by Ivy Barrett
“Your Second? What does that mean?”
His expression tensed and dread erupted in his eyes. He’d obviously said something he hadn’t meant to say. Peeling back the seal on the package in his hand, he held up a small, wand-like device. “This will dispense the nutrient mist I mentioned earlier. It’s absorbed painlessly through your eye. You’ll feel stronger within minutes.”
She grasped his wrist as he moved the dispenser toward her face. “Why are you ignoring my question? What is a Second?”
With obvious reluctance, he lowered his arm and said, “The practice began on Stilox many centuries ago. No one is sure if Stilox physiology necessitated the custom or if their physiology adapted to their social structure.”
“That didn’t answer my question either.”
“When a couple bonds, a Second male is included in the union. His role is to protect the female whenever her primary mate is gone.”
Andrea shook her head and indulged in a humorless laugh. “They share their women, just like General Bryson said.”
“The woman is only bonded with her mate. The Second plays a supporting role unless her mate is killed or it’s time to conceive. Some men prefer being a Second and they can be a designated Second to several females.”
“The Second has more than one pseudo-wife?” She felt her eyes widen owlishly and forced her lids to relax. “Are contribution from two males necessary for a Stilox female to conceive?”
“Yes to both questions. Men who prefer a less binding commitment agree to serve as a Second. He offers support and companionship for the most part, but his participation is required when the couple wants a child.”
Unbelievable. Her mind had just begun to absorb the information when a realization rocked her back. “Wait a minute. You said your fiancée chose to bond with your Second. But you’re Protarian.” Suspicion unfurled and she moved away from him, putting as much distance between them as the narrow aisle allowed.
“The Stilox custom was adopted by many Protarian soldiers. They were gone for long periods of time so the arrangement benefited everyone. The wife was less likely to lose both her mate and her Second to the war.” He licked his lips then met her gaze. His expression seemed forced, almost calculated. “My personal motivation for pursuing the arrangement was a bit unusual. My fathers were Stilox and my mother Protarian so my physiology requires a Second.”
“Then the complication lies with the male, not the female?”
He chuckled and approached her slowly. “We don’t consider it a ‘complication,’ but yes. There are two distinctly different types of sperm and one of each is required for conception. Most believe this characteristic evolved as we became a triploid species.”
“You had two fathers.” The practice wasn’t that different from the blended families of Earth. Still, she found it scintillating.
“The custom is still met with a certain resistance on Protaria, but every bonding on Stilox includes a Second.”
“Is the wife allowed to… sleep with her Second whenever she feels like it?”
“If that were the case, she would have two mates. I won’t pretend it never happens, but the Second is only supposed to have sex with the wife when her mate is present. The couple is free to include the Second in their lovemaking as often as they desire. The wife is more likely to conceive when she is relaxed and comfortable with her men.”
“Oh, my god.” She leaned against the end of one gurney, tantalizing images teasing her mind. “I think that’s worse.”
“You can imagine sharing your body with two men as long as they take you separately?”
“I can’t imagine sharing my body with two men, period.”
One of his eyebrows quirked and his lips curved with the hint of a smile. “You don’t have to imagine, Andrea. You can remember.”
He stood inches from her, his hands resting on the treatment table on either side of her hips. The heat from his body sank through her clothes and fanned the flame of her desire. Mal Ton had teased her breasts while Roark used his mouth to arouse her. And it had resulted in one of the most powerful orgasms she’d ever felt.
“Hold still.” His hand cupped the side of her face and he raised the dispenser again.
Didn’t he feel this smoldering hunger? With the exception of invading her personal space, his touch had been respectful and professional. Was the infirmary under surveillance? Laughter bubbled up within her. Did she want him to be inappropriate?
The mist discharged, shattering the sensual haze. She blinked reflexively. As he’d promised, there was no pain. “Is this your primary form of sustenance?”
“Not when we can help it. There’s still plenty of food on Protaria. We just have to ‘borrow’ supplies from time to time.”
His thumb feathered across her lips. He released her face and stepped back. Again his phrasing had grouped him with the Stilox. Suspicion knotted her stomach. A year was a long time to be held captive, especially when he had free run of his surroundings.
He crossed the infirmary and tossed the dispenser and its package into a trash bin. “What did Bryson tell you about the current situation? Were you given case studies and detailed reports?”
“I’m not going to give in to Mal Ton so it doesn’t matter.”
For a long time he just stared at her, his features revealing nothing. “Do you want him to punish you? Is that why you won’t even consider helping us?”
“Us?” Emboldened by her suspicion, she advanced across the floor. “You keep lumping yourself in with the Stilox.”
“The situation on Stilox is far worse than Protaria, but my people are dying too.” He held his ground, undaunted by her sudden hostility. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you want Mal Ton to punish you?”
Did she? He’d punished her on the transport, bared her ass and spanked her hard. Her nipples tingled and her core warmed at the memory. She’d never been so humiliated in her life, and yet… But he hadn’t just spanked her. He’d thrust his fingers deep inside her, fucked her fast and hard until she came with a scream.
Roark caught her upper arms and pulled her against his body. His gaze searched hers without rancor or accusation. “It’s not a complicated question.”
“I don’t know.” She sounded more defensive than she’d meant to, so she added, “I’ve been alone for a long time.” Why was she confessing this to a veritable stranger? Tension mounted. Sizzling anticipation mixed with heated awareness. He slid one of his hands up her arm and grasped the back of her neck. His touch was firm and expectation shimmered in his expression. “You didn’t ask if I wanted to… have sex. You asked me if I wanted Mal Ton.”
“He claims you came on to him in the shuttle. Did you?”
She licked her lips, amazed that she felt no shame, just an odd restlessness. “I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. I wanted to abandon myself completely and then get on with my life.”
“Why settle for one indulgence when you can savor the exploration?” His deep voice wrapped around her like silk threads, cocooning her in temptation.
“Is that what you’ve done?” She had to break free of his spell, disentangle herself from this intoxication. “Have you used your captivity to explore your sexuality?”
“I resisted in the beginning. My pride and my principles wouldn’t allow me to bow to his manipulation. But weeks turned to months and I finally accepted the fact that it didn’t matter who found the cure as long as people stopped dying.”
Had he just described her future? Would she subject herself to months of Mal Ton’s cruel seduction as he peeled away her resistance layer by layer?
“Andrea, you need to remember we no longer have the luxury of time. The tactics Mal Ton used on me are nothing compared to what he’s prepared to do to you. This is literally a life and death situation.”
She twisted out of his hold and brushed her hair out of her eyes as anxiety pushed through her restlessness. “Your people unleashed this plague intentionally. They just didn’t
expect to be affected by the fallout.”
“We’re getting what we deserve? Is that your rationale?”
It was a moral debate as old as time itself. Did the innocent deserve to suffer for the actions of their society? “The actual outbreak is contained? You’re no longer spreading this from person to person?”
“We have an effective vaccine. Mal Ton gave it to you while you were unconscious.”
“That’s not why I asked.” Though the thought had crossed her mind. “Bryson led me to believe this crisis involved genetic mutation, not a viral pandemic.”
“Rather like poliomyelitis, this lentavirus creates a highly contagious onset illness then degenerates or mutates various biological functions over a period of years. The initial outbreak is long over. Now we’re combating the genetic abnormalities left behind by the virus.”
“Are the abnormalities always the same?”
He shook his head, his expression calm and encouraging. “The results are almost random. Depending on where the RNA attaches to the DNA strand, the results can be as simple as a skin rash or as profound as grotesque disfiguration.”
Every question she asked revealed the weakening of her determination. People were dying. Did it really matter how the mutation began?
With an exasperated sigh, she gave herself a firm mental shake. “Mal Ton kidnapped me! I cannot give in to him, or everyone who wants access to these treatments will be tempted to do the same.”
He accepted her assertion with a stiff nod. “I have duties awaiting me. You’ll have to stay in my office unless I’m here to supervise you.”
“What if I need the facilities in your quarters?” she asked with a sly smile.
“I’ll set the motion sensor to activate the door.” Following him into the office, she looked around the tidy room as he adjusted the security settings. “I’ll have someone bring you a tray in a couple of hours if I haven’t returned by then.” He stepped away from his desk and returned her smile. “Behave yourself.”
Moments after Roark left, Andrea was inundated by unnerving questions. What had caused the pain buried in the depths of Mal Ton’s eyes? Was the same determination driving Roark’s easy charm? Roark had admitted he was half Stilox. Was he even a prisoner? Something about the situation just didn’t feel right.
If this was an elaborate setup, they were playing their roles to perfection. They’d identified her vulnerabilities and thrust her into a situation nearly impossible to resist. She didn’t want anyone else to die and the only human who would know if she compromised her principles was her.
Still, they had no right to manipulate her like this. It was infuriating and unfair. So why were her senses humming with anticipation?
* * *
Mal Ton studied the holoprojection of Sanctum, the capital of Protaria, as he had so many times in the past few weeks. The mutants were hiding right under Chancellor Howyn’s nose. Mal Ton was confident of his intel as well as his instincts, he just hadn’t been able to pinpoint their location.
Fane, the enigmatic leader of the Mutant Underground, kept his people well protected and their movements untraceable. The mutants had no official alliance with Stilox, more like an informal understanding. When Fane’s goals corresponded with Mal Ton’s, they exchanged information and support.
“Any luck?” Roark asked as he joined Mal Ton beside the holoprojector.
“Fane tends to be literal. He calls a mutant a mutant. But I’m beginning to wonder if the underground part is figurative. I’ve had teams searching the catacombs for weeks and they’ve found no sign of habitation.”
“Many people are able to hide their transformation until close to the end. Fane could be using those in the early stages for recon and communication.”
Mal Ton deactivated the display and faced Roark. “People seek out the Mutant Underground because they have no other choice.”
“Why are you so intent on finding him now?”
“I spit in the face of the star system’s biggest bully. Bryson is going to come after me with everything he’s got. I need to know what, if any, help the Mutant Underground is going to offer. For all I know they’re a handful of outcasts who have crawled into a hole to die.”
“You don’t believe that or you wouldn’t bother searching the catacombs.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared off into the distance. “I’ve never even seen Fane and my men are tired of chasing shadows. But my instincts tell me we want the Mutant Underground on our side. I just can’t let this go.”
“The easiest way to catch their interest will be to offer them hope.”
Mal Ton nodded. Hope was in short supply for everyone. “And where is our miracle worker?”
“Locked in my office. She can return to my quarters if she likes but the infirmary and lab are inaccessible.” Roark flashed a smile filled with wily mischief. “I accidentally left my workstation logged in to my research files. She’s sleeping now but she’ll get bored soon enough. There’s nothing else for her to do in there.”
“Is it wise to give her access to your files?”
Roark shrugged. “She can’t get beyond the data directory. Anything restricted requires a retinal scan.”
Mal Ton crossed to a bank of security monitors and activated the feed to Roark’s office. As Roark had said, Andrea was asleep on the sofa, her head pillowed on her folded arm. “Hours of solitude might help her comprehend the situation.”
“That’s the plan. Food will be delivered and I’ll spend the day in the archives. If she’s half the scientist we’ve been led to believe, she should be full of questions by the time I return.”
Mal Ton nodded, carnal hunger echoed through his body as he stared at her peaceful image. “Is she still refusing to cooperate?”
Color had returned to her cheeks but purple smudges shadowed her eyes. How long would she resist? What would it take to tame her? She’d cried out so sweetly and responded so eagerly while Roark licked her pussy. Just the memory of her aroused scent and evocative taste sent blood rushing to Mal Ton’s groin.
He had to stay focused on the mission, regardless of his cock’s demands. This was more than just physical attraction. The fate of his people depended on her. He must help her see the futility of her opposition. There was no other choice for either of them.
“She’s far more interested than she pretends,” Roark said, “in the genetic anomalies as well as sexual exploration.”
Mal Ton looked at his friend as the fire in his blood channeled down a different path. “What makes you say that? Have you been playing without me?”
“There’s a definite awareness between us, but I don’t think I excite her the way you do.”
“That’s because you’re too damn nice.” He returned the vidscreen to its standard setting and shot Roark a sidelong glance. “If she doesn’t offer you something useful by the end of the day, I’ll have to punish her. That was the deal. She assists you in the lab or she submits to me each night.”
Roark didn’t look pleased by the reminder. “She’s not ready for pain.”
“There are many forms of punishment and our Terran kitten is a lot stronger than you give her credit for.”
* * *
Nehalem Bryson pulled the hood of her cloak more tightly around her face as she crept down the narrow alley between two crumbling buildings. Her clothing was threadbare and nondescript. She couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself. Pressing a perfumed cloth to her nose only partially concealed the stench of rotting garbage and decay. Her shoes slid on an unseen substance. She didn’t stop to investigate.
Keep moving and don’t make eye contact with anyone. Fane had taught her those basic principles after recruiting her for the Mutant Underground. Following his advice helped her avoid conflict but it did nothing to calm her fear. Her heartbeat thundered and sound was amplified until her ragged breathing seemed to rage like a tempest.
Two turns and a downward sloping tunnel brought her to an unmarked door. Sh
e expelled a ragged sigh. This was the first time she’d made the half-mile trek without encountering beggars or thieves.
A man stepped out of the shadows as she approached the door. She held out her fist and he scanned her hand before allowing her to pass. An ident-nanite was deeply embedded in her flesh, the tiny entry wound long healed.
The interior of Fane’s headquarters was only slightly more hospitable than the slum surrounding it. Cold stone walls and exposed beams gave the ‘great hall’ a medieval feel. And Fane liked it that way.
Hostile stares followed her as she hurried across the cavernous room. Lounging in chairs and sprawled on sofas, Fane’s followers congregated around the massive hearth. Firelight cast their cadaverous features into stark relief. With translucent skin and glowing amber eyes, they sent a chill down Nehalem’s spine. They didn’t trust her and she couldn’t blame them. Only Fane understood her motivation for helping the Underground.
Another sentry guarded Fane’s private domain. She lowered her hood as she neared but the guard remained in front of the door.
“He’s resting,” the guard muttered.
“I won’t take long.”
“He’s not to be disturbed.”
“He’s expecting me.”
The door slid to one side. Sean Wylie slipped through the narrow gap then closed the door behind him. “I thought I heard your voice.” He offered a boyish smile that didn’t quite reach his jet black eyes.
Compassion gripped Nehalem’s heart. Sean’s eyes had been green the last time she saw him. Like a genetic barometer, the mutation’s progress could be gauged in their eyes. First the irises darkened, then the blackness spread and became incandescent. Finally the eyes shriveled and disintegrated, leaving the mutant to rely entirely on their clairvoyance to ‘see.’
“Let’s go upstairs,” he suggested.
Ordinarily she wouldn’t have considered prolonging her stay but something was wrong. Fane had never refused to see her before.
