.
I was a top notch Were agent for the secret paranormal Council and happily living in Chicago where I had everything I needed – a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and Dwayne – my gay, Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the reason I’d left and I’d rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank.
Hank the Tank Wilson was the six foot three, obnoxious, egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life, Werewolf who cheated on me and broke my heart. At the time, I did what any rational woman would do. I left in the middle of the night with a suitcase, big plans and enough money for a one-way bus ticket to freedom. I vowed to never return.
But here I am, trying to wrap my head around what has happened to some missing Weres without wrapping my body around Hank. I hope I don’t have to eat my words and my paw.
Chapter 1
“You’re joking.”
“No, actually I’m not,” my boss said and slapped the folder into my hands. “You leave tomorrow morning and I don’t want to see your hairy ass till this is solved.”
I looked wildly around her office for something to lob at her head. It occurred to me that might not be the best of ideas, but desperate times led to stupid measures. She could not do this to me. I’d worked too hard and I wasn’t going back. Ever.
“First of all, my ass is not hairy except on a full moon and you’re smoking crack if you think I’m going back to Georgia.”
Angela crossed her arms over her ample chest and narrowed her eyes at me. “Am I your boss?” she asked.
“Is this a trick question?”
She huffed out an exasperated sigh and ran her hands through her spiked ‘do making her look like she’d been electrocuted. “Essie, I am cognizant of how you feel about Hung Island, Georgia, but there’s a disaster of major proportions on the horizon and I have no choice.”
“Where are you sending Clark and Jones?” I demanded.
“New York and Miami.”
“Oh my god,” I shrieked. “Who did I screw over in a former life that those douches get to go to cool cities and I have to go home to an island called Hung?”
“Those douches do have hairy asses and not just on a full moon. You’re the only female agent I have that looks like a model so you’re going to Georgia. Period.”
“Fine. I’ll quit. I’ll open a bakery.”
Angela smiled and an icky feeling skittered down my spine. “Excellent, I’ll let you tell the Council that all the money they invested in your training is going to be flushed down the toilet because you want to bake cookies.”
The Council consisted of supernaturals from all sorts of species. The branch that currently had me by the metaphorical balls was WTF—Werewolf Treaty Federation. They were the worst as far as stringent rules and consequences went. The Vampyres were loosey goosey, the Witches were nuts and the freakin’ Fairies were downright pushovers, but not the Weres. Nope, if you enlisted you were in for life. It had sounded so good when the insanely sexy recruiting officer had come to our local Care For Your Inner Were meeting.
Training with the best of the best. Great salary with benefits. Apartment and company car. But the kicker for me was that it was fifteen hours away from the hell I grew up in. No longer was I Essie from Hung Island, Georgia—and who in their right mind would name an island Hung—I was Agent Essie McGee of the Chicago WTF. The irony of the initials was a source of pain to most Werewolves, but went right over the Council’s heads due to the simple fact that they were older than dirt and oblivious to pop culture.
Yes, I’d been disciplined occasionally for mouthing off to superiors and using the company credit card for shoes, but other than that I was a damn good agent. I'd graduated at the top of my class and was the go-to girl for messy and dangerous assignments that no one in their
right mind would take... I’d singlehandedly brought down three rogue Weres who were selling secrets to the Dragons—another supernatural species. The Dragons shunned the Council, had their own little club and a psychotic desire to rule the world. Several times they’d come close due to the fact that they were loaded and Weres from the New Jersey Pack were easily bribed. Not to mention the fire-breathing thing…
I was an independent woman living in the Windy City. I had a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs and a gay Vampyre best friend named Dwayne. What more did a girl need?
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