Tristin (Cyborg Warriors Book 7)

by Immortal Angel

  But she had. She’d thought because she was the best that the Ardak king wouldn’t order her execution, but he had. She’d thought she had known everything about the cyborgs, but she hadn’t. She thought she’d created the best of them, but she hadn’t done that, either.

  After all the cyborgs were finished, Tristin came to her as she was washing her hands.

  “I’m so sorry, Tristin,” she apologized. “If you had died, it would have been my fault.”

  “No one can blame you for something you didn’t know,” he said gruffly.

  “But I would have blamed myself,” she said angrily. “I should have known.”

  “It’s not your fault, dammit. Some things are beyond our control.” He caught Tordan’s eye from across the room. “Stop punishing yourself for the past. The only thing that matters now is the future and what you do with it.”

  He left her standing there, momentarily speechless, watching him as he crossed the laboratory to Mordjan and Tordan.

  Damn that man for being so attractive.

  Damn him for his ability to continually leave her off-balance.

  And she was not watching his ass as he walked away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tristin

  Tristin strode across the laboratory to Tordan and Mordjan. “I have another issue for you.” He pulled the device from X-Blade out of his pocket. “I was on an urgent mission when I was captured on the king’s ship. But my informant gave me this before I was captured, and Kirelle managed to get it when she was turning me into a cyborg.”

  “You have the worst luck, my friend,” Mordjan said, taking the device and inserting it into the computer port.

  Tristin shook his head. “Bad luck doesn’t even begin to describe it. My younger sister, Andraya, was killed when we were captured.”

  Mordjan looked up. “Fuck. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Tristin forced the wave of sadness away. There would be time for grief later. “Let’s just hope I have some useful information on this device.”

  “Any idea what we’re looking for?”

  “I was meeting X-Blade on the Flouriant space station to acquire the location and codes to a secret Ardak manufacturing base, where they make their newest spaceships. I was then going to coordinate a strike on the base and steal the ships.”

  Tordan whistled. “How many ships were you going to steal?”

  Tristin shrugged. “I don’t know. We were hoping for ten to twenty.” He handed Mordjan the piece of paper X-Blade had given him. “This may help you discover the files.”

  They both fell silent as they watched over Mordjan’s shoulder. He perused the files with smooth efficiency, searching for the numbers from the paper.

  Tristin sensed rather than saw Kirelle behind him. He moved aside so she could also watch the screen.

  “You know,” Tordan said quietly, “we could really use those ships in our upcoming battle with the Ardaks.”

  Tristin’s brows rose. “The Ardaks are coming here?”

  “Yes.” Tordan’s expression darkened. “They’ve already been and gone, and sent their Red Death when we kicked them off our planet. But we have intel that they’re coming back. A message from the king himself. If we help you retrieve them, could we use all or some of them in our fight?”

  A wave of pity went through him at their plight. “I’m not sure how many ships the ARF can give you at this point. Our forces and Ruith’s are severely overtaxed, and more refugee planets are finding us daily.”

  Mordjan nodded. “You can say that again.”

  Tristin thought for a moment. “Did you say you’re still manufacturing the cure for the Red Death?”

  “Yes,” Tordan replied. “We have enough to cure probably a whole other planet at this point. But we’ve almost run out of synchisite, so there won’t be much more until we find another cache of it. And no one wants to go back to the moon where we got this stash from.”

  “You know, the white powder is toxic to the Ardaks. Maybe we could not only steal the ships, but destroy the base as well. I think that would earn you a few spaceships for your war.”

  Tordan looked taken aback, but Mordjan grinned. “Done.”

  “Don’t you think we should keep some to cure people who are ill?” Tordan asked.

  Tristin was quickly growing to like the cyborg king. “We may not need all of it to take out the base. It is a lot more poisonous to the Ardaks than it is to us because they regularly eat the Red Death flower to build up their immunity to it. The upside is that they will sicken even months or years from now if they come into contact with it, so that base will be out of commission for the foreseeable future. If you send this white powder with us, I will make sure you get all the synchisite you need to manufacture more of it. It’s freely available on my planet.”

  Tordan slowly nodded. “All right. Why don’t you let us copy this device and we’ll send the upgraded cyborgs with you on your mission?”

  Roihan cleared his throat loudly from across the room. “I hate to interrupt, but we need to find a way to recharge their batteries before we send them off into a potential battle.”

  Mordjan frowned. “You’re right about that. They need to be able to run the exoarmor.”

  Tordan’s mouth turned down and he shot a look at Roihan. “How long do you think it will take to find a way to recharge the cyborgs?”

  “As long as it takes.” Roihan glared back. “I just got them thirty minutes ago, dammit. We’re going to start working on it, but it could be a day before we find something that will stick.”

  They all exchanged uneasy glances, then Mordjan gave a clipped nod in Roihan’s direction. “I don’t think it will take long,” he said quietly. “Roihan’s really learned a lot about cyborgs from studying the files the Ardaks left behind on their computers, and others we’ve gotten via these devices. He’s just a bit stressed at the moment.” He paused, examining the screen. “And I think I found your information.”

  Elation filled Tristin’s chest as the plans for the base came up on the screen.

  Tordan turned to him. “How long has it been since you slept?”

  “Quite a while,” Tristin admitted.

  “Well, since we’re waiting on Roihan for a miracle, why don’t we find you, Kirelle, and Mochi some accommodations for the night? I don’t know about you, but I’m dead tired. We’re prepping for war so we barely get any sleep anyway, and it was the middle of the night when you arrived.”

  Tristin was loath to sleep, especially with his cousins still unconscious. He turned to Kirelle. “Do you think they’ll be all right on the ship?”

  “As safe as anywhere else. No one but us can board it, and Roihan is working on a fix.” Her face was pale, her eyes sunk in with exhaustion.

  There wasn’t much either of them could contribute until they had some rest.

  Tordan motioned to Aielle, who had been helping Roihan. “Why don’t we show them to a suite and then catch a bit of rest? I’m sure Roihan and Aria will wake us if they discover anything.”

  She nodded, and Tordan turned them. “King Tristin, Kirelle, please follow me.”

  “I’ll show Mochi to a room in a moment,” Mordjan offered. “I want to study his battery compartment for a second.”

  Tristin nodded in parting to all of them, then followed Tordan out into the corridor and to the right, up a flight of stairs at the back of the palace. “We’ve been working hard to renovate this part of the palace since we ran out of room in the royal visitors’ wing. For some reason, we keep collecting royalty.” Tordan grinned. “Now they aren’t just international, but interplanetary.”

  Tristin was all too familiar with logistics difficulties due to visiting royals. “Yes, we have those difficulties, as well, especially at weddings and funerals.”

  “I’m interested in learning more about your people and your planet when we get time,” Aielle commented, her blue eyes glowing.

  A knot formed in his stomach as his mind flashed to An
draya. She would have been happy to tell the elven queen all about the royal gossip. Perhaps she could visit Juordin’s planet. “Of course. Perhaps someday you may visit our system as well.”

  Aielle’s eyes sparkled happily at the thought, and his gaze went to Kirelle. If they lived through this mission, would she want to visit his homeworld? And if she did officially become his mate, would she enjoy living there—ruling on it?

  He shook his head, pushing the thought away. That was far into the future, one he may not have.

  Tordan showed Kirelle into a room, then him into the next. “There are adjoining doors between your rooms,” Tordan said in a low voice, then winked before closing the door.

  He ignored the tightening of his stomach at the other cyborg king’s words, and perused the clean, beautifully decorated space. Engraved moldings framed the doors and ceilings, velvet drapes framed the bed, laced pillows at the headboard. Such things would have been commonplace five years ago on his homeworld. Now they seemed a waste of effort, a pointless extravagance in the wake of the Ardak devastation.

  It was funny how his priorities had changed since the Ardaks had invaded their worlds. For most of his life, politics and interplanetary relations had been at the forefront of his mind, but he’d considered them a necessary evil. Making an ideal match would have been paramount. But after failing to protect his people from the Red Death and nearly dying from it himself, being captured twice, and being turned into a cyborg, those considerations had become, for the most part, superfluous.

  Since the Ardaks, alliances were made for resources such as crystals and ships rather than money, heroes made by bravery rather than bloodline.

  And perhaps, just maybe, matches could be made for love.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kirelle

  As soon as the door closed behind the others, Kirelle strode straight to the personal room, stripping off her soiled clothes.

  It had been years since she’d had a shower, and she could think of nothing else since they’d arrived at the palace. The Ardaks were essentially felines, and felines did not bathe. Water was also scarce in space. The only baths she’d had since she’d been captured were by hand, with a small cloth. And those had been far too infrequent.

  She stepped beneath the flowing water, heaving a great sigh as it washed over her. Reveling in the crisp, cool bite of the clean water, she felt the accumulated dirt and grime washing away the smell of the Ardaks that she’d thought she’d never escape.

  She let it flow through her hair, freeing her, washing away the pain. She ran her hands along her limbs as a prequel to the actual cleansing.

  With a liberal dose of shampoo she began with her hair, scrubbing the scalp, moving down the long strands, remembering how shiny it used to be.

  Then she took the soft cloth and reached for the soap. But rather than pleasure, the sweet-smelling aroma brought tears to her eyes.

  Where had she smelled it before?

  In her mind’s eye, she saw him, the young man it had belonged to. His sightless eyes stared straight upward into the harsh lights of her lab. His mind hadn’t been able to take the chip.

  Another failure.

  So many of them.

  Their bodies piled high in her mind, their souls crying for vengeance.

  Before the shower, she’d thought she would become clean, but now she realized the blackness ran deeper than her skin. The water couldn’t wash away what she’d done. Couldn’t bring the failed cyborgs back to life.

  The scream of rage she’d bottled up for the past three years tore its way up from her chest and ripped from her throat in a harsh, ragged sound. And it didn’t stop. A second came, and then a third. Her chest heaved, burned.

  Her fingers threaded into her hair and she pulled as hard as she could, feeling the pain. She dropped to her knees, the cries choking her.

  Then someone was on their knees beside her, drawing her into their arms.

  She didn’t want comfort; she snarled and fought like an animal.

  The arms tightened, not letting go. “Shhhh. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.”

  Tristin.

  Her nails sank into the flesh of his arms, feeling the metal beneath. She had done that to him. She had stolen who he was. And in the process, she had lost herself.

  “It will never be fine.” It hurt to breathe. She didn’t want to take in air anymore. Didn’t deserve it.

  “It is what it is. We can’t change it.” His voice was hard, penetrating her skull. He shouldn’t be here. He had to leave.

  She tried to push him away. “Why do you comfort me? I’ve brought you nothing but pain.”

  “You were a slave. It wasn’t your fault.”

  She clenched her fists as her brother’s face swam in her mind. “I betrayed my brother! His legs were severed and he died. I swore to heal—to fix soldiers who lost limbs. Instead I betrayed soldiers again and again! They died when they wouldn’t take the limbs, over and over. But the best, the strongest. Those that took the limbs—I turned them into monsters.”

  Tristin’s hands came to her shoulders and he shook her. “I am not a monster! We choose who we are. I’ve come to terms with it. So must you.”

  “No,” she raged at the note of pain in his voice, beating against his chest. “I can’t!” Pain squeezed from her pores. She fought it, tried to push it down, but the knowledge of what she’d done overwhelmed her and she gave another harsh cry. “All my knowledge—my genius. My entire medical career—the Ardaks used it for evil!”

  His grip tightened on her shoulders. “You can change it now. You can use it for good.”

  She shoved her fingers in her hair, gripping the sides of her head again, hiding her pointed ears. “I don’t want to. I want to die.”

  His voice was harsh, steady. “You don’t have the luxury of death. You must live. That is the punishment. That is the privilege. You must go on. Save who you can. Do what you can now. Become the healer you were meant to be.”

  When she opened her mouth to argue, he shook his head once. “Be silent. No more.”

  “But. . .”

  His lips came down and silenced her. The kiss was hard, angry. Raw with power, his tongue drove inside her mouth, silencing her, punishing her for her brutal words. Their teeth clanked together as she opened to him, accepting him, taking him in. Their lips and tongues entwined roughly, almost as rough as her emotions.

  Maybe it was only to silence her, but she needed it.

  She needed him.

  His forcefulness gave her strength, allowed her to ball up the emotions and shove them down deep inside where they couldn’t overwhelm her. She took his breath as her own, and her fingers went from her hair to his face, feeling the muscles of his jaw work as his lips tamed hers.

  He made her believe she could go on.

  As her body relaxed, she melted against him, and his lips softened, becoming more sensual.

  His arms wrapped around her, lifted her to her feet. Her knees wobbled shakily, but he held her up, and she realized he was still dressed.

  His lips parted from hers long enough to rip his shirt off over his head, throwing it in a sopping heap in the corner. Then his lips took hers again as he lowered his pants and kicked them to the side.

  His hands brushed her neck as he pushed her long hair back over her shoulders, then he stooped to pick up the soap she hadn’t realized had fallen from her hands. He lathered it, then as his lips met hers tenderly, smoothed it over her arms and down her back. Stroking her, soothing her, pressing just enough to smooth the tension from her muscles.

  When he broke the kiss to lather the soap again, she was faced with the broad, smooth skin of his chest. She could feel the heat from the mating marks on his stomach, and when she ran her fingers over one, he hissed in a breath.

  His length had risen, thick and hard, but before she could touch it, he knelt in front of her.

  The gleam in his eye told her he knew what he’d done, but his hands distracted her from
protesting. He smoothed lather up the backs of her legs, his face inches from her chest. Their eyes met, and slowly, he closed the distance to her nipple. When his lips covered it, she gasped, her body oversensitive in the wake of her emotions. His hands came up her back to hold her while his lips toyed and teased the nipple, then he drew his tongue along her chest to the other nipple.

  She arched her back with anticipation, but he teased her, blowing on the nipple before finally acceding to her whimper of demand. Her breath left her as he sucked it in, tormenting her with his lips and tongue.

  He rose and his lips went up to her neck, sending shivers down her body as he found the space behind her ear, then suckled the lobe between his lips. Weakness overtook her and he held her up with an arm behind her back, and there was no thought, only bliss as he teased the tendons of her neck, sending shivers down her body.

  He shut off the water, reached for a towel, and dried her with smooth efficient strokes. She stood silently, her eyes focused on his hand as he dried himself in the same manner. Then he was lifting her into his arms, kissing her again.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and he left the personal room, carrying her toward the bed. He set her down gently and climbed over her, and she made room for him between her thighs. He brushed against her once, then fitted himself to her.

  He slid in slowly and she closed her eyes and moaned, focused only on the sensations of the long, slow stroke. He penetrated to her very center, sliding into a rhythm and arching himself so he moved against her G-spot with every motion. Pleasure spread in waves outward from her core, and a heat against her stomach made her open her eyes and look downward.

  The marks on his abdomen were glowing bright purple around the edges. She took them in for several seconds, then her eyes went to his face to find his matching purple irises locked on her. His expression was almost pained, the sounds of his moans making her focus on her own urgent whimpers.

  She was completely filled by him, lost in him, and when he locked her hips against his, grinding himself into her in short, hard strokes, she came apart and fell into a silent abyss where only pleasure existed and pain could not reach her.