Lords of Mayhem

by Angelique Anjou

  He looked irritated. “How am I to learn what pleases you if I am not allowed to do that?”

  “You’ll have to figure it out … just like everybody else! Anyway, that’s not the way it’s done! You have to be yourself, be your true self, not try to be something you aren’t! I have to like you for yourself, and vice versa, otherwise it’s not real. It’s just … play and then we would both be hurt and angry to discover we had fallen for a delusion.”

  “This sounds unnecessarily complicated,” he said flatly. “Do mates not strive to please one another?”

  “To an extent, of course they do.” She sighed tiredly. “I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.”

  “I am trying to understand your species and, more specifically, you. I am pleased, of course, that you are intelligent and complex—I do not like to be bored—but I cannot see that we can coexist in harmony without understanding. If you will not allow me to explore your mind at will—which I find very unreasonable given the limitations of your language—then I do not see any other way to discover what I wish to know without conversation.”

  “You don’t seriously expect me to accept you as a … mate?” she demanded, aghast.

  He looked definitely affronted at that remark. “Why would you not?” he asked tightly. “You do not find me displeasing.”

  “Sorry. Look, I don’t want a mate, alright? Even if I did—as you pointed out yourself—we aren’t the same species.”

  “But we are compatible.”

  “In what way?” she asked dryly.

  “Physically.”

  She shook her head. “That isn’t enough for me. Don’t get me wrong! The sex was great …. At least, it seemed that way in the dream. I enjoyed fucking you, as you so elegantly put it, and I’m not saying I wouldn’t be interested in doing it again, but that isn’t what I’m looking for.”

  “You are looking for a man who has ceased to exist except in your memories.”

  Anya felt her throat close. “I know he’s gone and I can never get him back, but I’m not willing to settle for less than I had with him. I loved him with all my heart and he loved me. I’d rather be alone than live with a man who didn’t love me, and whom I didn’t love.”

  He was silent for several moments, obviously wrestling with his thoughts. “Would it please you if I looked like him?”

  Anya glanced at him sharply, her gaze flickering over his face while she digested that and it dawned on her that he wasn’t human regardless of his appearance. He wasn’t asking if he would be more acceptable to her if he looked like Jeremy because he wanted reassurance that he was acceptable as he was. He was asking because he could make himself appear to be Jeremy. Fury swept through her. “Don’t you dare!” she cried hoarsely, jolting from the bunk to glare at him through the tears that abruptly clouded her vision. “Don’t even consider it! I would never, ever forgive you for that!”

  He sat up, studying her in baffled anger. “If the notion does not please you, you need only say so,” he said stiffly.

  Anya swallowed against the emotion clogging her throat. “Get out! Just go!”

  He stood. Instead of leaving, however, he moved closer, lifting a hand to trace the dampness on her cheeks. “What is this?”

  “Nothing for you to analyze, damn you!” she cried angrily, struggling to keep from sobbing. “Just go away!”

  “Sorrow?” He focused on her face as if he could enter her mind … because he could, and he did, trespassing where he had no right. “You are afraid because you want this.”

  “It wouldn’t be real!” she sobbed. “You aren’t him. I couldn’t bear it if you looked like him! I couldn’t!”

  He pulled her against him despite her resistance, tucking her head against his shoulder. “I can take this pain from your mind,” he said gruffly. “Take the memories away. I do not like to see you hurt, beloved.”

  “No!” she exclaimed, desperation in her voice as she tried to shove away from him. “I don’t want you to take him away from me! I won’t let you! It’s all I’ve got left!”

  He manacled his arms around her until she stopped struggling because she was too tired to continue. Smoothing the damp hair from her cheek, he dipped his head until his lips were only a fraction of an inch from her ear. “Sleep, Anya.”

  Blackness descended over her mind like a curtain going down.

  Chapter Seven

  If Anya hadn’t been so miserable, she might have laughed at the sight of Captain Laine wearing one of the horrible gowns she’d been given to wear. It was hardly a laughing matter, even if she’d hadn’t been distressed, and yet she still felt a faint flutter of amusement as she surveyed his hairy, knobby knees beneath the hem of the examination gown.

  “I’m glad you can see some humor in this,” Laine growled, slouching into the hard, straight backed chair beside her and crossing one ankle over one aforesaid knobby knee.

  The brief lightening of her mood shifted. “I suppose it would make you feel better if I was wailing and rocking myself?”

  He flicked an irritated glance at her. “Oh you are feeling sprightly today!”

  “I feel like you look … like shit,” she said tartly.

  Russo, who’d just come from another examination room, uttered a snorting laugh and settled on her other side.

  “You think that’s funny, Russo?” Laine growled.

  Russo shrugged. “Funniest thing I’ve heard all day. Beats the shit out of ‘bend over’.”

  Laine scowled at him. “Yeah. What the shit was that all about anyway? You think their scanner’s broke?”

  “It wasn’t when they used it on me,” Anya volunteered. “You know the drill, Laine. Over six months in space, you get an ‘in depth’.”

  “Yeah, well that was a little deeper than I wanted them to go,” Russo groused.

  “And this is the fun part,” Anya agreed. “Can’t wait till we get to the psyche eval.

  There’s nothing I like better than having someone screw with my head.”

  When neither Laine nor Russo commented, she glanced at Laine. He was sitting perfectly still, his eyes glazed—as if he’d suddenly been ‘turned off’. After staring at him blankly in surprise for a moment, she turned to look at Russo and discovered he looked as frozen as Laine.

  Movement in front of her redirected her attention and she discovered Legion standing before her. He crouched until he was eye level with her. “What is this psyche eval?”

  Discomfort overshadowed her surprise as Anya met his gaze and then alarm. She glanced around but, thankfully, there was no one else in sight. “What are you doing here? And what did you do to Laine and Russo?”

  He glanced at the two men a little impatiently. “I did nothing to either of them.”

  Anya eyed him in patent disbelief. “They’re frozen. They don’t even look like they’re breathing.”

  “It is …,” he paused, frowning thoughtfully, “a ripple in time. It moves differently for you and I, now, than it does for them.”

  Anya felt coldness sweep through her. Her mouth went dry, but doubt never entered her mind that he’d done what he’d said he’d done. “Why?”

  He tilted his head. “I wanted to be alone with you. You are distressed about what is happening here. What is it that they are doing?”

  “A medical and psyche exam—to determine if we’re crazy or just lying.”

  His gaze flickered over her face. “Because the space platform was destroyed?”

  Anya shook her head wryly. “It isn’t the tests, although they aren’t particularly pleasant.”

  “Then what?”

  She looked away. “The space platform cost a substantial sum of money—money that was lost when it was destroyed. They want somebody to blame.”

  “What are the consequences if they decide that you are to blame?”

  “That depends on what they blame on us, really. If they decide we’re responsible for the deaths of our fellow crewmembers—jail. If they decide that th
at was an accident but that we were negligent and caused the deaths and the destruction of the space platform, then more jail. I don’t think there’s much chance they aren’t going to blame something on us. This is just to determine how much we can be held responsible for, to see if there is evidence of mental defect or disease. If we’re completely healthy, mentally and physically, which we are, then we’re totally screwed.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I will take you away from here and then they cannot blame you.”

  Anya stared at him in disbelief. “Even supposing I’d agree to that—and I don’t—you think I could live with knowing they were blamed when they’re no more responsible than I am?”

  “Why would you not go?”

  “I just told you why—because it isn’t right. We’ll hire lawyers and fight this. It isn’t your problem.”

  He straightened abruptly. “You said that it was my fault before.”

  Anya sighed. “Because I thought so before.” But mostly because she’d been angry and wanted somebody to blame.

  “And now you do not?”

  She looked up at him, studying his face, realizing abruptly that she knew there was no evil in him, despite what she’d feared in the beginning. “I don’t think you meant for any of that to happen. I’m not sure what you were trying to do, but I can’t think of any reason you would’ve wanted that.”

  “And this is why you have decided that I am not at fault? Because you cannot think of a reason why I would want it to happen?”

  His voice was carefully neutral, but she knew he distrusted her sudden ‘faith’ in him. It relieved her in a way. The thought had occurred to her that he might have been playing around in her mind, that her perceptions might not actually be her own. She chewed her lip. Finally, she heaved a sigh. “Partly, but also because I don’t think you’re either careless or destructive. I think, if anything, it was just that you didn’t understand what your interference might cause.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “So I am not guilty because I am ignorant or lack intelligence or perhaps both?”

  She gave him a look. “I hadn’t noticed you being so prickly before. You told me that you didn’t completely understand our species,” she said pointedly.

  Irritation flickered across his features.

  She studied him a moment and felt amusement waft through her, realizing he was torn between annoyance of any suggestion that he wasn’t always in complete control and knew exactly what he was doing and an equal desire to assure her that he had not intended harm to come to the people on the space platform. He also didn’t want to have to actually apologize.

  Maybe he wasn’t so different from humans after all?

  “You made me an offer last night that was … kindly intended,” she said after a moment, knowing it hadn’t been kindness that had inspired it at all but rather an attempt to please her despite a strong reluctance to have to go to such lengths to win her over. “I behaved badly. I’m sorry I made you feel it was necessary to offer such a thing and, having done that, grew angry with you when you did. I’m willing to forgive you for hurting me by trespassing where you had no right if you’ll forgive me for being hurtful by willfully misunderstanding.”

  He studied her for a long moment, his expression guarded. “I did not find it hurtful,” he said coolly, “only confusing. Your species is not very reasonable.”

  It took several moments for her anger at the insult to break through the dam of surprise that speech produced. By the time it had, Legion had stalked off and vanished.

  * * * *

  Despite every effort to appear at the meeting the following morning fully alert, and therefore armed to defend herself, Anya had had a restless night and arrived feeling as if her head was stuffed with cotton. None of her fellow crewmembers looked to be in much better condition, but she doubted it was for the same reason.

  At least not entirely.

  A good bit of her restlessness, she knew, was the same as theirs—anxiety because she strongly suspected the meeting today would end with charges being lodged against them. That was enough to worry about and there shouldn’t have been room for personal concerns beyond that, but they’d crept in to disturb her rest just the same.

  She’d dreamed about Legion the night before and this time there was no doubt that it was a dream. The dream had been disturbing—she couldn’t remember why once she woke—but it had been, and it should still have been a relief that it was no more than a dream.

  Legion hadn’t intruded as he had had a very bad habit of doing since he’d first come into her life.

  She thought what actually worried her, though, was his absence, or rather thoughts of what he might be doing instead. She had no idea what the extent of his powers might be, but he’d certainly managed to manipulate a crew of twenty men and women through their subconscious minds with ease. She still didn’t understand why he’d found it necessary, which was no comfort because that left her with no idea whether he would feel compelled to repeat it.

  Maybe he’d felt threatened by the unknown? Maybe he hadn’t precisely felt threatened but had wanted to experiment to see how easily they were controlled? Neither possibility necessarily made him ‘evil’ but both made him dangerous.

  She’d settled at the conference table with a cup of coffee and was sipping the hot brew carefully to keep from burning herself, idly examining the faces of the people entering the room and trying to decide if they looked vindictive enough to throw her and the entire crew in jail, when Legion strolled in as if he belonged. It took her a moment to recognize him, mostly, she thought, because his appearance was so unexpected but partly because he’d discarded the robes she was accustomed to seeing. Now wearing the blue-gray, molded one piece jumpsuit of a military man, he might have blended completely with the humans around him if not for the fact that he was so exceptional—exceptionally handsome, tall, broad shouldered, and well built—and his hair. He hadn’t bothered with the short cut the military proscribed, hadn’t even bothered to bind the long, flowing mass to give him a pseudo-severe military look.

  Which could only mean that that hadn’t actually been his intention—to blend in.

  Anya choked. Quickly setting the cup down before she spilled the entire contents, she covered her mouth and coughed until she’d managed to bring up the coffee she’d inhaled. By the time she’d done so, everyone—including Legion—had settled at the table.

  Legion had settled in Carl Melton’s chair at the head of the table.

  Carl Melton was standing beside him, his expression one of outrage. Everyone else was staring at Legion as if he had two heads.

  So much for thinking he had used that time-bending thing to slip in and observe without anyone being the wiser!

  “Excuse me,” Melton said tightly. “I believe that you have wandered into the wrong room.”

  Legion looked up at him coolly. “I am certain that I am in the correct room.”

  The moment he spoke a ripple of uneasiness made the circuit of the conference table. Even Melton looked visibly shaken. “You are sitting in my chair,” he managed to choke out in a strangled voice after a prolonged pause, gripping his reading device in white knuckled hands.

  Legion seemed to consider that assertion thoughtfully. Finally, he stood, wandering around the room, looking it over curiously, and eventually paused to stare out of one window at the city below. Melton dropped weakly into the chair he’d vacated, watching Legion’s progress.

  Everyone watched him.

  They recoiled visibly when he turned to face them.

  Actually, he didn’t seem to move at all, Anya reflected. One moment he was facing the window, the next he was facing them—which probably accounted for a good bit of everyone’s alarm. He scanned the faces of everyone at the table, pausing when he reached her. “I am Legion.”

  Anya felt a shiver travel through her much like the one she’d first felt when she’d heard his strangely alien voice—not entirely the same. Her heart quickened this ti
me with something that wasn’t fear, that was more closely akin to a thrill of excitement.

  He was a remarkable being.

  Struggle though she might to remind herself that he was flawed as anyone else she knew, she couldn’t shake a sense almost of pride in him—which was really incredibly stupid considering he didn’t belong to her!

  Even if he hadn’t had the powers he did, she could see that he was awe inspiring enough by his presence alone to be beheld as god-like.

  Melton found his voice first although it was obvious he was having the same trouble gathering his wits that Anya had had when she’d met Legion for the first time. “How …? Who are you? Why are you here?”

  Legion frowned. “I am Legion. This, I have already said. I arrived in the liezarct—which you call a sarcophagus—and which your scientists are currently studying. I came because this is the home world of my woman,” he finished, nodding at Anya.

  Anya felt the blood rush from her face and then return with a vengeance when everyone at the table turned almost as one to follow the direction he’d indicated. She opened her mouth and then closed it again without saying anything, realizing that the meeting was no place for a personal discussion regarding Legion’s arrogant assumption that she was his just because he said so.

  The look Laine and the crewmembers bent upon her made her squirm in her seat.

  “There was nothing in the leeza … uh … sarcophagus when it was opened!” one of the scientists at the table disputed, drawing Legion’s gaze.

  Legion studied her for a long moment and then a faint smile curled his lips.

  Anya could almost see the woman’s heat index rise. Irritation washed through her and, if she was honest, which she didn’t particularly want to be at the moment, jealousy.

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on,” one of the other executives of SSRED said derisively, “but he’s no more alien than I am.”