Taken by Fire

by Sydney Croft

  He’d been holding back for too long.

  He wanted more—his mouth on her breasts, his face buried between her legs to taste the sweet juice until she screamed, but that would have to wait. This was about instant gratification and it was still taking too damned long.

  She gasped his name against his mouth, and yes, that’s what he wanted. Wasn’t sure where the hell this need to claim her came from, the need to protect her, but it was alternately turning him on and pissing him off.

  And pissed-off sex was just as good as happy sex. Better, even, if the way she was meeting his thrusts was any indication.

  She wanted to hate him as much as he wanted to hate her. And somehow, neither of them could get there.

  It made it that much goddamned hotter, especially when her nails scored his back as he thrust deeply. She asked him to do that again, harder, and he could almost ignore the fact that the plane banked hard to starboard.

  Of course, they banked along with it, but they didn’t stop the motion. He ended up wedged into the corner with her half on top of him. All that mattered to him was that he was still inside of her.

  “Fuck me, Mel,” he told her, moved her hips up and down.

  “Are you … doing … this?”

  “I’m … doing … you.”

  “The plane … something’s happening …” she managed, but then she was kissing him again and she was contracting around him, forcing his orgasm to shoot in a brilliant blend of color behind his eyelids.

  The plane bounced wildly right along with his release, began to settle and straighten as he began to see clearly again too, and yes, it had been him doing something to fuck with the plane.

  Best they untangle and face the music.

  Mel’s breath was warm against his cheek, her body bonelessly wrapped around his. She raised her head from where it had been against his shoulder, her eyes glazed.

  “Hey, are you all right?” he asked.

  “More than,” she told him. She was rubbing his neck, massaging the muscles with her fingers, the clinking of the metal a reminder of who she was. Where they were.

  What would Akbar say about all this?

  At the thought of his name, Stryker sagged. It welled up inside of him, the anger that always threatened to boil over—that frequently did—changing to a pain so great he wondered if it would ever go away. “He’s gone. Akbar. It’s my fault.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said softly, tears welled in her eyes.

  And it wasn’t hers either.

  “Your friend. I’m so sorry … you have to believe me … I’m so sorry …” she murmured as he struggled to breathe, to hold it together.

  It wasn’t going to happen.

  Mel simply pulled him close, held him while he completely lost it, his head buried against her, his cock still inside her, and he mourned his friend with the woman who …

  The woman he needed to save.

  They stayed in the bathroom for a long time. Stryker held Mel like she was a lifeline, and though she was confused as hell, she didn’t complain. No one had ever held her like that, and she wanted to hang on for as long as possible. For a few precious minutes, she could feel what it was like to be normal. Cared for.

  Which was silly. Stryker didn’t care for her. He’d been horny, and the plane had been …

  “Stryker? What was wrong with the plane? Was it your power?”

  His heavy sigh shook his entire body. “Yeah. It’s never affected anything but the earth before.”

  “Then why now?”

  He shrugged. “Emotion. The fact that you used your ability so close to the sex.” Gently, he extracted himself from her, lifting her arms from where they rested on his shoulders. “I think your elemental power affected mine. Since you turned the plane into a big ice cube, my power was able to hitchhike onto it.”

  She swallowed. “We’re dangerous together.”

  His laughter was bitter as he tugged up his pants. “Yeah.” He reached for her jeans to help her, but froze. “Fuck. You’re recharged now.”

  “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about.” He checked his watch. “How long until we can expect to see Phoebe?”

  “Anytime. She’s been suppressed for a while, and she’s not going to wait much longer. The plane jiggling probably kept her at bay, but …” She shook her head. “I can feel her stirring.”

  “Dammit.” He shoved open the door. “I have the Itor meds, but I don’t want to waste them if we don’t have to. The guys will have a plan in place.”

  Oh, God. This was going to be embarrassing. And sure enough, when they stepped out of the bathroom, it was obvious that they all knew exactly what had happened in that tiny space.

  Stryker didn’t give them time to say anything, though it was clear that Ender wanted to. The rage in his eyes was like lightning, flashing over and over.

  “What’s the plan for containing Phoebe?” Stryker asked, as he settled her into her seat and fastened the chains.

  “Why?” Wyatt stood. “Is she Phoebe?”

  Stryker shook his head. “Not yet. But she could show at any moment, and trust me, if we don’t have her secured and gagged, she’ll either kill us or we’ll kill her.”

  “Dev has pretty much everyone who can counter fire and ice on standby to be there when we land. They’re also putting together some sort of fireproof thing to wrap her in, and preparing a chamber she can’t melt.”

  “What about for now?” she asked.

  Wyatt smiled grimly. “That’s why I’m here. I can affect your heart rate, breathing … basically, put you to sleep once I get inside you.”

  Ender snorted. “Stryker has already done that.”

  “Would you rather have had the plane crash?” Stryker’s voice was low, rough, and Mel had a feeling he was trying to keep from launching at the other man.

  “I’d rather not have to think about you fucking the woman who murdered Akbar.”

  “Then don’t.” Stryker’s fingers were gentle as he put the last chain fastener in place. “Because Mel didn’t kill him.”

  Ender rolled his eyes. “You buying this bullshit, Wyatt?”

  Mel expected Wyatt to say no, so she was shocked when he hesitated and then said, “I don’t know. Look at Rik. Or Chance. They both have completely different species of animals living inside them. Totally unique beings. If it can happen with them, I don’t know why it can’t happen with Melanie and Phoebe.”

  Ender reached into a cupboard near his seat and grabbed a pack of peanuts. Mel’s stomach, which had been simmering on low growl, began to make a serious protest.

  “Um … could I have some?” She wasn’t shy about asking for food.

  Ender stared at her like she’d asked for a million dollars instead of a handful of nuts. “No.”

  “Give her the fucking peanuts,” Stryker said, irritation putting an edge in his voice.

  “It could be a trick. She could be allergic and trying to kill herself.”

  “I’m not allergic.” She inhaled, catching a tantalizing whiff of the salty snacks, and her belly let out an embarrassingly loud rumble. “I’m hungry.”

  Slamming the packet on his little table, Ender shoved to his feet. “I’ll get you water.”

  Water was not going to cut it. She needed food, and anxiety that they weren’t going to give her any made her skin tighten. Without thinking, she lunged, grabbed the packet of peanuts, and dumped them into her mouth.

  Ender moved like a snake, ripping the bag out of her hands, but not before she got a mouthful. “You damned thief.”

  Stryker studied her, his tawny brows arched high on his forehead as she chewed in blissful silence. “Okay, what is it with you and food?”

  She swallowed and looked longingly at the cupboard where Ender had gotten the peanuts. “Can I have more?”

  “Not until you tell me what’s up with you.” Stryker wasn’t being cruel—logically, she knew that. But the part of her that
freaked out at the idea of having food withheld took him seriously. And while physical beatings had never broken her, the threat of going hungry made her crack like an egg.

  “Ever been starved?” she asked quietly. “I mean, like, you didn’t eat for years?”

  “That’s impossible,” Ender scoffed. “You’d die.”

  “Not if Phoebe is the one eating.”

  Stryker leaned forward in his seat, bracing his forearms on his knees. “So Itor—your own fucking father—didn’t feed you? For years?”

  She nodded. “I was around nine, I guess. I think it started as an experiment, and then became a way to control me. For eight years, they didn’t let me have anything to eat. Only Phoebe got food.”

  God, the gnawing hunger still ate at her, and even the slightest feeling of having an empty stomach sent her into a panic, which was why she ate constantly. Food was both a comfort and a necessity for her own mental health.

  “So you were always hungry?”

  She blinked hard as the memories flooded back, because the thing was, the starvation was tied to a time in her life that was absolute hell. There had been so much experimentation, training, poking, prodding, and fear.

  “Always.” She looked down, not wanting anyone to see how much the food thing really bothered her, how terrified she was that Itor could do it all over again. “Now when I’m hungry, the memories …” Shuddering, she trailed off. She’d given them too much ammunition as it was.

  Ender uttered a low curse, and Stryker disappeared to the back of the plane. He probably thought she was completely psychotic. He was probably right.

  And then he was back, dropping the table from the compartment next to her and setting down a plate with a wrapped ham and cheese sandwich. Gratitude made her eyes swim, and she barely squeaked out a “Thank you” before digging in. In no time, the sandwich was gone, and he brought her another, plus more peanuts—which she covertly tucked into her pockets—and a carton of milk.

  She inhaled the second sandwich and milk, and when she asked for a third, he gently put his palm on her leg. “You don’t need to gorge yourself or hoard food. We don’t starve people at ACRO, and what you told us isn’t going to ever be used against you.”

  Oh, God, he knew what she was doing. He knew she was filling herself up to the point of discomfort because she didn’t know when she’d get another meal. Stryker understood, and he was doing what he could to help her.

  “It’s so silly,” she whispered.

  Stryker shook his head. “I’d say that if the only issue you have after what you’ve gone through is a need to keep yourself fed, you’re in damn good shape, and it’s not silly. It’s survival.”

  “Speaking of survival, are you ready to let me knock her out?” Wyatt cleared his throat and offered an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, man, but I hate flying anyway, and I’d feel a lot better if she was catching Zs and we didn’t have to worry about the plane’s engine freezing out or a fiery hole being blasted through the cockpit.”

  Mel didn’t blame Wyatt at all. She was surprised they’d let her stay awake as long as they had.

  “Can you give us a minute?” Stryker asked, though his tone said it wasn’t really a question. He was taking the minute whether they liked it or not.

  Ender hesitated, but then he moved to the back of the plane. Avery turned to look out the window, and Wyatt took a seat a few feet away. Close enough that he could be there in a heartbeat, but far enough to give them a semblance of privacy.

  “Look,” Stryker said in a low, hushed voice, “I’m still not sure what to think about all of this. I don’t know where my head is at, and I can guarantee that at ACRO you’ll find few allies. Is there any way you can prove what you’re saying?”

  “You mean, can I prove that I’m a completely different person from Phoebe?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “A few genetic tests will do it. I’m a chimera. Two genetically distinct cells are in my body. Brain scans will show two different thought patterns when each of us is in control.” She paused. “Those people Wyatt was talking about. Are they like me?”

  “Sort of. Chance is more of a shape-shifter. He was infected by an animal bite, and now when he gets mad, he morphs into the creature. He’s a little like the Hulk. He needs to be caged or sedated sometimes, but when he’s fully human, he works for ACRO like everyone else. But Rik is two completely individual beings, so a lot like you, I guess. She was an Itor experiment too.”

  Mel’s pulse picked up. She wasn’t alone. “Is she … okay? I mean, how does she live?”

  He shrugged. “Her other half is some sort of wolf thing her mate, Trance, named Cujo. Cujo was vicious when she first arrived at ACRO. Itor had tortured the shit out of both of them. But they’re both fine now. Rik lets the beast out to run at night, and she works in the Cryptozoology department by day.”

  Hope sang through her. Maybe ACRO really could help her. If a way could be found to keep Phoebe suppressed or under control, maybe Mel wouldn’t have to die. If she could convince them that she had nothing to do with their agent’s death and that she was willing to do anything to bring down Itor.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “Being nice. I haven’t had that since my mom died.”

  “I’m not doing anything special. Just talking.”

  She tried to touch his knee, but the chain jerked her back. “I know.”

  His throat worked on a swallow, and then he reached out and took her hand. Even though they’d had sex three times now, this was somehow the most tender, intimate gesture he’d made. That anyone had ever made to her.

  Emotion trembled through her. She opened her mouth to thank him again, but the familiar tingle on her scalp and the tightening in the back of her neck cut her off. Damn her. Damn Phoebe for ruining this! Usually she was grateful for Phoebe to take over, letting Mel slip into blissful blackness, but for once, she was truly afraid. Phoebe would destroy every bit of progress she’d made with Stryker, and probably Wyatt too. And if Phoebe met Dev first …

  “It’s time,” she gasped. “Get … Wyatt.”

  Instantly, Wyatt was there, and even as Phoebe began to claw her way to the surface, Mel felt her body go slack and her eyelids grow heavy.

  The distinct bump of a plane’s wheels hitting a runway was what jolted Phoebe out of sleep. She didn’t waste time blinking and trying to figure out what was going on; she remained motionless, cracked her lids, and assessed the situation.

  Which wasn’t good.

  She was chained to a seat, and a man she recognized from a file Itor kept on known or suspected ACRO agents—she thought his name was Wyatt Kennedy—was sitting across from her, hands clenched, his face pinched in concentration.

  “She’s waking,” he ground out.

  Someone with an English accent cursed. “Put her back to sleep.”

  “Can’t. I’m about tapped.”

  Fucking biokinetic.

  She heard that Stryker asshole talking to someone on a phone, heard another voice she didn’t recognize as she reached deep for her power. She had a full tank. Excellent. She’d fry these fuckers the second the chains were unhooked from the seat.

  The plane eased to a stop, and she played groggy as the engines powered down. The mid-cabin, rear, and front doors slammed open simultaneously, and a dozen men in black BDUs rushed on board with fire extinguishers and some sort of blanket. Anticipation gave her a rush as she lit up her power. She was going to turn the plane into a roaster oven. Stryker’s thick arm came around her throat from behind, jerking her head back even as fire burst from her fingertips. The choke hold sent her flames into the seat in front of her, and then the men threw the blanket over her, and the fireball she summoned shot uselessly into it.

  “You assholes,” she snarled.

  No one said anything as she was wrapped up like a damned mummy, blindfolded, tossed into the back of a truck, and whisked to God-knew-where. There was more jostlin
g, more chains, and then she was plopped into a seat.

  Stryker—she knew by his scent—removed her blindfold. And well, well, what do you know. She was in a plush office, sitting across a desk from ACRO’s head honcho.

  “Devlin,” she purred. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  He studied her, his shrewd, intelligent eyes so like Alek’s. “I really wish I could say the same. Who are you right now?”

  “Guess.”

  Devlin shifted his gaze to Stryker, who had moved to stand against the wall. “It’s Phoebe.” Stryker folded his arms over his broad chest. “You can tell by the horns and cloven hooves.”

  “You,” she sighed, “are no fun.” She turned to Dev and smiled brightly. “So we’ve met. What now?”

  “Now I decide how long I want to let you live.”

  “Ouch. So ruthless. You really are our father’s son. He’d be proud.” In her peripheral vision, she saw Stryker’s entire body jerk. The shock in his expression was priceless. Almost as much as the brief flash of oh, shit on Dev’s face, which confirmed her suspicions that Melanie had already spilled the beans about Alek being their father as well. “You haven’t told anyone about our happy family? I’m hurt. But I suppose if your people knew that your father is Itor’s big dick, they’d have some serious doubts about you.”

  “I’m not worried about my people.” He met her eyes, and damn, he was a good liar. She could respect that. “They know what I want.”

  “And what do you want, big brother?”

  “For Itor to be dismantled from the ground up and for Alek to be nothing but a stain in the rubble.”

  Exhaling slowly, she considered her next move. Build on the family card, or antagonize him into making mistakes? Maybe both. “I can help you.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  She sagged in her chair as though exhausted, and looked down at her lap, which was hidden by the damned fireproof blanket. “I only learned about you a few days ago. If I’d known …” She worried her bottom lip for a moment. “I didn’t realize our father was trying to destroy his own son. I hate him for that.”

  “Why should I believe you?”