by Cynthia Sax
What would that tongue feel like on his shaft, on his tip, flicking over his rim, curled around his balls?
He mouthed over her chin, moving downward. She tilted her head back, giving him more access to her body. Death licked over her neck, covering the area savaged by the Palavian. His nanocybotics would reverse any lingering damage the other male had caused and Death liked having his scent on her.
“Don’t do that.” Tifara struggled, her breasts jiggling, his female all curves and passion. “Saliva is full of electrolytes, mucus, glycoproteins, enzymes, secretory IgA, lysozymes.”
“My nanocybotics.” He’d mark her again and again with that unique part of him. Every warrior would know she was his.
She was his female. The nanocybotics wouldn’t fade. They’d replicate, become a part of her, stop her aging process, increasing her natural lifespan to infinity.
Tifara ceased moving. “You’re transferring more nanocybotics to me, which will speed the progression of the virus.” She had a different view of his nanocybotics, seeing them as an enemy to be defeated. “But why are you doing that? You’ve already infected me. Why not move to the next victim?”
“There is no infection.” He told her yet again. “And there is no next victim. You’re the only female for me.”
She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Though being irrational is one of your symptoms.”
She might be right. He might be irrational. His processors didn’t fully function around her.
He turned his female and brushed her hair to the side, exposing skin he hadn’t previously accessed. The Palavian had bruised her. Death, containing his anger, carefully, tenderly licked her bruised nape.
“Stop that.” She bucked against him. “Until we find out what is happening, we shouldn’t exchange fluids.”
“Agreed. Once we determine what is happening, we will exchange fluids.” He already knew what was happening. All he had to do was convince his female he was correct. “We’ll breed.”
“What? No.” She wiggled out of his arms and faced him. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
He looked at her lush pink lips. “What should I put in your mouth?”
Her gaze flicked downward. Death stifled a roar as lust swept over him. She wasn’t thinking about his tongue. His little female desired his cock.
“Nothing.” Her face turned a deep shade of crimson. “You put nothing in my mouth.”
The musky scent of her arousal told him she lied. She yearned to suck his cock and he craved that more than breathing.
But he wouldn’t imperil her life to achieve that bliss.
They were surrounded by cruel humans. Breeding with her now was too risky.
Instead, Death would take another one of her wonderful kisses.
He lifted her and covered her spluttering lips with his. She gasped. He invaded, stroking into her softness with his tongue, tasting passionate female and that hint of the happiness he’d been seeking.
Tifara moaned into his mouth, her eyes darkening, her protests fading. She was no longer thinking of viruses and death, of curing the bond forming between them. The medic had retreated, leaving a willing, wanting female.
Death drew back and gazed at her. She panted, her lips glistening with moisture, her magnificent breasts heaving. His female desired him and soon she’d have him. “You can suck me off when we are safely in open space.”
Her eyes widened and her spine straightened.
“I’m not sucking you off.” She writhed, twisting in his grip. “And I’m not leaving the battle station with you.” Her voice rose. “I—”
“Hush.”
“Don’t hush me.” She pummeled the toe of her boot against his legs.
“I have to hush you.” His female wasn’t using her processors. “If others hear your words, they’ll enter the chamber and I’ll have to kill them.”
“There will be no more killing,” she ordered, lowering her voice once more. “No spreading of the virus. No sucking any being off. No exchanging of fluids of any kind. No—”
He kissed her again, unable to resist her passion. She clamped her teeth together, denying him entrance. Death inhaled her bottom lip, pulling, pulling, pulling. A whine rolled up her throat and she opened to him.
He reprimanded her for the delay, whipping her tongue with his, hooking his arms around her waist, restraining her. She fought him, squirming, trying to break his embrace.
Death tightened his grip on her, lifting her upward until her booted feet dangled. She made a little sound of distress and clasped his shoulders.
Sensing her anxiety, he flexed his muscles, displaying the strength in his physique, communicating without words that she was safe. He had her, would never allow her to fall, to be damaged.
Tifara softened, submitting to his dominance, turning her beautiful face upward. Death deepened his kiss, pulsing his tongue into her mouth. She caressed his neck, skimming her fingertips up and down, up and down, and he rumbled with pleasure.
They’d kissed four times. Those four moments were worth any retribution he’d face for rebelling against orders. Joy bloomed inside him, alien, yet right. Their connection was irrefutable. He’d do anything to keep that link.
To keep her.
The floor shook underneath his feet. Containers fell, smashing on the tiles. Tifara swayed against him, gripping his shoulders, squeaking in alarm. He held her tight.
The explosives he’d set on the other end of the battle station had detonated. “It’s time to leave.”
“We can’t leave.” She looked around them. “You’re contagious. You’ll spread the virus throughout the battle station.”
There was no virus but he didn’t have time to argue with her. “We won’t be on the battle station. We’ll be on my ship.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ll be isolated.” She ran around the chamber, gathering items. “No one will disturb us or become infected. That’s a clever solution.” She beamed at him.
Death stood straighter. “We’re leaving, female.”
“Not before you wear these.” Tifara slipped hand coverings over his fingers. They adjusted automatically, fitting him like a second layer of skin. “And this.” She reached upward, a mask in her hands.
Death lowered his face, allowing her to attach the mask. It wasn’t necessary but it cost him nothing to humor his female.
She donned a mask also, concealing most of her beautiful face. “There.” Her voice was muffled. “That should reduce the spread of the virus. Though we could—”
“No, we couldn’t.” He heaved his female over his right shoulder.
“Oomph.” The air whooshed from his female’s lungs. “Set me down, warrior.” She drummed her fingers and boots against his body armor. “I have to retrieve my medic pack.”
He couldn’t allow that. Her medic pack could contain tracking devices.
“Be silent and still.” Death flung one of his arms across Tifara’s legs, securing her to his form. “And fewer beings will die.” He grasped a gun with his free hand.
“No beings have to die.” His female whispered. She reached for his gun, was unable to touch it. Her arms were shorter than his. “I’ll do anything you say.”
Death grunted, doubting she would. His female had processors of her own. He slipped through the doors, carrying her. No heads turned. No beings noticed their exit. He darted across the hallway, moving at cyborg speed, and faded into the shadows.
“Wait.” Tifara slapped the back of his head to get his attention.
It was unnecessary. She always had his attention.
“Press that.” She waved her hand at a round red circle. “It’ll sanitize the chamber and stop the spread of the virus.”
His female and her blasted virus.
“Did you hear me?”
He had acute senses. He heard her. Death glanced at the circle. Humans, unlike cyborgs, had the ability to lie. She might be trying to stop their escape. The circle could be an alarm.
H
e doubted anyone would investigate it. The scene around them was chaotic. Humans and humanoids rushed past them, yelling, panicked. Medics assisted the damaged. Warriors barked orders, waving weapons.
He’d take a chance and trust his female. Death tapped the circle with his gun.
The doors sealed. He heard the sound of spraying on the other side of the walls. Tifara hadn’t lied to him. The chamber was being sanitized.
“Thank you.”
“Be silent.” Death ran with his female, staying concealed in the darkness.
Red lights flashed. Beings grabbed weapons. The foolish humans thought they were under attack.
The battle station shuddered again and Tifara squeaked.
He’d only set one round of explosives.
Fraggin’ hole. Death moved faster, his grip on his female intensifying. The humans might be right. They could be under attack.
“What did you do?” she muttered. “We’d contained the virus.”
They had contained it because there was no virus. Death burst into the docking bay, Tifara slung over his shoulder. Engines whirled. Pilots ran for their ships.
He sprinted toward the vessel he stole from Crash.
A human warrior spotted him. His eyes widened. “Intru--”
Death shot him before he finished that damning word. The male fell, clasping his chest, blood gushing between his fingers.
“He might survive that wound.” Hope lightened his little medic’s voice.
Death shot him again.
“Aargh.” His female completely disregarded his command to remain silent.
Another warrior, hearing the gunfire, turned. Death shot him also.
“Stop shooting beings.” She smacked his back with her small hands. “There’s no one to heal them. We’re low on medics.”
The battle station would be permanently short one curvaceous medic. Death put another projectile into the warrior Tifara believed needed healing.
“I said, stop that.” She slapped his back harder, trying once more to gain his full attention.
She’d never lost it but Death didn’t stop. He shot every being he saw.
Tifara murmured her diagnosis after each hit. If she thought the warrior might survive, he shot the male again, easily dodging the return fire.
The humans were slow and disorganized. They couldn’t synchronize their defense as cyborgs were able to, not having the training or the ability to transmit messages on private lines.
Death stomped up the ramp, slapped a control panel. The doors closed.
He entered the bridge, plopped Tifara in one seat, removed the irritating mask and the hand coverings and tossed them to her.
“Are we alone?” She looked around.
He grunted, claiming the other seat.
She translated that correctly and discarded her own mask and hand coverings. “What should I do? I know nothing about flying ships.”
“You do nothing.” He placed his hands on the console’s control panel. Energy flowed into his palms, up his arms, the ship’s systems connecting with his circuits.
The engines rumbled. The ship lifted.
His female gripped the armrests of her seat. “Are you sure there’s nothing--”
“I’m sure.” Death piloted the vessel toward the exit.
“Unknown vessel, you’re not cleared for departure.” Human voices crackled through their primitive communication channels. “Wait your turn.”
Frag that. Death increased his ship’s speed. He wasn’t waiting for their approval.
The humans squawked with unhappiness. They did nothing to stop him.
His ship blasted into space. The momentum pushed him backward. His female screamed, flipping into the air. He caught her wrist and pulled her into his lap.
“Hold on.” His voice was gruff.
“That was my fault. I didn’t strap myself in. I should have. It is merely that I haven’t left the battle station for a long time and I forgot about takeoffs and…” She chattered nonsense and clung to him.
Satisfaction filled his soul. His female was scared, trembling against his chest, and his killing spree had horrified her but she trusted him.
That was a base to build their relationship upon.
He returned his hands to the control panel and gazed out the main viewscreen. The area around the battle station was as congested as the docking bay. A fleet of shiny new ships faced the rebel’s ragtag collection of vessels. Projectiles zinged past them. Ships exploded.
“This doesn’t look good.” Tifara’s dismay mirrored his. “Tell me your cyborg buddies are in the pretty ships.”
“Humans are in those vessels.” And those humans fought for the Humanoid Alliance, the beings who had previously controlled him. They weren’t any buddies of his.
“The battle station might be a hot zone for infection. We have to warn them.”
Death doubted the Humanoid Alliance planned to enter the battle station. They had just blown up a planet. They wouldn’t hesitate to destroy a battle station.
He hammered the ships directly in front of them with every gun his small ship had. As though they’d been waiting for permission, the rebel ships around his did the same, filling space with projectiles.
The Humanoid Alliance returned fire. His ship warned of an approaching projectile. Death swerved their vessel to the right. The ship behind them was blown into bits.
“They could have ejected.” Hope lilted Tifara’s words. “They could be okay.”
They weren’t. No being had ejected from the ship.
An opening formed in the fleet facing them. Death accelerated quickly. The ship jerked, the boom temporarily deafening him. Tifara gripped his arms. Lights flashed.
The projectile had grazed them. Death didn’t slow the vessel. It could withstand the minor damage and there was no going back, only forward.
He punched the ship past the enemy’s front line.
There was nothing behind the single row of vessels. Their ship headed into blackness, systems whining, engines straining at capacity.
No ships followed them. The battle station must have been the Humanoid Alliance’s sole target, the humans uncharacteristically focused.
“We should warn them about the virus.” Tifara’s eyes reflected her concern. “Send a message to the Commander of the battle station and to whoever is leading the other ships.”
“We’re not warning anyone.” Death put more distance between their ship and the humans, not taking any chances with his precious cargo. “We have to focus on our own mission.” Getting her to safety.
“We have to find the cure.” His female’s focus was different. “You’re right.” She beamed at him and, although she misinterpreted his words, he warmed under her approval. “We’ll save the most lives that way.”
Death only cared about one life—hers.
“The Humanoid Alliance would have the antigens.” She wiggled, the movement tormenting his already hard cock. “Is that where you’re taking me—back to the humans who control you?”
“No humans control me.” Was that true? No, it wasn’t. “Except you.” She had enslaved him from the first moment he’d smelled her. “I’m a free cyborg.”
She stared at him. “There are free cyborgs?”
He grunted. Telling her that didn’t put his brethren at risk. She’d never contact the outside worlds again.
“Interesting. I didn’t know that.” She hummed, that sound stroking along his shaft, vibrating his balls. “Having access to the Humanoid Alliance’s research would have been more helpful.”
“Unfortunately for you, I freed myself from the Humanoid Alliance’s control, escaping their constant torture and pain,” he drawled.
“But…” She ignored what he’d said. “Having more than one source might help me identify the aerosols. I could do that faster if I had my medic pack.” She frowned at him. “If we returned to the battle station—”
“We’re not returning to the battle station. Ever.” He wait
ed for her reaction. She’d be understandably upset. He had snatched her away from her home, had taken her from her position as medic, from her friends, from everything she’d ever known.
“I don’t know about ever, but we can’t return until we have a cure. You’re correct about that.” She nodded. “We’ll have to make do with what we have.” She squirmed more and more. “I’ll take inventory.”
“You’ll take inventory later.” Death hooked one of his arms around her waist, pinning her in place. He wanted her close to him, needed the physical connection with her.
“There might not be a later. The virus—”
“There is no virus!” He attempted once more to drive that truth into her brain.
“I’m a medic and I say there is one.” She matched his loudness. “You must realize that too, must subconsciously be searching for a cure, especially now that you’re a free cyborg. You can’t interact with any beings without infecting them, can you?”
“The only being I’ve infected, as you call it, is you.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You’re certain about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then what were you doing on board the battle ship? Huh?” Her head tilted. Her brown curls shifted over her shoulders, brushing against her cheeks. Every strand appeared to be a different shade, the variety enthralling him. “Why did you deliberately seek me out?”
“I…” He sought her out because he wanted her, revered her, adored her.
The words stuck in his throat, trapped by a long lifespan of silence, of never transmitting his emotions.
“You?” She waited.
Death opened his mouth.
His communications system malfunctioned. No sound came out.
She gazed at him. He gazed back at her, willing her to understand, to see the passion in his heart, the loneliness in his soul.
The lines on her face dissipated. “Ahhh…I get it.”
He relaxed. She understood. He wouldn’t have to say the words.
“You can’t admit that you need my help. Some primitive cultures have that problem.”
