by Cynthia Sax
He didn’t know. Death stroked his hands over her curves. Her breathing and words slowed. She folded more and more into his form.
He smiled and kissed the top of her head. His human was fully asleep once more. He held her for more moments, savoring the feel of her.
Then he picked up the private viewscreen and transferred more data for his medic to peruse when she woke.
He continued to monitor the open space around their ship.
They passed a giant yellow planet surrounded by equally colorful rings. It was unable to sustain life, had no sun stones or other resources the humans and humanoids deemed precious or useful. So it was of no interest to the Humanoid Alliance or to other species.
Functionality was prized by all beings, especially cyborgs. He’d show his human that he was useful. She didn’t value his killing abilities but he had other skills.
Death relayed all of his medical information, including the information she might gain from the blood and tissue samples she’d mentioned.
* * *
While Tifara slept, Death hooked energy and nutrition tubes to his wrists, restoring to full capacity. His female stirred twice more. He bred with her each time, pouring everything he had into her, not holding anything back.
Then he carefully cleaned her, dressed her lush body in the pale blue flight suit and stark white medic jacket and set her on her own chair.
If the enemy entered the bridge, they’d realize she was his. His scent was all over her form. But they would think she was merely a female he used for release. They wouldn’t know he cared for her, couldn’t live without her.
They wouldn’t damage her to damage him.
She’d be safe.
Chapter Six
Tifara dreamed of sex, scorching hot, sweaty, sizzling sex, multiple rounds, all explosive, all mind-torching, all featuring a hunky cyborg with huge hands and grim lips. His cock stretched her to the point of pain. His pace was unforgivingly fast and hard. She came until she didn’t think she’d survive, splintering apart, the pleasure exquisite.
It had seemed real, more real than any encounter she’d ever had.
Then she woke, fully dressed, seated on her own chair, feeling more rested and healthy than she had in solar cycles. No cum dripped down her inner thighs. There was no soreness in her muscles. Her skin was clean and her breath was fresh.
She slanted a glance at the male to her left. His fit form was encased in black body armor. His dark head was bent over a private viewscreen. His lips were as unrelentingly flat as usual.
It had to be a dream.
Especially since she wanted him again. She licked her bottom lip. Her pussy was as wet.
“Eat the nutrition bar.” Death didn’t look up. “You can suck my cock later.”
“What? No.” She spluttered, her face heating. “I’m not sucking your cock.”
He met her gaze and breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring, his chest rising.
The damn cyborg smelled her arousal.
Because she did want to suck his cock. She craved the taste of him, the warmth of his skin, his unique scent. “I’m eating the nutrition bar.” It had been unwrapped and cut into bite-sized squares. She popped a piece into her mouth and chewed. “Did anything happen during my rest cycle?” Had he fucked her senseless?
Her cyborg grunted.
That sounded like a yes but that could have been wishful thinking. She was wearing a flight suit and her medic jacket. Tifara plucked at the material. It was a surprisingly clean medic jacket. She could have sworn she’d gotten blood on it.
That wasn’t the mystery she should be focusing on. “We have to find a cure for the virus.”
“I compiled some data you might need.” Death slid the private viewscreen over to her. “This contains all of the medical information I have on myself, on cyborgs and on some of our human females.”
“You’ve infected other human females?” That incensed Tifara, her reaction to his revelation embarrassingly unscientific. She wasn’t special. She was one of many. “You go around changing the DNA of females everywhere?”
“I have only infected...” He shook his head. “I have only bred with you,” he amended. “Those females belong to other warriors.”
Tifara didn’t belong to any warrior. “There’s no proof the virus is spread by sexual activity.” She believed the virus was airborne. “And where are these other females? Are they still alive?” She scanned through the data without seeing it, too riled up to concentrate.
“They were alive when I blocked cyborg transmissions.”
Why did he block cyborg transmissions? She stored that question for later. “In other words, the females might be dead. You don’t know.”
“I don’t know,” Death admitted, frowning. “Rage first bred with his female over two solar cycles ago and she remained healthy. They have two offspring.” His gaze dropped to her stomach.
“Sucking your cock doesn’t create offspring.” What would it be like to carry his child? For one brief moment, she pictured a different destiny, a destiny centered around birth, not death, and she liked it. Too much. She couldn’t forget her family, why she had survived, what her purpose in the universe was. “And the virus could have a two-year incubation period. We don’t know. We don’t know anything about this. This is all brand new.”
“Rage’s female was the first,” he agreed. “Review the data. Tell me what else you need.”
“Ummm…” She needed him. Tifara wiggled. He was too far away from her. “It would be more efficient if we reviewed it together.”
He grunted.
She interpreted that as agreement and hurried to his side. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her onto his lap. The sex must have been a dream. Her cyborg was hard, the ridge in his body armor pressing against her thigh.
“That’s all we’re doing—reviewing the data.” She felt obliged to tell him that, even though they both knew that was a lie. “We must focus.”
Tifara pored over the data. Death fed her the nutrition bar, one square at a time, and he addressed her questions, his answers succinct yet illuminating.
“Many of the human females in the breeding program lived to an elderly age.” She was forced to admit that. “Exposure to the nanocybotics didn’t appear to hurt them. But…” She held up one of her fingers. “The nanocybotics didn’t remain active inside any of the females.”
“You’re unique, the one female genetically able to host my nanocybotics.” Death rested his chin on her shoulder.
She liked that contact and she liked the idea that she was special to him, but she was a medic. She had to look at all possibilities. “Or the virus has evolved.” She paused. “Or I’m imagining your nanocybotics inside me.”
“They’re inside you.”
“If I had a handheld, I could test myself and I’d know that for certain.”
“I’m a J model cyborg. I am a handheld.” Death drew her body closer to his and kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth.
What was he doing? She slapped her palms against his chest, not truly wanting him to free her. His metallic taste filled her. His nanocybotics danced on her tongue.
She wanted him, needed him. Her fingers splayed over his armor-clad chest.
The damn cyborg pulled away from her. “My scan of your form is completed.” He extracted a dagger from a sheath in his body armor. “Hold out one of your fingers.”
She obeyed him.
He pricked her skin with the dagger and inserted her finger into his hot mouth. The pain faded instantly, the wound healing.
“Blood test?” she guessed.
Her warrior dipped his head and released her finger. “You’re healthy, fertile.” His eyes gleamed. “My nanocybotics are inside you, repairing your damage.” He placed his right palm on the surface of the private viewscreen. “I’m relaying all of the data. You can confirm the results yourself.”
“My blood would have mixed with your saliva.” There’d be cross conta
mination.
“My systems can separate the two.”
He was a wonder of genetic engineering. Tifara scanned through the information. It was delightfully detailed, a statistical paradise.
The scan Death had performed on her could be viewed in layers. She could look at her circulatory system alone, the feature giving her new insights on her own form.
He was right. She was healthy, remarkably so, except “My body temperature is higher than normal.”
“It’s at cyborg levels.” He shrugged, unconcerned.
“It could be an aberration. I’m only looking at one scan,” she mused out loud. “If I had two, I could verify. It would also show the progression of the infection.”
Death turned her head and kissed her again, longer, deeper.
He was scanning her. She knew that yet she couldn’t stop her reaction to him, sucking on his tongue, inhaling his nanocybotics, his distinctive taste.
“Here’s your progression, my female.” He spread his thick fingers over the screen. “There are some variations but all are favorable.”
She compared the two scans. “My body temperature remains high.” It wasn’t dangerously high but it wasn’t normal. “Look at my bone density.” She’d always had issues with the bone mass loss during her placements in space, taking shots to help offset it. “I should be losing, not gaining bone density.”
“The gain was necessary. Your bone density was at suboptimal levels.” Death touched her wrists. “The Palavian male could have broken your fragile bones.”
“He didn’t.” She pulled her wrists away from him. “And my bone density is within an acceptable range.”
“You care for others but not for yourself.” Disapproval edged his voice. “You take too many risks with your lifespan.”
“One of those risks was leaving the battle station with you,” she replied. “You should concern yourself with your own health. Look at these increases in your heart rate.” She pointed at a graph depicting his heart rate over time.
He moved her finger to one peak. “That was the first moment I saw you. Your flight suit was pulled across your beautiful breasts. I could detect your nipples through the fabric. Your lips were pursed and I thought how they’d look good wrapped around my hard cock. The musk of your hot pussy filled my nostrils.”
Her face heated. “You were turned on. I get it.”
“I was extremely turned on.” As he was now, his cock hard and long and thick against her thigh. “I almost came in my body armor.”
Looking at her had almost made him lose control. Tifara’s pussy dripped.
Death slid her hand to the right. “This was when you bent over the Palavian and I imagined you bent over, your ass in the air, and my cock in—”
“That’s enough.” She yanked her hand away from the graph. “You’re healthy. That’s all I need to know.”
“I’m very healthy.” His eyes glittered. “If you sucked my cock, I’d—”
He stopped talking and shoved her off his lap. Tifara shrieked, waving her arms. The private viewscreen went flying. He caught her with his booted feet and lowered her gently to the floor.
She glared up at Death. “What—”
“Silence.”
She stopped talking, his tone demanding obedience.
The ship’s communications channel crackled. “I finally broke your block, you stubborn ass.” An unknown male laughed. “Where are you?”
Tifara peered over the console. An image stretched across the main viewscreen. She squinted. The feed was scrambled.
“Who is that?” she whispered. “Is that one of your cyborg buddies?”
“Yes.” The male grinned, the image stabilizing.
Death sighed. “I asked for silence.” He leaned forward, his hands flying over the controls.
Her face heated. “I’m whispering.”
“I’m a cyborg.” The male’s eyes sparkled. “I can hear you.” His model number was inked on his cheek. He was a J model, as Death was, his coloring similar.
Yet he wasn’t as handsome or as imposing as he cyborg. He didn’t interest her sexually. “Sorry,” she murmured, pressing her lips together, determined to be quiet.
It was very, very challenging. She had quite a few questions she wanted to ask.
“I’m Menace.” The male appeared in good spirits. “You must be Tifara.”
She looked at Death. How did this cyborg know who she was?
“She isn’t speaking to me. You’ve trained her well, and in such a short duration.” Menace laughed again. He was as frivolous as Death was grim. “Crash could take lessons from you.”
“Crash,” Tifara repeated. Her friend Safyre had planned to meet with a warrior named Crash. He must have been another cyborg.
“Tell me where you’re going, Death.” Menace grew more serious. “You need assistance. You can’t do this alone.”
“Can’t I?” Death tapped the controls.
“Fraggin’ h—” Menace’s face disappeared.
A scrambled image returned, then vanished, returned, then vanished. After the third time, it didn’t reappear.
Tifara gazed at the stars. “What do you need assistance with?”
“He believes I require his assistance to keep you safe.” Death reached down and lifted her back onto his lap. “I don’t and, even if Menace could assist me, I wouldn’t allow it.”
“Why?”
“He’d be outcast from the rest of our cyborg brethren, hunted by them. If caught, they’d execute him.” Her cyborg’s voice was flat.
She studied Death, hearing more than his words. “If they catch you, they’ll execute you, won’t they?”
His head dipped.
“Is that why you took me? Am I something to bargain with?” She could stop the virus they’re spreading, allow them to rejoin the rest of the universe.
“No, never.” Death’s eyes blazed with emotion. “I would never trade you, my female. I disobeyed a direct order to retrieve you.”
She was the reason he was separated from his own kind. Death must have heard about her from Crash and Crash had heard about her from Safyre. Tifara’s heard squeezed. Her friend had talked about her before she died. “Because you took me, you’re now an outcast and the cyborgs are hunting you.”
Death said nothing.
She touched his handsome face, traced the firm set of his jaw. “Return me to the battle station. Make peace with your buddies. You don’t have to die for this. I can find the cure—”
“I’m never returning you to the battle station and I didn’t take you because I wanted a cure.” He covered her fingers with his.
“I’m a medic.” That was her sole skill.
“I’m a cyborg. I don’t require a medic.”
Then why did he take her?
Their gazes met, locked, and she knew. She saw the desire, the heat, the need in his eyes. Her cyborg viewed her as a female first, only. He didn’t care about viruses or the possible deaths of millions of beings. He was a killer. “You took me because you wanted me.”
Death nodded.
“How could you want me?” That wasn’t logical. “You hadn’t met me.” What could Crash have possibly said to her serious cyborg to make him risk his life, to leave his brethren, to find her?
“Your scent is on the scarf.”
That was her scarf wrapped around the armrest of Death’s chair. She’d given it to Safyre. Her friend must have given the scarf to that Crash being before she died.
Tifara breathed in, breathed out, sucking back her sorrow. She missed Safyre so damn much. Her soul ached.
The virus. Focus on the virus. “You knew I’d be a perfect host for your nanocybotics by my scent.” Her thoughts whirled. “By the genetic material left on the fabric.”
What was it about her genetics that communicated her compatibility?
She scrambled off his lap and retrieved the private viewscreen.
“Oh no.” The front of the device had detached from the back
, exposing its circuits. A couple of parts fell into her hand. “We broke it.”
“We will fix it.” Death took the device and parts from her.
Tifara frowned. “All of my data is on it.”
“All of your data is here.” Her cyborg tapped his forehead. “I’ll transfer it.” He opened a compartment, found another private viewscreen, placed his palm on the surface.
“If elevated body temperature is a sign of infection, we could scan the battle station for heat signatures and confirm whether or not the beings on board are infected,” she suggested.
“We’re not returning to the battle station.”
“We can scan it remotely. All we need is access to their systems.” Tifara glanced pointedly at his palm. He was a cyborg. She suspected there wasn’t a system in the universe he couldn’t access.
“No.”
She wasn’t discouraged. He’d do it eventually.
Even if she had to suck his cock to convince him.
Chapter Seven
Fifteen planet rotations later, his female continued to press him about accessing the battle station’s systems. He refused. The risks were too great and he knew he hadn’t infected the beings on board.
Because there was no virus.
The possibility that there was an outbreak caused Tifara to spend every spare moment poring over the data he’d relayed to her. She was quickly becoming the foremost expert on cyborg organics, much to Death’s pride.
He added to her knowledge by scanning both of them every couple of moments. It was no hardship scanning her. He would kiss her constantly if she allowed it.
During the waking cycle, she also sucked his cock. His little medic insisted on it, citing the scientific need for continued contact.
Death didn’t know about scientific need, but he knew about male need, and he agreed the cock sucking was necessary. He managed to control himself during those encounters, holding back the emotions he yearned to express.
There was no need for restraint during rest cycles. She feigned sleep and he pounded into her with abandon, breeding with her three or more times a cycle.
