by Cynthia Sax
Defying Death
Cynthia Sax
He’ll risk it all for one moment of happiness.
* * *
Cyborgs don’t show emotion. Death learned that lesson early in his long lifespan. To survive, he hides his fierce passions behind a stoic wall. He calls no warrior friend. He never admits to caring for any being.
Even the human female he’s destined to love.
Tifara is Death’s obsession, his sole opportunity for happiness, to express the all-consuming passion burning brightly inside him. He’ll do anything to obtain the curvaceous medic: defy a direct order, abduct Tifara from her battle station, and wage war on his fellow cyborgs.
To earn her love, he’ll have to risk much, much more.
Defying Death
Published by Cynthia Sax at Smashwords
Copyright 2016 Cynthia Sax
Ebook design by Mark's Ebook Formatting
Discover more books by Cynthia Sax at her website
www.CynthiaSax.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First edition: May 2016
For more information contact Cynthia Sax at
www.CynthiaSax.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About The Author
Chapter One
Need twisted Death’s circuits.
He gritted his teeth as he strode along the empty hallways of the freighter. He was a J model cyborg, one of the best of his batch. He could control himself.
Until he reached the ship. Then he’d indulge his desire, his frame-deep yearning for the human female he hadn’t yet met.
Tifara, due to a fluke of genetics, was destined to be his, forever. He would lead his brethren to freedom, fulfilling his duty to his kind, and then he would retrieve her.
She was safe. His female was positioned on a battle station far from any fighting.
The urgency he felt to claim her was illogical.
He’d find release in private. That would relieve the stress on his processors, on his systems, and he’d return to being the cool, collected rational warrior he’d been trained to be.
Death entered the docking bay. There were two small ships in the space. It was almost as devoid of life as the hallways were.
Almost.
Menace leaned against the ship Death wanted to access. The J model casually polished one of his long guns, his movements slow and sure. His coloring resembled Death’s, his eyes and hair brown, his skin tanned, his model number inked on his cheek. They were both dressed in their black body armor, always ready for battle.
Fighting was what they were designed for. It gave them joy. And now they fought for themselves. They’d escaped the cruel control of the Humanoid Alliance. Their freighter was headed toward the cyborg Homeland.
Death didn’t trust that freedom.
“Why aren’t you in the holding chamber with the others?” His voice rang with command. They’d left Earth Minor two planet rotations ago, dropping off some Tau Cetian orphans. Crash, the warrior representing the cyborg council, had called a meeting to discuss the next steps.
Menace straightened. “There’s no need for my attendance. Mayhem is broadcasting the information to me.”
They openly displayed their friendship. Death thought that foolish. The humans could use that to their advantage, damaging one to damage the other.
But he had more urgent issues to consider at the moment, his yearning for his female and his need for release growing. “The third engine isn’t operating optimally. It requires investigation.”
Menace slung his long gun over his right shoulder. “Others are more skilled at engine repair.”
Death looked around them. “Those others aren’t here.”
“I’ll investigate.” The warrior stalked toward the exit.
Death waited until Menace left the docking bay and then hastened up the ship’s ramp. Cyborgs couldn’t lie. The third engine wasn’t operating optimally. It had been damaged during their escape. The repair required parts they didn’t have. Menace would figure that out and soon return.
Death closed the ship’s doors. He had to find release quickly. He stripped off his body armor, baring his body, leaving on his boots.
The vessel belonged to Safyre, Crash’s female. It was cluttered with personal objects, a concept foreign to cyborgs. Cyborgs were given one set of body armor and their weapons. They had no other material possessions.
Only one of Safyre’s material possessions interested Death. A white scarf once belonging to Tifara twined around a column.
He leaned forward, brushing the tip of his nose against the fabric, and inhaled deeply, sucking her scent into his lungs. The desire sweeping through him hardened his cock and threatened to bring him to his knees.
When he had first discovered the scarf, he visited the ship once every five planet rotations. The planet rotations between visits had reduced to four, three, two, until he had needed to imbibe her scent once and then twice a planet rotation. He was addicted to her, to a female he hadn’t yet met. Death gulped the musk-filled air, opening his mouth to take more of Tifara’s aroma into his body.
He’d seen the images Crash’s female had collected, had replayed them in his processors one thousand, two hundred and seventy-one times. His Tifara was lush and round, with big breasts and even wider hips, perfect for a large cyborg such as himself.
Her hair was long and curly and brown with streaks of red in the strands, like lava flowing through rock. Her brown eyes were often soft with emotion, with caring. When he imagined her looking at him that way, his chest heated.
Cyborgs rarely showed emotion. The Humanoid Alliance, their makers, considered it a malfunction. Warriors were decommissioned if they smiled, sliced into pieces while they remained alive.
Death would protect Tifara’s smile. He’d fight, kill to ensure she could always look at him that way.
She’d reward him with her pink lips, her always-laughing mouth.
Frag. He stroked his hard cock, sliding his hands up and down, up and down his shaft, from his hairless base to his tip. She’d be warm and wet and willing, engulfing him in her delectable scent, surrounding him with her softness.
He’d drive into her, seeking the sanctuary of her form, the bonding, the connection only she could give. Death, conscious of his greater strength, of how fragile and breakable his little human was, would be careful with her, giving her all pleasure and no pain. She’d pant, her gorgeous breasts heaving, her pink lips parted.
He’d thrust harder, deeper. The little medic would call his name, her voice breathy wi
th passion. Death rolled his aching balls, his fingers trembling.
Tifara was his weakness. That both frightened and thrilled him. No one could ever know how valuable she was to him.
That was why the scarf remained wrapped around the pillar. The primitive possessive part of Death roared at him to remove the cloth, to hide it from the other males, from his possible rivals, to not allow anyone else to breathe her scent, to think of her with lust, that emotion now flowing through his circuits.
But taking that action would be a declaration of caring. He’d never put his Tifara at risk. She was everything to him; his sole chance at happiness, at having offspring, love.
His visits to the ship were enough. For now. He ran his hands over his shaft, yanking on his skin harder and harder, abusing his form, punishing himself for his need.
A bead of pre-cum formed on his tip. He swept one of his thumbs across it, spreading his essence over his cock. His balls hugged his base, the pressure building, building, building.
Skin smacked against skin, the sound echoing in the small space. He envisioned Tifara writhing beneath him, sweat glistening on her pale skin, her nipples tight. Would they be as pink as her lips? He wanted to lick her, taste the salt of her skin, the sweet femininity of her.
Frag. He grunted, drawn into his fantasy, wanting to make it into reality. How could he wait to breed with her, to claim her? She smelled so good, was so lush, and the thought of the kindness, the caring in her expression when she looked at her friends, how she would soon look at him, stripped his restraint.
Death braced his booted feet apart and worked his cock with more vigor, rocking his hips into his palms, the muscles over his lower abs rippling, his thighs flexed, as hard as his frame. His fit physique shook, the tremors escalating. He fought the battle with himself, delaying coming as long as he could.
But he was weak, so very weak. Her scent was too exquisite, filling his lungs, curling around his soul. He imagined his medic’s capable fingers on his balls, squeezing and—
He roared, his release catching him by surprise, and he pushed forward. Cum arched from his cock, splattered on the tiled floor. He came and came and came, purging all of his need, all of his passion. A puddle of spunk formed before him. The scent of breeding mixed with his female’s fragrance.
When there was nothing left, when he’d given everything he had, he sagged against the wall, his legs trembling, the tension within him temporarily alleviated.
Death swiped a cleaning cloth over his tip, removing the remnants of his pleasure. The fabric sucked up the cum, rearranging the molecules into air. He snapped the cleaning cloth to refresh it, returned it to the horizontal support where he had found it.
The floor was a mess. He placed his palms on a control panel and interfaced with the ship. Small doors opened in the walls. Cleaning bots exited, whirled around him, removing all proof that he’d found release in Safyre’s ship.
Crash would damage any male who left his scent in the human female’s personal space. Or he’d attempt to damage him. Death pressed his lips together. The E model couldn’t best him in a fight.
Death donned his body armor, skimmed his hands over his weapons, ensuring all of his guns remained in their holsters, all of his daggers were in their sheaths. His restraints were missing. He’d used those to repair the seats in the ship, a small payment for his use of the space and a thank you to Crash’s female for, unbeknownst to her, bringing Tifara into his realm of awareness.
Death leaned toward the scarf, took one more deep breath, inhaling Tifara’s scent, and straightened. He was needed in the holding chamber. Crash wouldn’t start the meeting without him.
He moved soundlessly down the ship’s ramp.
His stealth was in vain.
Menace had returned. The warrior stood at the bottom, arms crossed, eyes glimmering with humor. “If I hadn’t heard it, I wouldn’t have believed it. You’re a sick bag of bolts, Death.”
The male knew he’d found release in the ship. Death maintained his grim expression, not allowing any of his embarrassment to show. “You’ll say nothing.”
Menace’s smile faded. “That doesn’t have to be communicated, my friend. If it weren’t for you, I would have died solar cycles ago. You have my full loyalty.”
Death knew that but he took no chances with the safety of his female. No being could know how he felt about her.
“Crash is waiting for you.” The other J Model’s head twitched in the direction of the holding chamber. “I didn’t tell them where you were or what you were doing.”
Death grunted a thank you and moved through the freighter’s docking bay, entered the hallways, accelerating, the space empty. He acted as a conduit between Crash and the J models. They wouldn’t relay information without his presence.
The holding chamber was crowded with J and K model cyborgs. The warriors shifted to the side as he entered, allowing him to take his place at the far wall with Crash and his human female, Safyre. The images of two K model cyborgs Death hadn’t yet met were projected onto a side wall.
What was the cause of your delay? Crash inquired through their transmission lines, excluding his female from the conversation. Did you sense a threat?
The E model’s grip on his lush female was tight. Concern reflected in his flat black eyes.
I sense no threats. Death chose not to answer the first question.
“What the fuck is going on, Crash?” Safyre gazed up at her warrior’s gray face, worry lines etched around her mouth. “And don’t tell me nothing ‘cause I feel the tension in you.” The female had orange hair, the color suiting her volatile temperament.
Death preferred the more subtle streaks of red in Tifara’s long brown tendrils. His fingertips twitched. He wanted to sink his hands into those unruly curls.
Desire rose within him once more.
Crash narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”
Fraggin’ hole. The warrior sensed his arousal.
Death mentally inventoried his weapons, counting the daggers and guns strapped to his body, distracting his human-like brain and his machine-like processors from thoughts of his female.
There’s no threat? Crash asked again.
There’s no threat. Death held his gaze.
The warrior hesitated for a moment and then nodded, his shoulders lowering. “It is nothing, my female.” Crash hugged his Safyre to him.
Death would never put a precious female at risk with such an open display of affection. Touching should be done in the privacy of personal chambers.
“I’m seeing threats where there are none.” Crash kissed her forehead.
Safyre’s eyes softened. “It’s best to be careful.”
Crash nodded. “Let’s relay this information.” He turned toward the crowd, the fingers of his left hand linked with the fingers of his female’s right hand.
Death stood at their side.
Alone.
“We’ve escaped the Humanoid Alliance.” Crash’s voice boomed. “We are now free.”
Warriors cheered. Death remained silent. They’d thought themselves free in the past, only to discover another chain to their creators, entrapping them once more.
“We can find and retrieve our females,” Mayhem yelled.
Another round of cheers swept across the chamber.
Crash exchanged a glance with his female. “Before you retrieve your females, we must voyage to the Homeland, join our brethren there.”
“And leave our females in danger?” another warrior asked.
“Is that what Gap would do?” a newly manufactured cyborg asked.
The warriors shook their heads, murmuring their discontentment.
Gap, a G model cyborg, had ended his existence on Tau Ceti. He had rushed into a tunnel, a place no logical warrior would ever venture, to try to protect his human female and they never exited. The cyborg and his female had been burned alive by the enemy.
Before Gap had died, he’d experienc
ed one perfect moment of happiness with his Nymphia. The female had clung to him, looked at him with softness and love.
Death wouldn’t have hesitated to trade places with Gap. He would have happily sacrificed his lifespan for that one moment.
The other warriors envied the G model also. Many looked at him as a hero.
“Gap returned to the Homeland after escaping the Humanoid Alliance.” Crash’s voice was edged with sadness. The E model had been Gap’s best friend. He had taken the warrior’s death hard.
“If he hadn’t returned to the Homeland, he might have reached his female sooner,” a warrior argued.
“They’d be alive.” Another warrior pointed out.
The males around him nodded.
They weren’t concerned for themselves. Cyborgs were manufactured to fight and eventually to die in battle. They’d long resigned themselves to that fate.
But to leave their females unprotected was unthinkable.
Death’s fingers curled, his fingertips pressing into his palms. His female wasn’t in danger, wasn’t positioned near any fighting.
“Our orders are to return to the Homeland.” Crash’s voice rang with authority.
The warriors fell silent. They’d been trained to obey and all of them were aware that, if it hadn’t been for Crash, they would still be under the control of the Humanoid Alliance. They owed him some loyalty.
“While we voyage to our planet, a planet where all cyborgs are free.” Crash emphasized that word. “My female’s friend, Tifara, must be retrieved. She knows too much about us to remain amongst the humans.”
Death’s circuits buzzed with excitement, with lust, with wanting.
Tifara, his female, was to be retrieved. He wouldn’t have to wait to see her, touch her, breed with her.
“I volunteer for the mission.” He stepped forward, his eagerness concealed under a blank expression.
Seven cyborgs also stepped forward, echoing his words.
Rage roared through Death. She was his. His. The primitive human part of him wanted to lunge toward them, fists swinging, to physically stake his claim, pounding his rivals into the tiled floor, ensuring they never touched his Tifara.
