Defying Death

by Cynthia Sax

  She was right. She wouldn’t suck his cock after they retrieved the nutrition bars.

  He’d have those lips of hers around him before they left the ship.

  Chapter Ten

  The next planet rotation, Tifara popped a freshening square into her mouth. She’d found it in the medic pack, Death’s gift being a remnant from the humans who had once owned the ship.

  Those humans must be dead. She gazed at the male by her side. Judging by her experience with Death, killing was a cyborg’s first solution to any problem. He swept his hands over his dagger hilts and gun handles, verifying that they were all there.

  The freshening square erased the scent of cum, Death having ravished her mouth mere moments ago. It didn’t remove his nanocybotics. They bubbled inside her.

  He’d fucked her pussy at sunrise and rubbed his scent over every square of her skin, ensuring every being knew whom she belonged to.

  He was a savage being.

  That shouldn’t thrill her as much as it did. She was a medic, was renowned for her brain. He treated her like his personal sex toy.

  And she liked it. Her lips twisted. “No killing. No breeding.” The thought of him touching another female made her want to take a laser scalpel to the unknown female’s eyeballs.

  “No breeding.” His dark head dipped. Medical tape covered his model number.

  He didn’t promise there’d be no killing. She let that go because she was more concerned about the breeding. He exuded pheromone-like aerosols at an alarming rate. Simply standing this close to him wetted her pussy and tightened her nipples.

  Death claimed she was the only female who reacted to him but he hadn’t been exposed to the females on this primitive planet. They could be susceptible to his aerosols or to his handsome face or to his broad shoulders.

  He was a male in his prime, devastating to the senses. How could females resist him? They’d throw themselves at him, try to claim him for their own.

  “I need a gun.” She decided. “With a stun setting.” She was a medic. She couldn’t kill her rivals but she could drop any female who tried to steal her cyborg.

  Because, like it or not, the virus flowing through her had linked her sanity to his existence. If she didn’t have contact with him, her nanocybotics wouldn’t die but they would starve. The hunger for his touch was unbearable.

  Death removed the smallest gun from his walking arsenal. “Do you know how to shoot?”

  Safyre had tried to teach her, saying that it was a necessary life skill, but Tifara, abhorring violence, had refused to learn. “I can take apart a human heart. I can figure out how to shoot a gun.”

  Death lifted one eyebrow. The arrogant ass didn’t believe her.

  “Give me the gun.” She held out her right hand.

  “You won’t use it unless it’s an emergency.” He slid the lever to inactive, pressed her thumb to the trigger, and then accessed the controls, calibrating the weapon so she could shoot it. “When we return to the ship, I’ll teach you to shoot.” He set the weapon to stun and handed it to her. “Stunning a being still causes pain.”

  “Oh.” She stared at the barrel. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Death pushed the gun’s muzzle to the left, away from his chest. “Then don’t press the trigger. Leave the shooting to me.”

  She placed the gun in a pocket in her coat. The pocket was already stuffed with hand coverings and masks and an injector gun filled with pain inhibitors. “Are your guns set on stun also?”

  “No.” He picked up the private viewscreen he’d been working on for the past couple of planet rotations. “This is for you.” He gave it to her.

  “I have a private viewscreen.” It was in her medic pack. She wouldn’t be taking that with her but it would be ready, in case she needed to retrieve it in a hurry.

  “This private viewscreen is different.” His gaze avoided hers. “It performs medical scans.”

  He’d built her a handheld. She’d feel like a real medic again, able to heal patients and save lifespans. “You did this for me?”

  Her cyborg nodded.

  She activated the private viewscreen and surveyed the options. “I can perform blood tests?”

  “The red circle on the screen contains one of my sensors. A drop of blood is sufficient for a reading.”

  “You sacrificed one of your sensors?”

  “Only temporarily.” He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, her gruff warrior appearing adorably embarrassed. “My nanocybotics replaced it.”

  “There’s a nanocybotic option on the screen.” She didn’t know what that was.

  “Cyborgs can sense nanocybotics. It was an easy modification.”

  Tifara suspected it required him to sacrifice another piece of himself. She ran her fingers over the device. She’d always have a part of him, to have, to hold, to cherish. “I can determine if you’re infecting any other beings.”

  “I claimed you. I didn’t infect you.”

  Now, she could detect if he claimed any other female. She hugged the device close to her chest. “I’m taking this off the ship with me.”

  “The device pleases you?”

  The damn male was looking for reassurance and he looked so uncertain, so sweetly unsure, she had to give it to him.

  “It pleases me very much.” She lifted onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his chin. “Thank you, Death. I’ll treasure it forever.”

  “The device won’t last forever.” Her cyborg took her comment literally. “It will require modifications in less than a solar cycle.”

  “Even if it ceases to function, I’ll treasure it.”

  His forehead creased with lines. He opened his mouth.

  “Because you modified it for me.” She added before he could point out the futility of having a nonfunctioning device. “You were thinking of me.”

  “I’m always thinking of you.” He drifted his fingers over her cheek, chin, neck, and she swayed into him, her body reacting to his caresses. “You’re permanently in my processors, my female.” His voice deepened. “My lifespan is tied to yours.”

  He was expressing affection outside of a sexual encounter. Tifara’s heart melted, dissolving into goo around her boots. “Continue with that talk and I just might suck your cock when we return.”

  “You will suck my cock when we return.” Death’s eyes gleamed. “When we exit the ship, however, you’ll stay behind me at all times.” His lips flattened. “You will be silent and not seen.”

  Silent and not seen? That wasn’t going to happen. “Can I hold your hand?” She grasped his palm.

  “No.” He pulled his hand away from hers. “Humanoids already surround the ship. Be silent.” Her grumpy cyborg opened the door.

  An arid breeze swept inside the ship, sucking all of the moisture out of the air. The temperature hiked. Tifara’s cheeks heated.

  No one fired on them. That was a good sign.

  Death moved down the ramp, his tread silent, guns in both of his hands. She tried to mimic his stealth. Her boots creaked. The fabric between her thighs swished, rubbing together. She drew her gun and held it gingerly away from her form, her fingers nowhere near the trigger.

  Three very large human males faced them, carrying long guns, bows, daggers, their bodies clad in white animal skins. They were the same height, width, had the same bone structure, the same startling bright purple eyes, the same pale purple skin. They wore their white hair in different lengths from closely cropped to long and braided but they were remarkably similar.

  “They’re clones,” she whispered. Cloning was outlawed by the Humanoid Alliance. Many species, including humans, had also forbidden the practice, fearing the weakening of their genetic material.

  Death’s body stiffened.

  Oh right. She wasn’t supposed to talk. “Sorry.”

  He exhaled heavily.

  Tifara pressed her lips together.

  “You’re not welcome here.” The clone in the middle of
the group stepped forward, white sand the color of bleached bones swirling around his ragged boots. The wall of matching white rock behind him nearly blocked the sun. “Return to your ship and no one will get hurt.”

  “We require nutrition bars for our journey.” Death’s voice rang out, echoing off the stone. “We’re willing to trade services for these supplies.”

  “And why should we trade with you, human?” The clone lifted his long gun. His brethren did the same.

  One moment, their weapons were in their hands. The next moment, they skittered along the sand. The males howled, clutching their hands. Blood gushed between their fingers.

  “What did you do?” Tifara smacked Death’s back.

  “I’m negotiating.” He pointed his guns at the center clone.

  “You shot them. I told you. No killing.” She moved to treat them.

  Death extended his arms and held her back. “I didn’t kill them. They’re alive.” His gaze didn’t move from the clones. “What services do you require in exchange for your nutrition bars?”

  “Curse your nutrition bars.” The male waved his injured hand. “You shot us.”

  “You raised your guns.” Death shrugged, acting unconcerned.

  The clones required medical care. Tifara rushed back into the ship, grabbed her makeshift medic pack and returned to her cyborg’s side. “Let me pass. They need a medic.”

  “You’re not touching them.”

  “I’ll heal them. They’ll give us the nutrition bars. We’ll leave.” She donned her hand coverings. That precaution was not only to keep the wounds clear of infection but also to ensure the virus inside her didn’t spread to them through physical contact. She was determined to keep the local population safe. “You can watch over my shoulder the entire time.”

  “They won’t touch you.” Death stalked toward the clones, his expression dark.

  The clones backed up, their eyes wide with panic.

  “My female is a medic. She’ll heal you,” her warrior announced. “You won’t move. You won’t speak. You won’t look at her.”

  “Death—”

  “Silence, female.”

  He was in a mood. His bout of unprovoked violence hadn’t calmed him down.

  His actions had been too quick for her human eyes. Tifara hadn’t seen him shoot the males.

  He hadn’t killed them. That was progress.

  She scanned the lead clone and then examined his hand. The projectile had exited cleanly, blowing a hole right through his palm. She sprayed the wound with pain inhibitor, sanitized the area and wrapped his hand with medical tape.

  Death watched them closely, his fingers on the triggers of his guns. The males, in turn, tracked his movements, wary of him.

  They should be cautious. Her cyborg killed first, thought second.

  Tifara scanned the warrior she was treating a second time. According to Death’s device, there was no increase in body temperature. She hadn’t infected the clone.

  Tifara turned to treat the warrior to her right.

  A gun muzzle pressed against her forehead, an arm wrapped around her neck and she was pulled backward against the leader. “Make a move and she dies.”

  Oh no. This wouldn’t end well.

  She met Death’s gaze. His eyes blazed with outrage.

  She slipped her device into one pocket and clutched the arm restraining her, reducing the exposed body parts her cyborg could shoot. “Don’t hurt anyone.”

  “If your male behaves, you’ll be unharmed.” The warrior thought she was talking to him.

  He was a fool.

  And he was ungrateful. She frowned at his wounded hand, the hand she had treated. The medical tape and pain inhibitors had been wasted on him.

  Because he would die. Death would kill him for touching her.

  “The other two males didn’t do anything.” They didn’t all have to die.

  Death’s face was as hard as his metal frame.

  One of the other males approached them, a gun loosely grasped in his wounded hand. “Tell your male to put down his weapons.”

  Pop. A hole appeared in his forehead, his brains blasted into the sand. He fell over.

  Pop. The other male fell.

  “No one tells me to do anything.” Death’s voice was flat, emotionless, cold.

  Tifara shivered with fear and with a shameful amount of arousal.

  “I’ll kill her.” The sole remaining male’s gun shook, the metal cool against her forehead. “I swear to the original I’ll blow your female’s head off if you move again.”

  “And you believe that would matter to me?” Death holstered one gun. “Haven’t you figured out who I am, humanoid?” He removed the medical tape over his model number.

  “You’re a cyborg, a machine.” A tremor rocked the warrior. “You don’t care about any being.” He turned and ran, kicking up dust behind him.

  He didn’t get far. One bullet ripped through his right calf, shattering his tibia. A second bullet rendered his left leg unusable.

  “You didn’t kill him.” That was a relief.

  “I didn’t kill him. Yet.” Death drew Tifara to him. “Are you damaged, female?”

  “A moment ago, you didn’t care if my head was blown off,” she grumbled, those words having hurt her. They shouldn’t have. He was a killer. She’d known that about him.

  “Did I say I didn’t care?” He patted her all over from the top of her head to her ankles, his concern for her well-being easing some of her pain. “No. I asked the foolish humanoid questions and he determined his own answers.”

  “So you do care?” She looked upward at him.

  He didn’t meet her gaze. “Caring is weakness. If the enemy knows a warrior cares about another being, that enemy will target that being, try to damage her, kill her.”

  As the trainers had killed the little Erinomean girl.

  Tifara studied Death. He continued to skim his fingers over her shoulders, arms, breasts, his caresses tightening her nipples. Did her warrior care about her? Would he allow himself that weakness?

  “I’m not damaged.” Tifara softened her voice. “He could have shot me yet he didn’t.” She touched his face. “Show him mercy, Death.”

  He searched her eyes.

  “Please.” She stroked his cheeks. “For me.”

  Her cyborg nodded. “I’ll show him mercy. For you. Stay here.” He stalked toward the whimpering male.

  The warrior raised his weapon. Death shot it out of his hands.

  “You said you’d show me mercy.” The male’s voice was high and squeaky.

  “I will show you mercy.” Death picked him up. “I won’t use a prolonger before I rip your arms off. I’ll allow your feeble humanoid brain to shut down.” He yanked on the male’s right arm.

  Oh no. Not again. Tifara swayed, forcing herself to watch. If she was going to align herself with Death, as she suspected she was going to, she had to see him as he was, accept him as he was—a killer.

  The male screamed. His body twisted. His legs kicked. Blood sprayed everywhere and the screaming faded.

  The male was unconscious, his form limp.

  Death tossed the right arm to the side and tore off the left arm also.

  “That’s not necessary.” She waved her hands. “He has lost consciousness.”

  “It’s necessary.” Her warrior ripped off the humanoid’s legs. “He touched you. He threatened you. He almost killed you.” Death kicked the torso across the sand, crimson spraying over the white granules.

  This was the being she was addicted to—a violent, vengeful male who killed and tortured without hesitation.

  Because his enemy had dared touch her.

  That shouldn’t turn her on. She was a medic, devoted to saving lives. Yet it did, very much so. Her pussy was wet and her nipples were taut.

  “The virus is affecting my brain.” She pulled off her hand coverings and flicked them, re-sanitizing them. “Soon, I’ll be rendered as savage as you are. Big male fight
. Me horny.” She grunted.

  The grim set of Death’s lips softened. “You can suck my cock soon, female.” He set sensors around the perimeter of their ship. “First, we retrieve the nutrition bars.”

  “You killed our source of the nutrition bars.” She gestured to the limbless body.

  “They were sloppy and left footprints in the sand.” He appeared disgusted at that error. “We’ll track those footprints back to their domicile.”

  “Their domicile will be empty.” Because her warrior had killed all of them. “We can take the nutrition bars.” The males no longer needed them. “And no one else will end up dead.” She nodded, happy with that plan.

  “No one else will end up dead if we act quickly.” Death flicked his fingers, indicating that she should come to him.

  He assumed she would comply without any argument.

  And he was right. She grasped her medic pack and moved toward him. They were in his world now. She didn’t know anything about tracking footprints or venturing across an unsettled planet. “You touched the bodies. We have to sanitize the area.” She gazed around them. They didn’t have the supplies to do that. “In ancient times, they burned the corpses.”

  “The smoke will draw the attention of beings. They’ll arrive and I’ll have to kill them.” That didn’t seem to alarm him.

  Because he was a killer. She wasn’t. “Then we won’t burn the corpses. They should dehydrate quickly in this heat.” She reached up and placed another strip of medical tape over his model number. “The lack of moisture could slow the spreading of the virus.”

  “There’s no virus, little medic.” The blood on his body armor was already dry. “You’ll follow me closely and you won’t speak,” he instructed.

  She sighed. “I’m to be silent and unseen. Yet again. I understand.”

  “I doubt you do.”

  Although she detected humor in his voice, there was none in his face.

  Her killer cyborg was, once again, as grim as fuck.

  Chapter Eleven

  Death scanned the area around him. His female trudged behind him, mumbling to herself. She was an intelligent being, but that big brain of hers didn’t operate quietly. It was impossible for her to stop talking.