The Prey: A SciFi Alien Romance (Betania Breed Book 2)

by Jenny Foster

  “Not especially nice? You were a stuck up little pig,” he says, but takes the sting out his words by drawing me into his arms. Does he always have to be so brutally honest? “Maybe I see something in you that nobody else can. And maybe I think that the Mara that is inside you, is worth being tormented over.”

  “What do you see in me?” I wait for his answer with bated breath.

  “A woman who has wings but doesn’t know how to use them. A woman who has intense feelings but doesn’t know what to do with her emotions.” I have to look away, because he has hit the mark. “I see a woman for whose affection I want to fight,” he finishes.

  “For a cyborg of few words, you sure are quite the poet,” I make light of the situation, but I am not being fair. Just because I can’t stand it when someone really likes me, doesn’t mean that I have to put these feelings down. “I am sorry,” I say again, meaning that I am sorry for pretty much everything that has happened over the last few days. Then I look up at Johar’s face. I can tell that it wasn’t easy for him to talk about his feelings. He looks proud, and a little embarrassed, and also sad. He lowers his head, and our lips get closer and meet in a kiss that is so sweet that it takes my breath away. With it, I say everything that I cannot put into words, and I think Johar understands me. There is a knock at the door, and then another - this time, a little louder. We separate from each other, but continue to look deeply into each other’s eyes. How could I ever have thought that a cyborg couldn’t have feelings? I have only known Johar for a few days, but he feels things more intensely than anyone else I know.

  The crippled Sethari and the scorpion man come into our room. “It is time,” Hazathel’s voice booms, and I give the little jar a longing look. The contents would cover my blue lines. But I can take care of that once we are on the little space glider. For some strange reason, neither the inn keeper nor the taxi driver give me a second look. Even the official at the space port only gives me a bored look, before waving us through.

  The mother ship is waiting outside Betania’s atmosphere. Johar announces our arrival and communicates that we have guests, while I put the cream on my face. It works perfectly, covering every single blue line without changing my skin tone. Johar points to a spot I missed on my neck. When he touches me, I have the overwhelming desire to snuggle up to him. I savor the moment, practically indulging in the feeling of wanting to be near him. I do not give in to temptation. How will this continue with us? I don’t just mean with Johar and me, but also our mission. As the mother ship appears on the screen, I ask him where we will fly to next. “During the five days that I was out of commission, you were surely able to talk to Shazuul, right?”

  Johar nods, but doesn’t take his eyes off of the computer screen. The small dot representing our destination is approaching much too quickly for my taste. Everything inside me is balking at returning to the ship and taking up my old life again.

  “Shazuul says that Cassie was not alone when she escaped. She was with a few Qua’Hathri and women from Earth.”

  “That means you are expecting some resistance when we find them?”

  “It will not be easy,” he admits. “Especially, since I have no way of knowing how many warriors are protecting her. Shazuul,” he looks behind him, where Shazuul and Hazathel are practicing card tricks – the illegal kind, of course, like how to make a card disappear up a sleeve. “Shazuul described to me the ship on which they fled, and also its captain.” His mouth forms a grim line on an even grimmer face. “That man is an old acquaintance of mine. He has been flying the route back and forth between Betania and Prodor 5 for years.”

  “He flies only that one route? Why?”

  “Let’s just say he transports things that should not be traced.”

  “Can you give me a few more details?” I ask. “He is a smuggler, I get that. But what does he smuggle? Jewels? Drugs? The more I know about this nameless man, the better – you yourself told me that.”

  “His name is Carson O’Hare,” Johar explains. “He would never touch drugs, much less smuggle them. He is a rustic type, a little rough around the edges, but sincere.”

  I look at his profile. Ten minutes until we dock at the mother ship. I check the skin on my face one more time before we arrive. “Everything is fine, you can’t tell at all,” Johar assures me. He reaches over for a second and squeezes my hand. “Let’s talk about this later. I need to focus right now.”

  I realize that he has not answered my question about what this rough, but sincere Carson smuggles. Johar is a master at evasion. He doesn’t have to lie to keep things from me. He just doesn’t tell me.

  Chapter 4

  Our arrival is less sensational than I had feared.

  None of the crew points at me, and nobody makes any snide remarks, either, about the two eccentric creatures we have in tow. This may be because Hazathel’s scorpion is making itself big, raising its tail with its poisonous stinger. Suddenly everyone seems to have something to attend to. I wonder what it must feel like to have a soul animal like that. Was this a byproduct of my father’s research, or was it intentional? I would imagine that an army of animal warriors, to put it simply, could mow down the any opponent quite effectively, and also create fear and panic in him. I hope that I will have a chance to talk with Hazathel without him finding out whose daughter I am.

  In contrast to Hazathel, Shazuul does not create fear and panic in anyone. Most humans hate the Sethari, with good reason, but since he is missing his sucking snout, Shazuul is merely a laughing stock, nothing more than a shadow of a Sethari.

  I see one of the navigation officers pull his weapon and take aim at Shazuul. He shoots. He isn’t aiming at the Sethari’s body, but right in front of his feet. Shazuul jumps into the air, startled. The officer continues to make him dance for about half a minute. After that, he is quiet, because I have confiscated his weapon and assigned him to three weeks’ kitchen duty. That is a decidedly humiliating assignment for a man of his abilities, and I can almost feel his hatred. No, not almost – it hits me and makes me stagger. For a split second, I can see myself through his eyes: the arrogant, cool daughter of the eminent scientist Ruthiel. The woman who seeks adventure, and is now, protected by a cyborg and the whole damn crew, except for one. He thinks that his orders require him to protect my life with his, but, should push come to shove, he will let me die. Those are his words, not mine.

  Johar’s hand goes to my elbow inconspicuously, and I am more than thankful for it. Which orders? Did I really just read the navigation officers mind, or was that a hallucination? Automatically, I want to wipe my hand across my forehead, but Johar stops me. This whole thing has me so confused that I almost forgot about the skin-colored paste that is protecting me.

  Hazathel and Shazuul are assigned to guest quarters on the officers’ deck. I can tell that the serving woman is not pleased about having to tend to them, but, thank God, I do not receive any information about what she thinks of me. It must have been a hallucination. Nobody can break into another person’s head and read his thoughts. That is unnatural.

  But in their own way, so are cyborgs and animal-humans and the virus, too. I need to get used to being a freak.

  Johar goes into his room, and I am alone with my thoughts. To help get myself straightened out, I first write a thorough report for my father. It ends up being a little longer than normal. At the end, I add that the illness that I contracted in the line of duty has not diminished my capabilities in any way – just in case he is planning to summon me. I do not want to break off the mission. I do not want to fail. On impulse, I add a p.s.: did you give the crew any orders concerning me? Then, before I can change my mind, I hit send and step into the shower.

  I am not alone for long. Johar comes into my bathroom about ten minutes later. His expression is ... strange. He looks like a man who is utterly determined. He looks furious. With thin lips, and without worrying about the fact that he is still dressed in the black clothes that he was wearing when he left here a few
days ago, he steps under the hot water with me. He puts both hands in my hair and pushes my head back all the way. He kisses me almost violently, pushing his tongue into my mouth and biting my lower lip. He comes over me like a force of nature to which I have to succumb, so I don’t get swept away. His hands race over my body without taking the time to dwell anywhere tenderly. He isn’t hurting me, but he is making his intention of possessing me known. I come up for air between two kisses. “What is going on with you?” I want to know. His answer consists of pulling me out of the shower without allowing our bodies to separate from each other.

  My nipples are hard, and the water is dripping off of me. He pushes me out of the bathroom mercilessly. He is dripping wet, but it doesn’t bother him in the least. His long hair, which is usually tied back so neatly, curls around his beautiful face in wet strands. He looks like a crazy pirate who has lost most of his senses because of lust, and I want him more than I have ever wanted any other man. We only make it halfway to my narrow bed before we sink to the floor, tangled up in each other. I can’t tell anymore where his body starts and where mine ends. I could very well have four arms and as many legs, because we are a single ball of lust. He tears his shirt off with one pull, and his pants come off next. And then he is inside me, his hot skin covering mine.

  “Why did you do it?” he asks me. Johar underlines each word by thrusting into me, not exactly gently, either. I freeze for a second, but my answer will need to wait until later. I know exactly what he means. There is only one thing that could have made him this furious and aroused at the same time. He somehow managed to retrieve the memory of our night of lovemaking. How in the hell did he do that? There is no time for a detailed discussion. We do not resolve our differences. Instead, we take them out on each other, and our bodies are the battlefield. Johar bites into my neck and I claw at his back. With all my strength, I contract my muscles around his hard cock, and it doesn’t take long for both of us to come. He collapses on top of me and breathes into my ear. I brush his hair out of his face, because it tickles.

  I want to say that I am sorry, but I don’t want to repeat myself.

  “How did you find out?” I ask, instead.

  He pushes himself up and pulls out of me. The feeling of loneliness, as he separates from me, is cruel. It has something final to it, just like his cool gaze. Johar’s eyes seem more gray than green right now, almost as if the color has disappeared along with his affection for me. I remember that is was he who first spoke the word “love.” Now I wish I could turn back time and fix my mistakes. What he says delivers a blow, and I flinch under it as if it were a real, physical punch. “Your father told me,” he replies and grabs his things, which are strewn all over the room.

  “What … no … why?” I stammer with a little girl’s voice that doesn’t even seem to belong to me. I am still lying in the same position he left me in, arms and legs spread wide.

  “Why don’t you ask him,” Johar suggests. His voice is ice-cold. I can hear the cyborg in it: mechanical, emotionless and free from everything that makes him who he is. His lips, which had just been wandering all over my skin, pull into a mocking smile. I sit up and try to cover my nakedness. “I can understand that you are furious with me,” I begin, but he interrupts me.

  “Furious? No,” he responds. His face is a mask, frozen and expressionless. “I can understand that it is embarrassing for you to have sex with a cyborg. So it is natural to just erase the memories.” But he cannot keep his hatred for me and his anger in check any longer. “I had thought that you maybe didn’t take … after your father,” he spits at me. “I had hoped that there was something that connected us. I cannot believe that I spoke about love and then you just turned me off.”

  “It was for your sake, too,” I tell him, but it doesn’t sound very convincing. “I didn’t want you to …”

  Again, he does not let me finish. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We will complete our assignment, deliver Cassie Burnett to your father, and then we will go our separate ways.” He turns around and goes through the connecting door.

  I get back into the shower, so I can wash all traces of Johar off of me.

  Chapter 5

  It takes a few days for us to reach Prodor 5.

  My days are bearable. I stay out of Johar’s way, and only speak with him when necessary, about things concerning our mission. My father is unreachable for me, no matter how often I try to contact him. I write message after message. After the tenth email, I give up, and realize that he is keeping something from me – but what? There is no reason for him to give Johar his memories back. And how did he find out about it so quickly? That is the most important question occupying my mind.

  All the erased memories from cyborgs, robots and androids are stored in a central databank. If you hit the erase button, then the memories are sent there, in sound, picture and traces of emotion. The recordings are used to help understand mistakes that have been made. For instance, if an android runs amok and commits a massacre (this actually happened in the early days of such technology), then his storage is erased, so you can still use his body, but experts can review his “thoughts” for hints about how this malfunction happened. They watch the recordings meticulously, and usually find the deciding time where things started to go wrong.

  My father must have access to this databank, and must have also found out about the deletion. Did he add a function to Johar that alerts him to deleted memories? That might be possible, but since Johar was one of the first cyborgs my father created, this would have been extremely foresighted. It is definitely possible that he – meaning my father – has motives that are not clear to me, but he must have known that giving Johar his memories back would create difficulties for me. Was this punishment for my behavior? He can’t approve of the fact that I was intimate with Johar, but he really did find out about it extremely quickly, enabling him to act so soon.

  I ponder and ponder this, without finding a solution. I finally give in to the unpleasant reality that there is nothing, and I mean nothing, that I can do about it. I will confront my father when I see him, when he can’t ignore me so easily.

  Occasionally I see Hazathel, Shazuul and Johar playing poker. They have obviously infected Johar with their passion for playing card games, but since there is absolutely nothing to do until we can start looking for Carson O’Hare, I let it go. I fill my days with making useless lists, on which I write everything I know about our target. I can’t deny any longer that there are many more things that I don’t know, and I fill a whole page with those things. I take my meals in my room, a privilege I have as a scientific officer.

  My nights, on the other hand, are pure hell. I dream a lot more than I usually do, and often wake up bathed in sweat, my heart racing. I can’t remember ever having been awakened this much at night. Usually, my cheeks and pillow are wet from tears. I am in the lab, over and over again, and see Johar lying shackled to the operating table. Sometimes the scene changes, and I am the one lying on the cold metal table without being able to move. What is new, is that these dreams are colorful and loud now, and even the sleeping pills I got don’t help. All they do is make my tongue feel fuzzy.

  Two hours before we reach the planet, I throw a few of my belongings into my bag. This time, they are primarily one thing: practical. When my fingers touch the soft leather jacket that Johar bought for me on Betania, I sigh longingly and bury my nose in it. Of course, it doesn’t smell like Johar, but for a few seconds, I am back in our room on Betania, seeing him in front of me, feeling his hot hands on my skin and his lips on mine.

  I am lovesick.

  This is completely unbearable! A cyborg, of all people, has managed to win my heart, I think, and shake my head. If only he hadn’t broken it, too! I could have lived with anything else. With the fact that he turned my world upside down. With the fact that he is half-machine. And with the fact that our relationship probably would not last long, and would have to be kept secret. Maybe the cyborg is also furious with me, b
ecause I made that decision so that nobody would find out about our night of lovemaking. I sob into the jacket, because I suddenly feel like a lousy person. Johar took care of me, and probably even saved my life. He got the concealing paste for my face and was there for me, even when he still thought that I had slept with another man. He had stood by me.

  Instead of telling him that I was grateful to him, that I had feelings for him, I put him in his place by manipulating him. I have no idea if this is love that I am feeling. How could I, anyway, since this is the first time that I want to spend actual time with a man, instead of just half an hour of moaning and sweating. Whom can I ask what the symptoms of love are? Nobody. I cannot confide in anyone. I am alone with my pounding heart, my longing and the small moments of happiness when I catch a glimpse of him.

  Someone knocks on my door while I am reading about the climate on Prodor 5. A pleasant 64 degrees during the day, and down to -10 at night. “Come in,” I say, and am rewarded with the sight of Johar. My stomach churns when I see him. His long, dark hair is pulled back tightly. He is wearing the same black clothes as last time, and now that I know what is hiding under his tight pants, I blush at the memory.

  “Are you ready?”

  I nod silently, grab my bag and trudge after him. A surprise is waiting for me at the docking station. Hazathel and Shazuul are coming with us. Johar didn’t tell me about that. I ask him for the reason. Just because I am persona non grata, right now, doesn’t mean that he can just do whatever he wants. We are a team, damn it!

  Cool gray-green eyes look just past me, as if the wall behind me were highly fascinating. By now, I know him well enough to understand that he has his own plan in mind. “The more varied our group is, the less we will attract attention on Prodor 5,” he explains. “The bottom dwellers of the universe gather there and it can’t hurt to have Hazathel at our side. Let him earn his return to Earth. Surely that meets with your approval, doesn’t it, Mara Ruthiel?”