by Ivy Barrett
Her luscious body was entirely too tempting. He snatched the shirt from where Mal Ton had tossed it earlier and handed it to her. “This might be easier to accept if I show you.”
His body protested mightily when she tugged the top down over her breasts. It didn’t matter. Mal Ton had already chosen the role of lecherous bastard and he played the part more convincingly than Roark ever could.
“You’ve really been here—with him—for a year?” She finger combed her hair away from her face and rubbed her arms. Was she cold or nervous? He’d have to check the climate controls.
He dug through his closet and found a pair of exercise pants with a functional drawstring. They would have to do until he could locate something closer to her size. She turned her back as she stepped into the garment and tightened the drawstring around her waist. The inseam was too long, but at least she was covered.
“If he said it’s been a year, it’s probably been a year. The first few months were a blur. It’s only been since I agreed to cooperate that I’ve had any freedom at all.”
They’d have to keep her on a very short leash. All she’d have to do is wander into one of the common rooms in the adjoining building and see other females to realize Mal Ton was full of shit. Intimidating her was one thing, but two hundred sex-starved soldiers? What had Mal Ton been thinking?
Roark held out his hand. “Let me show you what we’re up against.”
Her pink tongue brushed over her lower lip as she placed her hand in his. Why hadn’t Mal Ton let him kiss her? Gods, he wanted to feel those lips pressed against his and to suck her tongue into his mouth.
Roark shook away the remnants of his desire. Everything Mal Ton did was meant to push Andrea into his arms. She needed to see him as a compatriot, a companion in her time of need, which meant Roark had to keep his hands to himself.
Blowing out a shaky breath, he led her across the bedroom and into the short corridor beyond. The doorway on his right opened onto his private launch pad. It would be a bit hard to explain why a Protarian prisoner had access to a fully armed cruiser so he hurried her toward the door at the end of the hall.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ll show you.” All anyone could see from the observatory platform was destruction and rooftops so he seldom went up there anymore. The view was perfect for his purposes today, however, so he motioned her into the small lift.
She exited the elevator in silence and crossed to the exterior wall of the transparent dome. Horror reflected in her eyes and she raised her hand to cover her mouth. He turned and glanced out at the familiar vista. Twisted metal and charred rubble stretched toward the crimson horizon. Dead and decimated, Stilox lay in ruins.
“How?”
“Three hundred years of war, most of it fought on or above Stilox.” You’re Protarian, he reminded himself. Tell the story from their prospective as much as you can without choking on the words. “They gained an early advantage so we brought the fight to them. We forced those Stilox dogs to dig in and dig deep. Campaign followed campaign and still they wouldn’t surrender. So we just kept pummeling them.”
“Why? What in the world could have been worth… this?” She swept her hand toward the destruction.
“How the war began is passionately debated. Mal Ton is the only one I know who was alive when it all began and even he isn’t sure what really happened. He only knows what he was told.”
“Mal Ton’s lived through the entire war?” She shook her head as she heard her own words. No wonder he was jaded. “Wait a minute. Just how old is he?”
“Before the war, and everything that has happened since, both Protarians and Stilox lived about five hundred years. I gather from your reaction this is not true of humans?”
Guilt flashed in her expressive eyes and she moved toward the other side of the platform. “Most humans live around one hundred years.”
“Most humans?” She didn’t respond to the question and Roark didn’t push her. He hadn’t imagined her odd reaction though. Andrea Raynier was hiding something.
Chapter Three
Pausing outside General Bryson’s office, Daniel Keller straightened his jacket and composed his expression. The general was sure to be enraged by the news he was about to impart and Keller couldn’t really blame him.
More often than not, Bryson was a reasonable man. Keller always knew where he stood with the general. That couldn’t be said of far too many of Protaria’s leaders. Keller stepped beneath the scanner and waited for the security system to verify his identity before his presence was announced inside the office.
Bryson deactivated his data terminal and shoved back from his desk as Keller crossed the room. “What were you able to learn?”
“I confirmed it, sir. The crew ejected before the explosion and the Stilox have Ms. Raynier.”
Bryson’s dark gaze iced over and he shook his head. “Why were you able to confirm her abduction in a matter of hours yet you and your entire staff were unable to prevent it?”
Keller didn’t react to the jibe. Yes, he was Chancellor Howyn’s head of security, but he’d had nothing to do with Andrea Raynier’s abduction. Her safety was to have been turned over to him as soon as she arrived on Protaria. She’d never made it that far.
He proffered a thin datapad with one hand and tucked the other behind his back. This was where Bryson went from surly to irate. The general snatched the device from his outstretched hand and paged through the images.
“Adoha again! How does this bastard stay a step ahead of us?”
“I hate to admit it, but he’s damn good at what he does.” Bryson had been playing cat and mouse with Mal Ton Adoha longer than Keller could remember. Just when Bryson thought he’d won the upper hand, Adoha snatched the rug out from under his feet. “Of course, he’s had centuries to perfect his skills.”
“Why didn’t the crew question a last-minute substitution?” Bryson grumbled. “They knew how important this was, and how secret.”
“According to their statements, there was no substitution. Their team leader showed up as expected and the mission progressed as planned. They have no idea how long Adoha was posing as the other man.”
Bryson stared at him, brows scrunched together over his nose. “Some sort of morphing mask?”
Keller shrugged, unwilling to share his best theories. There was no doubt Adoha was a mutant, but his true capabilities were still a mystery. He might be a shapeshifter or he might be able to control the perception of others so they saw what he wanted them to see.
“I don’t suppose you know where they’ve taken her?” the general asked after a long, tense pause.
Again Keller ignored the provocation in Bryson’s tone and simply answered the question. “There are only three climate domes on Stilox. They have to be holding her in one of the three.”
“If they took her to Stilox.” Suspicion hardened Bryson’s expression. “More and more I feel the hand of a saboteur. Whenever I get close to my objectives, someone jerks me back.”
“I understand how you might feel that way, but how would they secure her on Protaria? The risk of escape would be too great.”
“I think you’re underestimating Adoha. Stilox sympathizers are springing up all over Protaria. And that prick gets bolder every day. I still can’t believe he was at the ball, dancing with Nehalem. If you hadn’t shown me the vid, I never would have believed it.”
“I thought Adoha looked dashing turned out in velvet and lace.”
Bryson sneered. “Oh, you’re hilarious. It’s odd that you discovered his image two days after the ball when Adoha was halfway to Earth. All of this helpful information keeps arriving just after its usefulness expires.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his desk. “If I were the suspicious type, I might start wondering if the timing was intentional.”
“I believe my record speaks for itself.” Or it used to until they started feeding him misinformation. “How shall we proceed?” he asked after a mome
nt of strained silence.
“I built a state-of-the-art research facility, assembled a host of eager assistants, and amassed a practically inexhaustible budget for Andrea Raynier. Then her stubborn protestations sent the situation careening out of control.” He sounded almost sad.
“Her treatment at the hands of the Stilox is likely to be far different than it would have been if she’d accepted your offer,” Keller pointed out.
Bryson nodded but his expression remained troubled. “We cannot afford to lose her to those radicals. We’re out of time. Were you able to delay the arrival of the test subjects?”
“Three of the four groups are awaiting word from me. The first ship had already left Earth when my message arrived.”
“Typical.” Bryson waved Keller toward the door. “Go assemble your team. We have got to find her. Meanwhile, I get the delightful privilege of informing your boss that our best hope for a future has been captured by the Stilox.”
Keller had kept Chancellor Howyn apprised of the situation every step of the way. Bryson would tell him nothing he didn’t already know.
Pausing for a quick bow, Keller left Bryson’s office and started counting. If he made it to ten before one of them contacted him, he’d be amazed. He hadn’t been able to figure out if they used technology, a large network of operatives or clairvoyance to assure the accuracy of their information. He only knew they put Bryson to shame.
He rounded a corner and found Nehalem leaning against the wall. Nehalem was always posing. Regardless of the situation, she found the position that best showcased her considerable charms.
With a beguiling smile, she threaded her fingers through his then depressed the area on his armband that jammed audio scans. The security feed would show them together but it wouldn’t record their conversation.
“We’ve decided it’s in our best interest if Andrea Raynier remains with the Stilox for now,” Nehalem said without preamble. “Make up whatever excuse you like but do not locate her.”
He’d suspected Nehalem was one of the mysterious them ever since he’d spotted her in Adoha’s arms. Nehalem was many things. Stupid was not one of them. “I need to know more if I’m going to cooperate. Are you aligned with the Stilox or is this no more significant than your ambitions coinciding with theirs?”
“You know what you need to know.”
“You’re Bryson’s wife, for god’s sake. Why do you need me?”
“Chancellor Howyn trusts you implicitly. We are more interested in that connection than your work with Bryson.”
That surprised him. If they considered Bryson incidental, then their influence stretched far beyond anything he’d imagined before. “Who do you represent? I need to know why I’m agreeing to make myself look incompetent.”
“Andrea is where she needs to be to save us all, but my husband would die before he’d allowed Mal Ton to gain the upper hand.”
He hadn’t missed her ready use of Adoha’s given name. “You led him right to her, didn’t you?”
With a secretive smile, she pulled him to her and kissed his mouth. As her lips moved over his, her nimble fingers released the security feed. She stepped back and said in a calm, clear voice, “I’ll see you tonight.”
* * *
Roark stood in front of the ruined landscape, his face turned toward the setting sun. His quiet dignity was a welcome contrast to Mal Ton’s overbearing masculinity. With rich brown hair, smooth caramel skin, and flashing teal eyes, his coloring was nearly identical to the commander’s. Even the angular arrangement of his features called to mind the other man. So how could he be an entirely different species?
“Was Stilox colonized by Protarians?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and rubbed her tense muscles, determined to stop shaking. Emotional outbursts were a waste of energy. It was time to gather information and devise a strategy. Compassion shone from Roark’s eyes as he turned to look at her and her lips started trembling.
“It’s more complicated than colonization, but yes, we share a common ancestry.” He touched her face, his thumb brushing over her lips. “Would you like a few minutes alone?”
She shook her head, unable to speak through the lump in her throat. Isolation was the last thing she wanted. He wrapped his arm around her waist and she rested her forehead on his shoulder. It wasn’t a lover’s embrace, simply the comfort of warmth and touch. He stroked her hair and she placed her hands on his back, unwilling to move closer yet unable to let go.
Time passed as she drew comfort from his patience and the gentle glide of his fingers through her hair.
“I won’t let him hurt you.”
It was a sweet sentiment, but they both knew Mal Ton was in control. “He won’t let you interfere. That much was obvious.”
“Mal Ton can be ruthless and cruel. It’s best just to give him what he wants.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He cupped her cheek and tilted her face until their gazes met. “You were in stasis for two days. If your appetite hasn’t returned, I should give you a nutrient mist. Your body is hungry even if your mind hasn’t unraveled the signals.”
Her body was hungry all right, hungry for more of his hands and his mouth and the pleasure these men commanded. “My body doesn’t seem to care what my mind has to say. I’ve never been this out of control.” Was there a physiological cause for her spiked libido? Were they doing it intentionally?
His fingers trailed down her cheek before he lowered his arm to his side. “I won’t make excuses for Mal Ton, but I don’t regret kissing you.”
She turned toward the lift before he could see the blush creeping up her neck. Kissing? He’d devoured her pussy with his lips and his tongue, lapped up her cream like a ravenous cat.
He caught her arm in a careful hold, preventing her retreat. “I’m sorry. I should have kept that thought to myself.”
He still hadn’t apologized for taking advantage of… It wasn’t like Mal Ton had given Roark a choice. He was as much a victim as she. Was she a victim? Rather than dwell on the issue, she eased her arm out of his grasp and continued across the observation platform.
“I know you were upset by what happened,” he persisted, “but I didn’t want him to hurt you.”
Heaving a frustrated sigh, she stopped again. “Are you certain he would have followed through with his threat?”
“Mal Ton doesn’t make idle threats. He would have flogged you or spanked you until you were good and wet, then he’d have fucked you senseless.” He moved into her peripheral vision as he went on. “Would you have been less humiliated if he’d stimulated your senses through pain? The result would have been the same. You would have submitted. Everyone always submits.”
She looked away from his caressing gaze, shocked by the heat swirling through her body. There was no way she could have an orgasm while being—flogged. So why was her pussy throbbing? Pressing her thighs together, she was determined to ignore the disconcerting reaction.
Lust had eclipsed logic when she met Mal Ton, and Roark only added fuel to the fire. She wanted to slip to her knees and use her mouth to thank him for the pleasure he’d given her. She didn’t understand the bizarre wantonness, but it showed no sign of letting up.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She stepped into the lift before she spoke again. “Escape is obviously going to be more complicated than I first thought so I’ll have to find a way of convincing Mal Ton to release me.”
A smile curved the corners of Roark’s mouth. “You’re going to motivate Mal Ton?”
“He needs to understand that I’m far more trouble than I’m worth.”
“You clearly have no concept of your true worth.” The lift door slid open and he took her hand, leading her through the bedroom and into the adjoining office. “Let me give you some more information before you decide to launch a battle of wills against Mal Ton.”
She slipped her hand out of his and paused before two clear panels, which allowed her to see into the rooms b
eyond the office. On her left was a well-organized infirmary. “I had no idea all this was here.” Six beds had been arranged in two rows with an aisle down the center. Scanners, microscopes, and a collection of semi-familiar equipment identified the room on her right as a research laboratory.
“They scavenged the deserted cities before they sealed the domes. This is still barbaric compared to the conditions on Protaria, but the facilities are adequate for your needs.” He warded off her objection with an upraised hand. “Your body is depleted. You must have sustenance. Once your strength returns, you can determine your next move.”
He opened the door to the infirmary and motioned her inside. Floor-to-ceiling cabinets lined the far wall. The doors were transparent, displaying rows, stacks, and sliding bins of supplies. The floor gleamed from a recent scrubbing and the faint scent of antiseptic drifted on the air.
“Were you captured to care for their wounded or to find a solution to the genetic mutation?” A touch of resentment hardened her tone, making the question sound more unfeeling than she had intended.
“Both.” He opened one of the cabinets and selected several items. “I was one of a large team of scientists working on the problem. The fact that I am also a physician made me more valuable to the Stilox.”
“Have your people tried to rescue you?”
A patient smile parted his lips and made his eyes twinkle. “We’re in the middle of a war. People disappear every day and the governments on both sides have to prioritize their limited resources.”
How could he be so nonchalant? Hadn’t anyone been willing to fight for him? Your government is just as bad. They paved the way for your abduction and traded your future away like it meant nothing.
“What about your family? Don’t you have someone—?”
“Eighty years into the war my people resorted to biological weapons. The initial outbreak wiped out millions, but it fired up the Stilox like never before. Then the virus spread to Protaria. My parents died in a subsequent outbreak and my only brother sacrificed his life for the cause. I was engaged at one time, but my fiancée claimed I was obsessed with my work and chose to bond with my Second instead.”
