Taken by Storm V3

by Cyndi Friberg

  It wasn’t working. Krysta focused. She couldn’t use a stronger pulse. It would kill the little girl. But the virus remained persistent. She adjusted the concentration, making the rhythm more intense without increasing the actual level of her energy. Slowly the organism weakened and finally succumbed.

  The child murmured sleepily and curled up on her side, tucking her hand under her angelic cheek. Krysta continued, her hands hovering inches above the girl’s small body, meticulously cleansing every trace of the virus. Her arms trembled and her legs wobbled by the time she was satisfied. Blowing out a measured breath, Krysta schooled her expression and turned to face the mirror.

  “You enjoy tormenting children?” she managed a calm, nearly expressionless tone. The orderly returned to collect “the patient”, bearing the child away with all of the care Krysta would give a bundle of dirty laundry. Folding her hands into fists, Krysta took two steps toward the mirror.

  “Dr. Hydran, I would like to speak with you.”

  “So speak.”

  Carefully, painstakingly, Krysta modulated her voice, infusing it with command and compulsion. “I would like to speak with you face-to-face.”

  The intercom system changed the sound of her voice, filtered it, protected him. Would he obey? She had never sent so strong a compulsion. Never managed this much control.

  * * *

  Trey dar Aune felt the Mystic pull of the healer’s voice. It was an ability well known to the people of Ontariese, his people. The healer’s people, though she didn’t know it yet. Did Dr. Hydran realize he was being influenced?

  Trey glanced at the man standing beside him. Hydran was reputed to be one of the most brilliant minds in the galaxy, but Trey wanted to snap his scrawny neck. Any man who would endanger a child’s life to pique the interest of a potential customer was beneath contempt.

  “Would you like to meet my little hellcat, Mr. Darrin?” Hydran’s gaze never left the indignant woman. She glared directly at him, though Dr. Hydran claimed she couldn’t see into the observation booth.

  Trey didn’t answer. He would love to talk with the healer, to quiz her about this godforsaken center and the people exploited here, but that conversation was a long way off. For two cycles of Earth’s moon, Trey and his team had planned every detail of this rescue, anticipated every outcome, every complication. But their strategy had been compromised by a frustrating lack of information. So Trey had come to The Center to learn.

  “Let’s go,” Hydran said.

  Trey watched the full-body scanner pass over Dr. Hydran. He looked ordinary, a man of medium height and build with thinning gray hair and common blue eyes. His sagging jowls and wrinkled skin were all typical of a man in his late sixties.

  The healer faced them, her angry gaze focused entirely on the source of her fury. Trey stayed near the door, silently watching. Hydran moved toward her, flanked by his personal guardians, both burly men with some sort of weapon strapped to their side.

  “Here I am.” Hydran made a gesture with his large beverage container—coffee mug, Trey corrected. One corner of the healer’s mouth curved upward. “Go ahead, rail about the blackness of my soul then return to ward B.”

  “I’d rather watch you writhe,” she said casually.

  Without shifting her gaze from Hydran’s watery blue eyes, the healer jump-kicked the mug right into his face. The steaming beverage doused his skin, the mug broke against his jaw—and Dr. Hydran writhed.

  He screamed and the healer smiled. Hydran’s two guardians grabbed her and Trey instinctively started forward. He shouldn’t interfere. He couldn’t interfere. Damn it! But he couldn’t let them hurt her. They twisted her arms behind her back, pressed their slender, wand-like weapons to her temples and waited for Hydran’s order.

  Wiping his face with his hands, Hydran spun in a circle, shouting obscenities. He stalked toward the healer. She bent her knees, dragging the guardians down with her. Their boots stomped down on top of her feet, keeping her from kicking again. She twisted and spit before one of the men clapped his hand over her mouth.

  “I should strangle you,” Hydran sneered.

  Should, Trey noted, not I’m going to. He slowed his pace, waiting, watching. The lower portion of Hydran’s face and the right side of his neck were already a vivid red. He reached for the healer with both hands and she went utterly still, but the belligerence never left her eyes. She wasn’t afraid to die.

  Hydran grabbed the front of her uniform and yanked with both hands, baring her to the waist. The healer made a desperate little sound and tears escaped the corners of her eyes. To hell with the masquerade! He was not going to stand here while this depraved old man… Trey strode forward but Hydran turned from the healer and moved to the sink. Hydran soaked the material of her uniform with water and pressed it carefully against his face.

  The healer saw Trey, perhaps for the first time. Her eyes stared at him in unblinking horror. Had she never seen an “alien” before? Or was she afraid he would take up where Hydran let off? Keeping his expression blank, he moved behind her and waited for the scene to play out.

  Hydran’s guardians rubbed against her, enjoying their task entirely too much. Trey clenched his fists. You can’t play hero! Hydran must believe you’re one of them.

  “My skin is blistering, you worthless bitch,” Hydran muttered. Motioning his guardians toward the door, he glanced at Trey. “Are you coming?”

  “May I stay and speak with her?” He tried to sound casual but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry or so intrigued.

  “Do whatever you like with her,” Hydran snarled. The guardians released her. She stumbled but didn’t turn around. Following Hydran from the chamber, the guardians left him alone with the healer.

  Trey stared at her slender back, amazed by her wild spirit and amused by her foolishness. It was all he could do not to cheer when she kicked the hot beverage into Hydran’s face. But he had a role to play, and loathsome as he found it, endearing himself to Dr. Hydran was part of that role.

  Quickly unfastening his jacket, he blinked repeatedly, forcing himself not to rub his eyes. Dro Tar, one of his crewmembers, had warned him that the “contacts” would slip out of place if he rubbed his eyes. He pulled off his jacket and slowly approached the healer. She stood motionless, her arms crossed over her chest.

  Unbidden, a vivid image of her breasts appeared within his mind. Full, round and thrusting toward him. Oh, to be a bad man for just a little while. He dropped the jacket onto her slender shoulders and immediately stepped back.

  She started then stilled. It took another moment for her to fully regain her composure. He just waited, fighting his admiration. She must be uncertain of him or he’d never earn Hydran’s trust.

  He heard her deep, extended sigh. She pulled her thick, blonde hair out from under the jacket and slipped her arms into the sleeves. Hip-length on him, the jacket nearly reached her knees. She turned to face him. A deep flush colored her cheeks and her swirling purple eyes stared at him suspiciously. Swirling, purple, Ontarian eyes.

  He half sat, half leaned against the sleeping station where the little girl had been. His boots were crossed at the ankle and his arms braced on either side of his hips. Her gaze moved over him slowly and Trey smiled. Fair was fair.

  “Who are you?” Her voice still trembled.

  “My name is Trey Darrin. Your demonstration was conducted for me.”

  She swallowed, her hands tightly clutching the front of his jacket. “Which demonstration do you mean?”

  He chuckled. “As amusing as it was to watch, your temper tantrum was really quite foolish.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “What made you so angry? Dr. Hydran led me to believe you’d participated in these sorts of demonstrations many times before.”

  Her nostrils flared and her lips compressed into a tight line. “Hydran is a vile, evil man. If you’re in league with him, there will be no peace in your life from this day on.”

  Tre
y arched one of his eyebrows. “Is that a curse?”

  “An observation.”

  He made himself move. Intimidation was definitely not his style, but there was far more at stake than one hotheaded healer. He took her chin and raised her face until her petulant gaze met his. “Answer my question.”

  “Or what? You’ll beat me? Strangle me?”

  In one lightning-fast motion, he released her chin and hooked his forearm under her rounded bottom. He pulled her off the floor, dragging her body along his chest. Her arms were trapped between them and the strength of his hold kept her from struggling.

  “I didn’t see fear in your eyes until you thought he meant to rape you,” he whispered into her ear. “I found that very interesting. Now will you answer a simple question or shall we investigate my observation?”

  “Put me down.”

  He caressed her bottom with his other hand. “Answer my question.”

  “I had to adjust the vibration of the healing pulse. It’s an adjustment few healers can manage. If Hydran had summoned most of the others, the little girl would have died.”

  Trey eased his hold, sliding her down along his body. The instant her toes touched the floor, she shoved hard against his chest and scampered away. She jerked the sheet off the sleeping station and turned her back to him. Frantic to be rid of his jacket, she yanked it off over her head and draped herself in the sheet. With so forceful a kick it nearly toppled her, she propelled the jacket across the smooth tiles. It collided with his boots.

  “Stay away from me.” Somehow she made it sound like a command.

  Trey heard the door release when he bent and picked up his coat. Stepping out into the corridor, his steps staggered to a halt. Dr. Hydran emerged from the observation booth, his lecherous expression making it obvious he’d watched at least part of the tussle. Anger twisted through Trey and he clutched the material of his jacket.

  “Well done, my boy. Could it be the hellcat from ward B has finally met her match?”

  About the Author

  Anything-but-Ordinary is Cyndi’s creed and her writing reflects her dedication to the concept. She writes in a variety of genres, but seems happiest in outer space. Her books have been nominated for numerous awards, and Taken by Storm was named Best Fantasy/Science Fiction Romance of the year by Romance Reviews Today.

  She lives in Colorado with her high school sweetheart turned husband of many years. With a pampered cat curled on the corner of her desk, she dreams of fascinating words and larger than life adventures—and wouldn’t have it any other way!

  Website / Blog: http://www.cyndifriberg.com