Operation Hydra

by Cyndi Friberg

“I figured it out later, but that day my mind was a little muddled by fear. Watching a preview of what he intended for me…” She wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks and sniffled.

  Trey reached behind him and retrieved some tissues from the holder on his desk. “What did your mother do?”

  “She told Hydran she’d have the baby. Then she knelt beside the girl and absorbed her suffering.”

  “Is that different than healing?”

  “Yes. My mother wasn’t—isn’t a healer in the conventional sense. The only way she can rid a person of an illness or injury is to absorb it into her own body. That’s what she’d done with Corra all those years ago. Mother was damn lucky the virus wasn’t as harmful to Ontarians.”

  “Did Hydran try to stop her?”

  “Of course, but Hydran’s men had—hurt the girl badly. He told them to be brutal and they were happy to oblige. Mother absorbed the injuries and I felt her heart stop beating. You say she’s still alive, but I felt it, Trey, I felt her spirit slip away.”

  She accepted his embrace this time, snuggling against his chest. Trey searched his mind for an explanation. How could both stories be true?

  “How long were you left in the treatment chamber?”

  “For hours. They took the girl away and rushed Mom to the medical unit in ward D.”

  “That was the last time you saw or sensed your mother?” Her hair brushed his face as she nodded. “There must be an explanation—but I sure don’t have it. Charlotte is a very powerful Mystic and now Drakkin is hinting that Krystabel is still alive. We’ll figure it out. We’ll figure all this out. But we better unravel one mystery at a time.”

  “Belle first then my mother?”

  “Exactly.”

  Her warm mouth opened against his throat. “This has been the longest day of my life.”

  “I wish we were returning to Ontariese in triumph but freeing two hundred isn’t a bad day’s work.”

  “What happens when we do return to Ontariese in triumph?”

  She sounded vulnerable, charmingly insecure. It was so out of character for his little hellion. He scooped her up in his arms and strode toward the bedroom. “Why, the brigand always gets his choice of the spoils so I’ll be enjoying your company for a good long time.”

  His outrageousness never failed to soothe her. Krysta wrapped her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his multi-colored hair. “The last time you called yourself a brigand, I punched you in the eye.”

  He kicked the door shut behind them and crossed to his bed. The jewel tones from the study had been carried on into the bedroom, repeated in the boldly striped comforter and wine-colored molding. Again she thought everything appeared more Earthish than the rest of the ship.

  “I’m ready for you this time.” He slid her down along his body.

  Before she could comment on his obvious readiness, his mouth sealed over hers. She opened for him, ready to play, needing to lose herself in their mutual desire. They had been so close today. So very close. Wrapping her arms around his back, she pressed herself against him.

  He pulled back, gazing into her eyes. His strong hands framed her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. “We don’t have to make love. I know this day has been hard on you. I really do possess enough self-control to hold you while we sleep.”

  “Well, my self-control is exhausted and we can sleep after.”

  Kissing her mouth once before he pulled his shirt off over his head, Trey apparently approved of her choice. Her eager hands moved immediately to his chest, making it impossible for him to rid her of her uniform top. He grumbled, but Krysta didn’t care. The first night they made love, he’d explored every inch of her body—twice—but protested that he needed her too badly to withstand her touch.

  Her fingers fumbled at the waistband of his pants, searching for the fastening. Trey obligingly undid them for her and she slipped her hands inside, working his trousers down along his lean hips. He kicked them aside and reached for her, but Krysta ducked, moving quickly out of reach.

  “Let me look at you,” she said.

  “You’ve seen me before,” he objected, but he allowed her hungry gaze to take in its fill. “Let me undress you.”

  She shook her head. “Let me touch you.”

  His amber gaze clouded a bit but he extended his arms away from his body. “Touch me. Take as long as you need. Then I’ll touch you.”

  Warmth curled through her, a sensation much sweeter than desire. He understood. He understood how oppressed her life had been, how precious control was to her. He cared enough to surrender. Despite his pride, despite his strength, he would entrust himself to her.

  She touched him. Running her hands reverently over each contour of his muscular body, Krysta indulged her need to feel him, to memorize the texture of his skin, the blatant power of his rippling torso and thick arms. She pressed her face against his chest while her hands wandered the planes and indentation of his back.

  It seemed natural to continue the migration downward and she knelt in front of him. Faced with the throbbing proof of how well her touch pleased him, she grew bolder still. She circled his shaft with her fingers and passed her thumb gently over the very tip. The muscles in his legs bunched. He groaned.

  An image from the Companion suddenly popped into her mind. A woman kneeling before her lover as Krysta was kneeling now. Her head bobbed back and forth. Krysta hadn’t understood the significance of the position. Smiling wickedly, Krysta looked up along Trey’s magnificent body until their gazes locked.

  She licked her lips and then closed her mouth around the plush tip of his erection. Trey’s fingers threaded through her hair and she could hear each harsh breath. She swirled her tongue around him and took him deeper. Hot, throbbing, his shaft slid against her tongue. She tightened her lips and heard him groan. Moving faster, she inhaled his scent, memorized his taste, claimed him.

  Trembling, Trey stumbled back, dragging himself out of her mouth. “I really need to touch you now.”

  She smiled and raised her arms in silent invitation. He pulled her uniform top off and helped her to her feet. Bending to her full breasts, he cupped one while he adored the other with his mouth, licking and sucking until she arched into his touch.

  His hand drifted down along her side, finding her hip silky and bare. When had she shed her pants? He chuckled, thankful for her eagerness. He swept her into his arms and placed her in the center of the bed, lying down on his side facing her. Slipping his forearm under her neck, he kissed her deeply while his hand began a leisurely exploration.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her lips. “So brave, so fierce—and so honorable.”

  Her hand stroked his face, her tongue returned his caress, and Trey felt his world unravel. He couldn’t love her. They would take her away! As soon as they returned to Ontariese the Mystics and the High Council would sweep her into a life filled with intrigue and—politics.

  The thought made him angry and desperate. His heart pounded and his fists clenched in the sheets. It was already too late. He loved her, how could he not?

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. You’ve just made me ache so badly, I hurt all over.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “You tell me.”

  He nudged her legs apart and scooted down between her thighs. Feathering kisses across her belly and along one hipbone, he watched her quiver, heard her sigh. He loved her. The realization wouldn’t leave his mind. Damn it, how had this happened?

  He lifted her leg to his shoulder, parting her gently with his thumbs. She cried out with the first sweep of his tongue, but soon she arched for him, tense and responsive. He circled her clit mercilessly, wanting her to find release so he could take his time inside her. And by the gods of the day moon, he needed to be inside her!

  Krysta tossed upon on the bed, her fingers tangled in his hair. Tension wound so tightly within her, she feared she’d break i
n two. His mouth moved against her, his tongue gently circling. Her core throbbed, hollow and burning. Why wouldn’t he fill her?

  “Trey, please.” Ever so carefully, his lips closed around the knot of nerves his tongue had been teasing and she shattered. Hard, raking spasms of pleasure shook her entire body. She cried out, her back bowed clear off the bed.

  Lifting her other leg to his shoulder, he thrust into her while her center still pulsed with climax. Krysta’s body continued to throb, tingling wave followed tingling wave as he moved in and out. She couldn’t catch her breath. The pleasure was too intense.

  Lights danced before her eyes and her world narrowed to Trey. She felt his strong body moving over, against and into her. Tightening her inner muscles around him, she made him groan. She did it again and again. He moved faster, deeper. The tension built, though it had never receded completely. She welcomed his aggression, needed it to push away the lurking darkness. His hand grasped her hips, holding her firmly, taking her even more deeply.

  Her knees nearly touched her shoulders as he pulled her hips clear off the bed. Each forceful thrust sent a fresh burst of pleasure ricocheting through her abdomen.

  She couldn’t move, could barely breath as he pounded into her. But she was exhilarated by his aggression, thrilled to know she alone created this all-consuming passion in him.

  Trey jerked against her, shuddering as release claimed him. Unlike her first nearly violent climax, Krysta’s second unfurled gently, spiraling through her body in languid waves. She sighed, feeling sleepy and replete.

  Careful to keep their bodies joined, Trey released her legs and rolled them to their sides. He pulled her leg up to circle his waist and slipped his arm under her neck. Krysta groaned. She relished the fullness of him still thick and undeniable within her.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered into her hair.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I got a little carried away there at the end.”

  “I love it when you get carried away.”

  He kissed her slowly, gently. When he pulled back, she silently searched his features, trying to understand the unexpected change in his mood.

  “I’m glad,” he said, but there was no mistaking the sadness in his amber eyes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Falling. The sensation was pleasant at first, a gentle tickle in her belly. Krysta sank through the darkness effortlessly, but she was gaining speed. Flailing her arms, she searched blindly for something to slow her descent, to break her fall.

  Plummeting now, she fought against panic. If she didn’t find a soft place to land, she would die. The impact would smash—

  She collided with something—anything but soft. Thick arms banded her, cradling her against a muscular chest.

  “Trey?” she whispered.

  The darkness cleared and she could finally make out his face. A tiled corridor stretched in both directions. She looked up, but all she could see was tunneled-out earth and exposed utility pipes. How had she fallen into this corridor? How had Trey known where to be to catch her?

  “Hurry.” Setting her on her feet, he took her hand and ran.

  Down one corridor then another, around a corner, down steep metal stairs. What was this place?

  “Where are we?”

  “Hurry,” was all he said.

  She tried to keep up but his legs were so long. Smoke swirled around them. She coughed but kept running, frantic and afraid. Perspiration broke out on her forehead and made her hand slick. She grasped him tighter.

  But the smoky current still swept him away.

  “Trey!”

  Batting her hands back and forth in front of her face, she searched through the haze. Heat radiated from all around her. She couldn’t see the flames but she could hear the crackle and smell the smoke.

  “Trey!”

  Some unseen force dragged her body upward. She twisted, fighting the sensations this time. Trey was down below. She wanted to be where he was! Faster and faster she ascended. She screamed. She wouldn’t lose him now. They had only just found each other.

  She burst through the floor in the treatment chamber. The one where her mother had died. Krystabel waited for her. A ring of fire surrounded them.

  “Mama?” she sobbed, not believing her eyes.

  The sweltering heat made it hard to breathe, hard to concentrate. She reached for her mother, but her hand passed through the apparition.

  “You must pay attention, Krysta. I cannot maintain this link for long. So much will happen that you will not understand. You will feel like he has won but that’s not true. That was never the case.”

  “Mama, where are you? Are you alive or some sort of spirit?”

  “Krysta,” she said firmly, “listen. No matter the cost, you must protect the child. He is my only chance.”

  “What child?” Krysta asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.”

  The circle of fire tightened, forcing them closer. Krysta could see through the apparition now. She longed to wrap her arms around her mother, to hug her tightly, to feel the security of that nearly forgotten embrace.

  “Once Belle returns her energy to you, all will be made clear.”

  “What?” The image faded. “What does that mean? Wait!”

  Krysta sank to her knees. Her lungs burned and her eyes stung. What had she meant about Belle? Covering her mouth with her hand, she gasped for breath. Flames consumed the air. The heat…

  * * *

  “You will find that the ones who are broken are the ones still refusing to bend. Despite all the words that are spoken, fire and death will win out in the end!”

  Krysta’s clear voice snatched Trey from sleep. He sat up and pulled her into his lap. Her eyes stared straight ahead, clouded and sightless. Her face was ashen, her lips bloodless. “Krysta.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “Come on, sweetheart, come back to me.”

  She shook, unresponsive to his voice.

  “Krysta,” he said louder, but her eyes remained opaque, their swirling completely stopped.

  Something was wrong. Something Mystical was wrong. He dragged on his pants and yanked the sheet from the sleeping station, quickly wrapping Krysta in it. Not caring if he woke the entire ship, he opened general coms and called for Gerr or Drakkin. It was early, not yet dawn.

  The privacy buzzer sounded so it had to be Gerr. “Enter,” he called impatiently, stunned when his brother Tal glided into the room.

  “Little brother, I don’t care how or why, I’m just so damn glad to see you.”

  Tal looked at the woman on his bed and moved farther into the room. “What did you do to her?”

  Trey let the jibe slide, too upset to care about anything but Krysta. “She woke up like this. I think she had another prophetic vision, but why won’t she come out of it?”

  Moving to the sleeping station, Tal assessed her pale face. “This is Krysta, the woman from Charlotte’s vision.”

  “Can you—fix her?”

  Tal chuckled at the phrase. “May I touch her without your complete overreaction?”

  “Probably not. But I’ll put my hands in my pockets.”

  “Better still, go put on some clothes.”

  * * *

  “Krysta.”

  She heard her name, but the voice was unfamiliar. Why did a stranger know her name? She stood in the courtyard surrounded by the charred ruins of The Center. Smoke-blackened and cracked from the heat, the dome no longer imprisoned her. But she had nowhere else to go. She turned to see who had spoken her name. He wasn’t a stranger after all.

  “I know you,” she whispered. “I mean, I’ve seen your face before.”

  “Have you?” His accent was a bit more pronounced than Trey’s, but she recognized it now as Ontarian. His angular features looked much as the picture disk portrayed them, his clothing a darker shade of gray.

  “Are you Tal dar Aune, Trey’s brother?”

  “I am, and you are my life mate’s nie
ce. I am glad you are not afraid of me.”

  “Why would I be afraid?”

  “Do you know where you are? How you got here?”

  He strolled toward her, his smoke-colored robes rippling in the breeze. His raven-black hair, coiled neatly down his back, swayed like a thick length of rope. Everything smelled like smoke. What happened to the fire? How had she survived? She couldn’t hold on to one thought. Her mind was muddled. “Why don’t your eyes swirl, if you’re Ontarian?”

  “Like Vee, I am a shapeshifter. Would you feel more comfortable if my eyes swirled?” As he asked the question, his eyes, an intense combination of gray, blue and brown, slowly began to rotate.

  She smiled. “Where am I?”

  “This is called the metaphysical plane. It is the region inside your mind where your Mystic abilities are accessed.”

  “Oh, the dream—but it wasn’t a dream, was it? It was a vision. Did I have another vision?”

  “Can you not remember?”

  She scrubbed her face with her hands, backing away from him. “Where is Trey? I want Trey.”

  “I will take you to him as soon as you are ready, but first we must figure out why you ended up here.”

  “I just got lost.” She voice shook. “Can you lead me back?”

  “Something frightened you. Running away from it will not help. That is not the Mystic way.”

  “I’m not a Mystic.”

  He smiled and extended a long-fingered hand. “You are luminous with Mystic energy. There can be no denying what you are. When you are ready to tell us what frightened you, all you need to do is speak and we will hear you.”

  “We? You and Trey?”

  “No, Krysta. The Mystics. Like it or not, you are one of us now.”

  * * *

  He was surrounded by Mystics. Trey’s hostile gaze shot from Gerr, to Drakkin, and finally landed on his brother. Tal had brought Krysta out of her stupor nearly an Earth hour ago and still they waited for her explanation. The Mystics didn’t seem bothered by the delay. They chatted—often telepathically—about recent developments at the Conservatory. Tal wanted to wait until Krysta joined them to explain the reason for his coming, which left Trey as an observer to their conversation.