Guardian

by Knight, Angela

  “Warning!” her comp squawked suddenly. “Unusual cellular activity occurring in areas of the brain that should not be experiencing—”

  “Comp, deactivate,” Riane interrupted.

  “This is not advised given the current—”

  “Comp, obey command.”

  It produced a strange, high-pitched yelp and went silent. Leaving her blessedly alone with Nick. Nick, who drew away from her, breathing hard, his hands stroking her breasts through the fabric of her shirt.

  His eyes were a solid sheet of green from corner to corner. Even the whites were gone.

  Riane closed her eyes as he kissed her again. Sparks seemed to flood her mouth with every slow lick and kiss. She squirmed at the surging heat spiraling up her spine.

  Nick slipped a hand beneath her shirt, found her breast. His fingers were still burning hot, yet they felt good to her. Urging her back on the couch, he settled on top of her, kissing his way down the pulse of her throat.

  Riane opened dazed eyes. A rose bloomed, floating in midair just past his shoulder. She blinked, and it was gone. She inhaled sharply. The scent of roses was so vivid, she instinctively looked around for them.

  But there was nothing there.

  Long fingers plucked, stroked the nipple that peaked hard for his attention. Nick swept her shirt up and pulled one lacy cup of her bra down. Riane sighed, her head swimming, and let herself float on a river of sensation and swirling light.

  Power rolled through Nick in intoxicating waves that surged into his hands and out through his burning fingertips.

  He could feel Riane changing under him. Feel the Power of the Stone respond to her, sending sparks dancing around them as if caught in a strong wind.

  And he could feel her. The core of her, hot and strong and deliciously female. He could sense her love of him, delicate and blooming bright in her most secret heart, half-denied even to herself. She might consider that love doomed—hell, he did, too—but that did not make it any less real.

  And deep inside her, he also sensed the furtive dream of finding a way to be with him. Somehow, despite the Sela and the Xerans and the Enforcers. Despite everything working against them.

  Feeling half-drunk, Nick suckled her sweet breasts, wanting to give her the same pleasure she gave him just by loving him. He reached down, unsnapped and unzipped her pants, slid a palm between her thighs.

  Wet. So very wet. He moaned against her mouth, eager as she surged under him. He slid a finger inside her, and she threw her head back. Red hair danced and shifted around her face like gleaming silk. “Nick!”

  “Yeah. God, yeah!” He had to be inside her. Now, with power leaping around them like an electrical storm, wild and crackling.

  He stripped her pants down her thighs, then was forced to stop and fumble with those damn clunky boots of hers.

  Riane whimpered and tugged at his shirt, her usually graceful hands oddly uncoordinated. “Naked.” It was a demand, even if only half-coherent.

  Nick grinned at her and pulled off his shirt and jeans, pausing only long enough to toe off his running shoes.

  She still wore her top and bra, though both were pulled up to bare those beautiful breasts. He didn’t bother with undressing her further.

  Riane reached for him, her eyes glowing green, mixed with sparks of hot Warfem red. He went into her arms like coming home, settled over her as she wrapped her legs around his hips. They both sang moans as he drove deep.

  Light swirled around them as they strained against each other, power rising with every delicious thrust. Riane answered each strong dig of his cock with a liquid pulse of her sex, so seductively tight it was all he could do to hold on.

  Wet. Sweet God, she was wet, and tighter than anything he’d ever felt. Groaning in his ear, plunging up against him, meeting his strength with her own. Her nails dug into his back, and her heels ground against his ass, spurring him on. Maddened, he plunged and plunged and plunged.

  She arched under him with a yowl, and came in long, rippling contractions that sucked and pulled at him in silent, luscious demand.

  Nick shouted, and released his own desperate hold on control. As he came, green comets exploded through the room, lighting up everything, spilling showers of sparks.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, gazing around them in wonder. “That never happened before.”

  Then he realized they were floating a foot above the couch.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  They started to fall. Nick caught them in mid-drop—he didn’t want the entire weight of his body stabbing his cock into Riane. He lowered them more carefully, until her back and his knees settled into the couch cushions again.

  “As quickies went,” Nick said, lifting his head to grin down into her face, “that one was really . . .”

  He stopped. Riane’s eyes were open, her lips parted. He had the chilling impression she wasn’t aware of him at all. “Riane?”

  She made no answer.

  Quickly, he pulled free of her body, grabbed her, and sat back down on the couch, pulling her across his lap. She was as limp as a rag doll. “Riane, wake up!”

  “Frieka,” she moaned. “Frieka needs me. He’s gone wolf. Deactivated. Corydon . . .”

  Ice crept the length of Nick’s spine. “Frieka’s not here, Riane. We’re at the Sela’s encampment, remember?”

  “Hunting the thief.” Her head rolled back and forth against his shoulders. “He’s hunting the thief.”

  “Holy shit.” Nick laid her down on the couch, grabbed his jeans, and dragged them on.

  He started to race for the door, then stopped short, realizing Riane looked a little too obviously like he’d just banged her brains out. He turned back long enough to pull her bra and shirt into place, then horsed her jeans back onto those long legs. She fought him weakly, moaning about her wolf.

  “Mother!” he shouted, adding a telepathic bellow for good measure.

  “The Victor,” Riane whimpered. “He’s infected the Outpost. Infected my hair.”

  Shit. She was completely off her head. “There’s nothing wrong with your hair, baby.”

  “Bugs in my hair.” Riane reached up and began to yank at her braid, so hard he knew it had to hurt.

  He grabbed her wrist. “Riane, don’t do that, honey.”

  “Nick?” Charlotte hurried in, followed by a large Sela with sable brown fur. “What’s wrong?”

  He sighed in relief at the sight of them. Hopefully they’d know what to do. “She’s hallucinating! What’s wrong with her?”

  “Yeo?” Charlotte nodded at the Sela, who started forward. “This is Yeo. He’s a healer.”

  “But does he know anything about humans?”

  “I know whatever I need to know.” The Sela padded over to the couch and reared to examine Riane with those long, inhuman fingers. He—she? it? Nick couldn’t tell gender with these people—made a humming sound of satisfaction. “The new neural complex is coming in nicely. Very fast growth, too.”

  “Frieka!” Riane shouted in alarm. “Don’t hurt the Chief!”

  “I don’t care about the neural complex!” Nick snarled, tightening his grip on her as she batted weakly at the air. “Why is she off her head?”

  “Oh, she’s not. Her powers are just coming in. Because the growth is occurring so rapidly, she’s more conscious of her visions than her immediate surroundings.”

  “Traitor,” Riane muttered. “Fucking Temporal Enforcement sent us a traitor to investigate treason. Fox in the hen-house. Dickholes.”

  “Is she going to be all right?” Nick demanded.

  Yeo looked up at him with huge, kind eyes and patted his knee. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Will she be finished with the transition by the time the Xerans arrive?” Charlotte asked.

  The Sela cocked its head, considering Riane’s anguished face. “Now that, I can’t tell you. It will be very close.”

  “Can you speed the process?” Charlotte demanded.

  “I don�
��t think so.” Nick glowered and gathered Riane closer protectively. “This is rough enough on her as it is.”

  “It’ll be rougher if the Xerans arrive and she’s helpless,” Charlotte growled back. “We need her in good enough shape to fight. The three of us are outnumbered as it is.”

  He winced. “Good point.”

  “But irrelevant, because there is no way to make the process any faster,” Yeo told them. “Call me if she takes a turn for the worse.” The healer dropped to the floor again and turned to go.

  Nick seriously considered grabbing him by the scruff to stop him. “Wait a minute. Where are you going?”

  Yeo shot him a look that strongly resembled amusement. “You don’t need me, boy. And we must make preparations for our guests.”

  “What guests?”

  “He’s talking about the Xerans.” Charlotte rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, son. Sit and talk to me.”

  She aimed a look at the floor nearby. A second couch sprang up, reminding him of a time-lapse image of a mushroom growing after a spring rain. Settling down on the couch, she cocked her head and studied him. “You do love your pretty Warfem a great deal. Don’t you?”

  “There’s a lot to love,” Nick told her absently, watching Riane mutter and jerk in his arms. Sparks flashed around her, reacting to her growing power. “Besides, she reminds me of you. Strong. Principled.” He smiled slightly. “Stubborn as hell.” Glancing up, he found Charlotte staring at him in utter fascination. “What?”

  “It’s just . . . I never expected to have children. Not after . . .” She waved a hand around at their surroundings, indicating her involvement with the Sela. “I didn’t think I’d be any good at it. Xerans don’t exactly value kids, other than as future warriors, mothers of warriors, and servants of the Victor.”

  “Sounds like a pretty dysfunctional culture.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “He’s mad,” Riane whispered. “Powerful and mad. Coming here. No!” Her head jerked back and forth, hair sliding across Nick’s arms.

  Charlotte’s lips took on a bitter twist. “Sounds like she’s talking about the Victor.”

  “He really is crazy?”

  “Oh, yes. Even the Xerans know it. But as Riane said, He’s also really powerful, and nobody wants to piss Him off.”

  Absently stroking Riane’s hair, Nick studied his mother. “What if we killed Him?”

  “Nobody would be happier than the Xerans. Of course, the whole flipping culture would plunge into chaos as competing factions tried to take control.” She considered whatever mental image that statement summoned before shaking her head regretfully. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure He can be killed.”

  “If He’s alive, He can die.”

  “But that’s what I’m saying. He’s immortal. How can you kill an immortal?”

  “That’s got to be a myth,” Nick protested. “Not even the Sela are immortal.”

  “True. No living thing is immortal.” She shrugged. “But the Victor is not a living thing.”

  • 30 •

  Alerio opened his eyes and sat up on his bunk. For a moment, he just sat there, trying to get his bearings. His eyes felt gluey, and his mouth had a nasty aftertaste he associated with a long antivirus session. “Computer, are you activated?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Any sign of continuing unauthorized Trojan activity?”

  “Negative. All systems are functioning properly.”

  He blew out a breath and fell back on his elbows in relief. It had taken him hours to identify and destroy the Trojan, but he’d finally succeeded. Now it was time to check on his fellow Enforcers. He’d ordered the agents to work in pairs, assigning one fourth of them to take the first shift while the second group watched over them. Then the first crew would watch over the second. After those two groups were back online, the third and fourth teams would alternate. It would be slow work, but this was not the kind of thing you could rush, not with an infection this massive and invasive.

  He frowned, glancing around his cabin. Speaking of which, where the hell was Galar, who had been serving as his spotter? The Master Enforcer was nowhere around, though he’d been here when Alerio went under. “Comp, contact Master Enforcer Galar Arvid.”

  The comp’s pause went on just a little too long. “No response.”

  Alerio’s frown deepened. Galar would never have left him alone under these circumstances. Unless, that is, something had gone badly wrong while he was out.

  He rolled off his bunk and moved through his quarters, conducting a fast but thorough search by eye and sensor. There was no sign of the big Warlord. Not that there were many places to hide in here.

  Frowning darkly, Alerio moved for the door, keyed it open, and stepped outside. And froze in horror.

  Galar lay sprawled on the deck just outside his door, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Blood pooled around his body in a lake of red. His throat had been slashed.

  “Galar!” Going cold with shock, Alerio dropped to one knee beside his friend and searched for the pulse that should beat beneath the agent’s jaw. “Dr. Chogan, man down outside my quarters!”

  Even as he made the call, he knew it was too late. Galar’s body was cold. Chogan could do a great deal, but she couldn’t bring back someone who had been dead that long.

  “No response from the infirmary,” his comp said.

  What the hell?

  “Activate all Enforcer emergency response teams,” Alerio snapped. Something was badly wrong, and he damn well wanted to know what was going on. “I want at least two teams down here, and two more to check the infirmary. Everyone else conduct a thorough deck-to-deck search of the Outpost, including the concourse and civilian Jump stations. I want a full status report on anything unusual.”

  The next pause was so long, there was ample time for a chill to start crawling up his spine. “There is no response to the call.”

  What the fuck was going on? “Send evidence collection ’bots to this location.” There was nothing he could do for Galar now except find his killer. But his most immediate concern was the living members of the Outpost, both agents and civilians.

  With a last apologetic glance at his friend—oh, hell, he was going to have to tell Jess her husband of two weeks had been murdered—Alerio rose and started down the corridor.

  He found the next body lying in the corridor. Wulf was a short, massively powerful heavy-worlder who had always been more than a match for anything he encountered. Someone had stabbed him over and over again. His blood splashed the bulkheads, deck, and ceiling in a three-meter radius. He had obviously fought hard for his life.

  And Alerio had failed him. Hadn’t foreseen this. Hadn’t prevented this.

  By the time the Chief found the fourth mutilated body, he was running. He didn’t even break step. If there was anyone left alive, it was his job to save whoever it was.

  Too late for the rest.

  He needed his weapons. His armor, his knives, a shard pistol at the very least.

  Had to be Xerans. Had to find the sons of bitches. And kill them. He’d grieve once his enemies had paid for what they’d done.

  Alerio charged into the armory, fury, grief, and guilt boiling inside him like a toxic stew.

  Just inside the door, he slid to a stop as shock rolled over him like an ice-water bath.

  Ivar Terje looked up at him from Dona Astryr’s butchered body. The traitor was covered in blood. “I told you I’d kill her.”

  Alerio’s scream of anguish rang in his own ears, tore at his throat . . .

  Alerio opened his eyes and sat up on his bunk. For a moment, he just sat there, trying to get his bearings. His eyes felt gluey, and his mouth had a nasty aftertaste he associated with a long antivirus session. “Computer, are you activated?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Any sign of continuing unauthorized Trojan activity?”

  “Negative. All systems are functioning properly.�
��

  Chief Alerio Dyami finally collapsed back in his restraints, his massive body going still, panting, his wide eyes staring blankly at the infirmary ceiling. At least he wasn’t howling anymore. Those deep-throated bellows of horror had ripped at Dona’s soul like a point-blank blast from a shard pistol.

  His last shout had been her name. It had sounded like a death scream.

  But even as he fell silent, Galar Arvid began to bellow his wife’s name from the next bunk, fighting the field restraints that barely kept him from tearing his way free. Jessica hovered by his side, stroking his face in a desperate attempt to calm him. “I’m here, baby, I’m here,” she chanted. “I’m fine. It’s an illusion, baby . . .”

  “Jess!” he roared. “Jess, no!”

  Dona looked away, pain knifing her chest.

  Ten more bunks filled the room, all occupied by the Outpost’s senior officers. The agents muttered, swore, raged, then fell into a comatose stillness before beginning the process all over again.

  Chogan hurried past, red medical robes flaring wide around her legs.

  “Any luck?” Dona called desperately.

  The doctor paused for a weary moment. She looked like hell, her mouth pinched in a white face, her eyes haunted with worry for her patients. “No, dammit. The nearest we can figure, these agents were able to debug their computers just like the rest of the Outpost, but that seems to have triggered some kind of secondary infection. I deactivated their comps, but it didn’t even slow the thing down. Apparently whatever it is has somehow infected their brains, but my sensors can’t even detect it. I have no fucking idea what we’re dealing with.”

  “Sweet Goddess,” Dona whispered.

  “Yeah. That goddess of yours—you might want to do some praying to her.” As if unable to stand still another moment, Chogan strode away again.

  “I don’t think I can take much more of this.” Moving like a sleepwalker, Jess joined Dona beside Alerio’s bed. She had picked up a cup of stimchai in shaking hands. The liquid had grown cold, judging by the lack of steam. “I feel like I’m about to start screaming. Why was everyone except the senior staff able to get rid of the Trojan? These are the most experienced agents on the Outpost—they should have been able to defeat this thing if anybody could.”