by Fiona Jayde
The sharp scrape of the doors had her heart jolting, and yet she still couldn't see through the opaque darkness pressing onto her eyes.
“I'll remind you again. You stand in front of a superior.”
Zoya flinched at the cold, sharp tone but didn't bother moving, not wanting him to see her struggle against gravity. “I'm afraid I can't.” She couldn't help the whispered, breathy tone. Due to the grav, she told herself, and tried to fight the urge to reach out with her palms to see if she could touch him.
Through some sixth sense, she knew that Stark stood close. Despite her own resolve, she reached out with her hand and heard a sharp intake of breath just as her palm connected with a wall of muscle. She couldn't see, but she guessed it was probably his thigh.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“My apologies, Commander.” She kept her voice mocking and light because a piece of her, the one usually shielded with cold, sharp numbness, was suddenly ready to cry. “I cannot see.”
“That's right.” She didn't hear his move, but Zoya could picture him nodding. “You're a Prim survivor. Like your friend Admiral Pazlov.”
She couldn't stand that lifeless, cutting tone. Because she didn't think her voice would keep from breaking, Zoya didn't bother with a response.
“I should thank you.” His voice came at her everywhere at once, jagged words slicing into her skin. “Aside from your claims about wanting privacy, I had assumed you came clean with Pazlov so he'd approve your transfer.”
Dread crawled inside her belly and made her hold her breath.
“Instead, I'm finding he wanted you specifically at Victory. And I'm not thrilled with his reasons why.”
She'd rather choke than have her voice come out this breathy. “It's against protocol to break secure communications.” He couldn't have gotten through, not in this short amount of time. Dread mixed with a small dose of relief. If he did manage to unscramble her communications, he would contact Pazlov himself to get her out of there.
“Protocol.” A frigid chuckle. “I didn't get all the details. You'll have to fill me in.” She hadn't realized that he was inches from her face, either kneeling or leaning above her. At some point, the high grav would take its toll on his muscles. Zoya hoped it would happen soon.
Maybe she should simply tell him everything. He held the safety of his crew in the highest regard. She could be in a Sabre within the next half hour.
“You were that adamant to get away. I thought it was from me.” His mouth was inches from hers, his breath caressing her lips. Unwanted desire flooded her senses, smothering some of the nerves, inflaming others. Even now, with her muscles screaming from the higher grav, she couldn't keep her thighs from clenching as she remembered how he had moved between them.
“Maybe I was wrong.” He didn't seem to be at all affected by the flash of desire gripping her. “Maybe you're stealing supplies and trying to get away for a whole other reason.”
She swallowed. “What reason would that be?”
“You're going to tell me.”
She didn't want these aroused nerves curling inside her belly. “I carry an explosive. I figured you would want me off your ship.”
“You carry an explosive.” He repeated the words, a soft, dangerous whisper. “We must have missed it when you came aboard.”
Zoya swallowed, hard. “You wouldn't have found it.”
“You're hiding it inside your body?”
She wondered if he'd touch her, a crazy part of her hoping he would.
“Would you like me to search you?”
She shuddered, imagining his hands on her. “You're insane.”
“Perhaps I am.” He kissed her, rough, nearly bruising, a punishing caress that had her blood roaring inside her head.
“Don't.” Shivering, she barely could whisper.
“Don't what?” His breath was soft against her lips, his tone ice hard. “Sub-Commander.”
She froze now, realizing Dex was in the brig with them, watching her in the dark.
“My bloodmate”—Stark bitterly chuckled at the word—“doesn't want me to touch her. Maybe she'd prefer your touch instead.”
Zoya strained but did not hear a sound. Maybe Stark was simply fucking with her mind.
“You said you can't get up?”
She couldn't speak with nerves, dread, and desire forming a knot low in her throat. Instead she simply shook her head and realized that he could see her, every nuance, every expression, while she sat helpless in the dark.
The thought should have enraged her. And yet she felt another burst of unwanted heat pooling between her thighs. Nothing but hormones, she told herself and tried to fight the empty ache inside her.
“Answer me.” He still didn't make a move to touch her.
“Lower the grav, and I'll get up.” She kept her voice soft, a low threat.
He coolly chuckled. “Sub-Commander. If you could lift my bloodmate up.”
The thought of having someone touch her made Zoya try to gain her feet despite her screaming muscles. Then hands were on her arms, lifting her up in an effortless, impersonal movement.
Stark still hadn't touched her.
Dex held her up in such a way that she was forced to let him support all her weight. Despite the unwanted arousal and tired muscles, Zoya fought against his hold, knowing that Stark watched her with cool, merciless eyes.
“I won't hurt you.” Dex's voice could've cut plaster.
“Unless I order him to do so.” Warm, cruel lips spoke near hers again.
“You can order him to go hell.” She had to get away from this unwanted spike of heat. “You can join him there.”
Stark laughed. “We're headed there, if I understand correctly. You intend to end the war with the help of Central Intelligence. Victory is part of that intent.” Through the haze of unwanted arousal, Zoya sensed fury. “My only question is how.”
She didn't know how to deal with her own arousal, couldn't stand the disgusted coldness in his voice. He was playing her body against her, using the bloodmate bond to establish control.
“I've told you.” She refused to acknowledge that another man held her against him, taking her weight with ease. Neither of them seemed to have been affected by the gravity that all but held her paralyzed. Bastards probably had implants to compensate for the increased endurance. “I carry an explosive.”
“I've asked already if you want to be searched for it.”
Zoya jerked at the soft, low words and shook her head against Dex's shoulder. She didn't like this feeling of helplessness while standing between two large male bodies. And yet the wet heat between her thighs proved otherwise.
“If you carry an explosive”—steel-edged tone with just a hint of velvet—“and your goal is to end the war, you intend to explode Victory into enemy lines.”
She had to laugh at that. “Your tactical analysis is flawless.” She wondered if he could bear to even look at her once she told him the truth.
“This is where you tell me your feelings for me clouded your judgment.” His mouth once again hovered over hers. “That you were trying to get away just to keep me alive.”
Another weak laugh. “That's it. Exactly.” She was willing to kill dozens of others simply because she couldn't stand to destroy him.
“You could try to convince me.” He brushed cruel, warm lips over hers. “You could try.” He took her mouth, and Zoya couldn't bring herself to turn her head away. She tasted controlled fury mixed with passion, cursing herself for craving him this much. The bastard teased her with soft, light kisses, inflaming her, drawing away to make her try to seek his lips for more.
She wouldn't beg for his touch. Had she the strength, she would've slapped a fist over her lips to keep the whimper back when he finally stopped the tender, cruel onslaught on her mouth.
“You Primus survivors never considered technology's advantages.” Stark breathed harshly against her, lifted her chin with hard, blunt fingers when she tried to turn aw
ay. Dex was a silent wall of muscle behind her, a cold, immobile restraint.
“I can see the fluctuations of your vitals. They tell how to touch you to get the most response.” Stark trailed a fingertip from her chin down to her neck, then dipped it just under the closure of her uniform. “Pleasure or pain or both.”
She breathed hard, feeling the heat of that light, merciless touch.
“If I had an olfactory implant, I would smell your arousal.” A pause. “Can you smell my bloodmate, Sub-Commander Dex?”
Short silence. “Yes. I can.” His voice was monotone, as if he wasn't here. She fought to calm the racing of her pulse.
“What are your exact orders from Intelligence?” Stark's low voice caressed the sensitive shell of her ear.
“You should go fuck yourself.”
“Did that already.” Over the top of her uniform, his finger lightly traced a path between her breasts, moving toward her belly. “And I'm starting to think you like our little game.”
Those words had Dex holding her higher, away from him. As if he didn't want to touch her any more than he had to. And she preferred this cold touch of a stranger rather than having Stark holding her prisoner, aroused and helpless. Because if he had, she would most likely say fuck it to pride and simply beg.
She had to get this over with. “The explosive is carried in my blood. I'm to detonate it inside Victory's engine when ordered to so.”
“That nearly makes sense.” Steel in that ice-cold voice. “Except I still don't see why you were adamant to get away.”
She laughed again, a breathy bitter sound. “You had it right, Commander.” Zoya had a hard time dragging in enough air to speak. “This thing between us”—his chuckle was a razor to her heart—“is impeding the mission. I can't exactly use Intelligence codes to access the engines if you won't let me out of your bed.”
His touch was gone, a small, cold victory. The hell of it was that without it, she felt completely lost in the opaque darkness.
“So your plan was to switch battle cruisers.” Dex's voice cut in from behind her. Somehow having him say the words out loud made it worse.
“Yes.” Chills threatened. She was a monster, a coldhearted bitch.
“Pazlov wants Victory specifically.” Stark moved away from her; she felt the distance between their bodies growing.
She didn't bother making sure her voice didn't shake. “That's right.” She wouldn't cry until much later. “Victory is the only battle cruiser capable of closing in on the enemy and staying in one piece. If it helps, the detonation would be on your order.”
“My order.” His harsh tone shouldn't have felt as if it just caressed her.
She tried to fight against the hands that held her up. The tremors were already starting their soft, deceptive curl into her bones. “You'll order a collision course. I'll take care of the explosion.”
“That's wrapped up nicely.” The words were soft, as if he'd squeezed them through his teeth. A part of her preferred he slap her.
“Sacrifice few to save many,” Zoya said and bit her lip so that she wouldn't laugh. Once she did, she wouldn't be able to stop crying.
“Your temp seems to have dropped. Bloodmate.” He should have just called her a bitch. “You should ask Dex if he can make it rise back up, since you seem to enjoy our game.”
Zoya didn't flinch at the words, didn't blink at the cold sound of the hatches being opened. She was surprised she wasn't dropped onto the floor. Instead she felt herself lowered, almost carefully, until she was back in a seated position. And as the shudders unfurled deeper through her blood, the part of her that could still think wondered if she'd survive.
Chapter Seven
Stark thought about throwing up. He would have if he'd had something to work with in his stomach. The raw and empty nausea rolled inside his gut, scraping his insides with its jagged edges.
She'd flinched away from him, and that gave Stark a nasty satisfaction. She'd been aroused despite her own resolve. He'd seen her blood pumping, seen her react. Seen those tired eyes pleading with him for something.
Her orders were to kill his crew.
Sick with himself, he braced a hand over a newly replaced bulkhead. Bloodmate or not, he had a duty to Victory and to the crew. Regardless of this fucking biological anomaly, he would stand by them.
He'd left her with Dex. The thought frayed at him, just as that lost and devastated gaze wouldn't leave his mind. He had a purpose leaving her with the sub-commander, watching Dex touching her. Bloodmate or not, he had the strength to walk away from her while she was held by someone.
The thought made his gut churn.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Two minutes later, Dex caught up with him, paler than usual, his scars dark on his face.
“You're done that quickly?”
“You're interested? You want to know how I touched your bloodmate?” Fury bloomed high, was barely contained. A part of Stark wondered at the source of it. A part of him simply didn't care.
“It needed to be done.”
“You showed her and yourself that you don't give a fuck. Congratulations.”
Stark breathed through tight clenched teeth, trying to force down the heavy burning low inside his stomach. “Were you able to verify if she carries explosives?”
“I didn't have time.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I'll show you.” Dex stabbed at his wrist unit, calling up a pale gray column of transparent light. The base of the holo-output showed a small figure huddled in a corner, arms wrapped tight over her knees, her body curled into itself as if warding off a beating.
Rage wasn't questioned as he grabbed Dex's uniform. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Nothing her bloodmate hadn't done already.” Dex spat the words with fury in his eyes. “I simply administered her meds.”
A wave of ice washed over dread. “Meds?”
“If you look hard enough, you'll see that she is seizing. And has been since just before you left.”
“Hence the meds.” He refused to feel guilt, couldn't hold out against it.
“Yes.”
“So she'll be fine.” He couldn't keep his gaze from the small figure on the holo-output. “I'm more concerned about the safety of this ship. As you should be.”
“Then you should've gotten a med team to examine her instead of playing idiotic games.” Dex broke off and enlarged the holo-output to display vitals. And cursed. “Convulsions should've stopped by now.”
A brief glance at her vitals had Stark breaking into a run.
He didn't hear Dex call for a med team, didn't notice people jumping out of his path. A call for lights illuminated her small form pressed hard into a corner, violently shaking. She didn't even flinch away when he knelt by her side.
“Zoya.” No response. He couldn't see her face under a few loosened strands of hair. “Zoya. Come on, baby. Zoya.” Nothing. He gripped her shoulders and felt the strength of the convulsions reverberating through his bones.
“Med team on its way.”
Dex felt along her calf and fished out a silver oblong packet before Stark knocked back his hands. When understanding dawned, he lifted up her hair with shaking fingers and watched Dex plunge the valve into her pale and fragile neck.
She simply shuddered in his arms, her body cold, her muscles spastic.
“Come on, baby. Stay with me.” He saw her face now, pale and soaked with sweat, her eyes open and staring at nothing.
“Pulse is too rapid.”
He saw that for himself. “Come on. Come on, baby. Stay with me.” He didn't realize he had her in his lap, cradling her, rocking her.
“BP's lowering. Finally.”
He could see that too, but somehow it was comforting to hear it. When the med team ran in with its equipment, he let Dex muscle him away as they pumped more drugs into her as the convulsions slowed.
“She's out for now.” The head tech smoothed a lock of hair off her face. Stark had to c
lench his fists to keep himself from knocking the man's hands back. “We know the cause?”
He didn't know what to say. Instead he lifted her up to the antigrav plank, realizing the extra pressure of increased gravity made it much harder on her heart.
“Seems to be caused by a drop in adrenaline.” Dex subtly nudged him out of the way so that the techs could move her. “When you're ready, I'll need her blood sample.”
The head med tech simply nodded.
“You knew she had seizures.” Adrenaline fading into guilt, Stark felt the increased grav slam back into his muscles. Every damned officer he knew had implants to correct for sudden shifts in gravity. “Fucking everlasting shit.”
“That sums it up.” The sub-commander fell into step beside him as they walked out the brig.
“I shouldn't have gotten you involved…earlier.”
Dex only shook his head.
* * *
“You've had Intelligence on board. All this time.”
Stark didn't have time for interdepartmental politics, but not answering didn't deter his father.
“Pazlov's demanding access to his officer.”
Stark spared a glance at the holo-output emanating from his wrist unit. The general's face was set in stern, furious lines, his eyes a dangerous glint of steel, his posture stiff and uncompromising.
“His officer is still unconscious.” He had no intention of revealing her mission to the general until they had assembled all the pieces. Dex had spent the last few hours in a lab, studying Zoya's blood. As such, Stark had to deal with bitching personnel and high-strung tempers. And since he didn't have the sub-commander's infinite finesse, he scowled his way through crew disputes and wouldn't allow himself to check on her.
Zoya had been out for five hours.
“I need your full report.” The general's voice sounded more clipped than usual.
“I don't have all the information.” Stark plugged in a denial for a request to switch fuel safety conductors to Supply Locker Three. If they were all to die tomorrow, at least they'd do it knowing their shit was all in the same place. “If I would speculate, I'd say Intelligence planned something big and invited Victory to party.”
