Rebel's Consort - Phoenix Book 1

by KH LeMoyne

  “Please, don’t stop.”

  More gently, she traced his brow and temple with light touches, as she’d done with Bits and Gar. The muscles of his face and the deep lines of stress softened. Her heart clenched at the quick ease of his body beneath her touch.

  “Tell me more.”

  “The ocean beats with a beautiful rhythm. You can feel the life, the noise, the sunlight. I thought about having the base there, but I didn’t have tools to create enough comfort. The distance was too far.” She stroked down his cheek, watching the even rise and fall of his chest. “The blue sparkles under the sun and turns gray with white foam peaks in the storms. Truly incredible.”

  He made no comment. From his deeper inhalations, she suspected he was drifting off. She continued the touches and the words because, much like Bits, he’d probably awaken if she stopped too soon. She was tempted to curl up beside him and snuggle into his warm hard body. Not a craving she’d experienced before; however, it was one she suspected would grow if she spent more time with this complex man.

  A doctor forced to inflict horrors on children in desperation to save his own. Had her own parents tried for such a bargain in vain? She had no doubt they’d loved her. Nor did she doubt their conviction to avoid whatever mandate the Regents had forced on them. And yet, like Trace, they’d had little choice and lost what they loved.

  As personally tied as Trace’s past actions were to the missions she’d carried out, he was as much a pawn as the children she’d saved. His heart and conscience had suffered in lieu of a body part, but he had as little power to fight the Regents as her own parents or any child in the next room. And despite all his struggles and self flagellation, he’d found his way to her to make amends. He’d hung on to her with a grip that had first frightened her with its intensity and now frightened her with its potential to strip her bare.

  Would he choose to leave them? She hoped not, if only because she wouldn’t be the same. His absence carried the potential to devastate her, leaving her a splinter of the woman she’d become.

  Ten minutes, then twenty, and his breathing grew louder to the level of a relaxed snore. Reluctantly, she eased from the bed and left him to sleep.

  ***

  Analena sat on the table with her hand clasped around Gar’s for support. The boy appeared to weather the surgery well. She’d rested beside him when his anxiety had kicked in. Even so, she and Trace had worked to convince, no, coerce, him to accept the local anesthesia for the implant procedure.

  The image of Trace fitting the eyeball back into Gar’s socket still made her a little queasy.

  “Keep the eye closed for now.” Trace sealed the new eye with a patch. “We’ll give the nanites some time to work on connecting the optic nerves. Does it tingle?”

  Gar rolled his lips, only one set of cheek muscles flexed. He lifted his hand to his face. “A little, I can’t feel all of my face.”

  Analena gently removed his probing fingers. “The numbness will fade within the hour as the anesthesia wears off. Don’t fuss with it.”

  The right side of his mouth twitched, and he shrugged. Trace helped him down from the table. Hena escorted him away with an arm around his shoulder.

  “Did you expect that?” Analena glanced from Gar’s retreating figure to check Trace’s expression.

  “The color? No. In hindsight, we might have anticipated it.” He leaned his hip against the table and scrutinized her eyes. “They are your nanites, after all. They’ve adapted for Gar, yet they evidently retain some DNA markers, regardless of a new host.”

  She bit her lip and stared over at the kids, “I hope he’s all right with it.”

  “You worry too much. So he has two different colored eyes. That’s not as rare as people think.”

  “It’s not like he was born that way.”

  “No, but he’ll be able to see, and he might like the color. I do.” His smile widened as his gaze heated with an intensity that made her squirm. “Some things you can’t mother away.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  He leaned in closer, “Have you ever considered having children of your own?”

  Her shock must have shown on her face because he rubbed a knuckle across her stomach. “I can remove the infertility tab if you want. I’m not trying to embarrass you. It showed up on my scanner.”

  She took a deep breath. Yeah, that.

  “Your mad doctor injected it?”

  “When I turned twelve. He wanted to ensure the ‘purity’ of his test case.” She watched Trace turn his head away.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She squeezed his shoulder until he looked back. “Not your fault, remember?”

  He covered her hand with his, and glanced back at Gar.

  She leaned against his arm. “His surgery is what you were meant to do, Trace.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself, Analena. Every waking minute.”

  Chapter 13

  A soft hiss cut through the low buzz wrapped around his eyes. Trace lowered the deprivation strip and let his eyes adjust, seeking the source. His heart stopped at the sight before him.

  Evidently forgetting he was there, Analena had shed her clothes and headed straight into the steamer unit. While the appropriate thing to do was to leave, his legs wouldn’t move.

  Frozen, he followed the sleek curve of her back and the rounded globes of her ass as she twisted beneath the sprays of steam. Her hands followed the curves of her body, lingering on the scar tissue. He forced himself to breathe as he took in every movement.

  She pivoted with her eyes closed, seemingly unaware of his presence. Her hand drifted over one of her breasts and trailed down the over the belly he’d worked so hard to preserve. Not that it needed his help. She was perfect—scars, lines and curves. He’d change her pain, nothing else.

  Her hands pushed strands of hair back from her face, as she angled her head up, the long, length of her neck exposed, her mouth opened to catch drops of liquid. The slight olive tone of her skin lent an effect of tan and health to her body. The living ropes of ebony melted against the bow of her tailbone.

  God, what he wouldn’t give to make her come like that, stretching for him with her mouth open, crying his name in release.

  The strip hung limp in his hand as he waited, his erection too hard to allow a graceful exit, much less hide while he sought refuge with the kids.

  Analena paused, and her body went still. She stared at him from across the room, fingers splayed along her neck not bothering to hide.

  His composed apology dried to dust in his throat as she took one step toward him, then another. He forced himself to stand and dropped the strip to the chair behind him. “I’m s—” Not able to finish, he moved to step around her, but her hand on his chest stopped him.

  “Don’t go.”

  With a shake of his head, he searched her expression, examining it for fear, or worse, disdain for his voyeurism. Neither was reflected back, only an emotion mimicking his own raw desire. Or was it his imagination?

  “I want this, Trace.”

  “Analena.”

  She moved closer and pressed his hand to her damp hip over the delicate x’s that denoted her experiment branding. It took every ounce of self-control not to tighten his hold.

  “Will you walk away and deny me?” Her whisper against his mouth incited his lust further.

  As her lips met his, he groaned and clasped her arms in one last attempt at restraint. The soft touch of her tongue ended the battle. “I can’t deny you anything, Angel.”

  No dream now. Her fingers pulled at his shirt with deliberate purpose, trailing in a blaze of heat down his chest, a blaze he’d suffered for the last seven years. Shirt quickly gone and boots toed-off, he pressed her to him, restricting her attempts to undo the latch of his belt. He was determined to revel in every sensation and build the flame higher.

  He rubbed his cheek against hers as his hands explored her delicate contours. One dip between her lips and the fam
iliar sweet taste of her mouth ignited heat, coiling hot and tight in his groin. He explored, intent on conquest, wanting to imprint her flavor and scent on him for an eternity, wanting to brand her with pleasure in equal measure.

  A tease of his tongue below her earlobe held her at bay with a moan as he gripped the soft swell of her ass and raised her against him. The blaze of her body and the strength of his need threatened to burn away his remaining clothes. Then, his pants went the way of his shirt.

  She tried to take control, tried to pull him onto the bed and between her thighs, progressing straight to action. Committed to more than her short view of pleasure, he followed her down, and settled in the cradle she provided but held back. Not yet. Tremors rippled along her skin as his lips caressed her neck and his thumb brushed her nipple. Her throaty whimper wound him tighter.

  “We have time, Analena.” He hadn’t waited all these years to let her miss a moment of pleasure.

  Her breasts, supple and firm, molded perfectly into his palm. Her nipple beaded like his dream’s elusive treasure. Hostage to his tongue and mouth, the taste of her flesh delivered every fantasy his tortured mind had created. Real and alive, she was so much stronger and braver than he’d ever imagined, her body so much more enticing.

  His fingers slid along the scar of her abdomen and he felt her flinch. Lowering his lips, he tongued over each pucker, gracing each mark, blessing each wound with a kiss.

  Her breath faltered, her skin vibrating beneath his lips. Taking the opportunity, he moved his fingers to the curls between her thighs. He braced his body to open her legs wider as he played through her slick folds. Dampness coated his fingers. He tasted them with a growl. Delicious and hot, but not nearly ready for what he wanted from her. Uncertain of his next move, her hesitation beat at him like a wild animal, but finally able to offer this gift to his angel, he held nothing back. He wanted her wet, wild and fearless.

  He slid one finger in a slow circle along the lips of her pussy, watching her face for every spot of sensitivity and pleasure. Her tiny gasps shot hot pulses to his rigid cock.

  In a slow assault, he slid a finger into her with a firm stroke, garnering another gasp as his thumb brushed her clit. Satisfaction warred with his control at her moans. Innocent or not, his play and exploration seemed new experiences for her. He relished the exploration as much for the beauty of her responses as for the delight of her body.

  Curling two fingers deep inside her in a twist, he stroked until her exhales hitched in a match to the trembling of her skin. When his tongue curled around her clit, she mewled, the sound alive on his lips, so in synch with his dreams, he almost climaxed listening to her.

  He licked again, and her fingers clutched in his hair, pulling, seeking control, but he resisted. At the sound of her protest, he met her gaze in the semi-dark and shook his head. “You’re not in charge here, Angel. I am.”

  Alarm swept over her features. He kissed between her legs again to distract her, suckling at her swollen flesh.

  “You can rule the rest of the world, but not here.” He licked again. “Let go for me. I promise to give you what you need.”

  Receiving no reply, he closed his lips over her labia and teased her clit with his tongue. His fingers delved inside her, matching his tongue’s rhythm. Her gasp a confirmation, whether she admitted it or not, that her body was his—her surprised cry of release, his sweet sound of gold.

  Not allowing the tremors to fade, he rose above her and pressed his cock into the hot, moist heat of her body, stroking slowly to incite the delicate buildup of cries he’d memorized as her pleasure. Gritting against the swift, tight surge from his spine to his balls, he waited for the clench of her muscles around him.

  She was his. Her pleasure was his. Her happiness was his. Finally. He let the affirmations tumble through his mind like a rite as his emotions swelled with the rise of his orgasm on the crest of hers.

  If there was a better feeling in the world than his angel wrapped around him, he never wanted to know.

  ***

  She could tell he was awake, though not from the even rise of his chest beneath her cheek. No, the vibration of his attention betrayed him, like the subtle prickle of heat lightning against her skin.

  “Trace?” She wanted to ask, needed to know. After their intimacy, it seemed like the time for honesty, yet she suddenly felt awkward and invasive.

  He squeezed her shoulders, “Go ahead.”

  Hoping to shield her expression from view, she pressed her lips to the coarse hairs of his chest. “How did you end up working for the Regents?”

  “I was recruited right out of training. My instructor, Lanyon, recommended me. He worked at Med Lab.” He let out a long sigh. “It was considered a big deal. They only take one doctor a year. Sasha was thrilled. She loved the exposure to a more elite crowd.”

  His wife. Analena squeezed her eyes tight. The stroke of Trace’s hand on her hair eased the brief flash of jealousy at the thought of his intimate life with another woman.

  “I didn’t know what they did.” He paused. “We were led to believe the work was cutting-edge research, to offer new solutions. I’d been there six months when Lanyon requested I harvest a healthy kidney from a child.”

  “Trace—” She had to stop him. It was wrong of her to ask him to flay himself like this.

  He wrapped her hair around his fist and pulled gently. “It’s okay, Analena. I have no secrets from you.”

  Silence hung. She wasn’t sure if he was going backward in time or choosing his words carefully.

  “The first few times, they insisted the organs were critical for a relative, and backed with total authorization from the parents. But no one ever accompanied the children. No parent I know leaves their child to go through surgery alone.” He unwound her hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. “One day, Lanyon gave me a list of three organs and several skin grafts to be extracted from one boy.”

  His hand clenched on the ends of her hair.

  “I refused. When I got back to my office, Sasha called. Guards had forced their way into our home. Lanyon said they’d leave as long as I completed the surgery.”

  Covering his hand with hers, she tilted her head to see his face, but he looked away.

  “The next ones weren’t any easier. I finally decided, what could they really do if I said no?” His eyes closed. “That is when they took Sasha and Kristen away. I realized immediately if I performed the schedules they requested, my family would be allowed to come home. Lanyon made it clear that Kristen was the perfect age to offer organs if I didn’t comply.”

  The last word spit from his mouth as his chest rose faster with his account. Analena kept quiet, hoping somehow to purge the pain.

  “One morning, they brought me a young boy. They wanted everything: kidneys, spleen, liver, lungs. Heart. I pulled Lanyon out of a meeting. I couldn’t kill the child. It was one thing to take an organ and leave them alive. Hindered, but alive. That’s how I justified it to myself, Analena.”

  So soft and quiet, his words reflected the depth of his agony. She pressed her lips to his tight knuckles and held her breath.

  “Lanyon pulled the case and gave me another. He agreed it would be my last surgery.”

  She blinked furiously, holding back her own emotions. The image of him dedicated and trapped, without hope against the soulless individuals catering to the Regents, sat like stones on her chest.

  “I really don’t know what I expected. They arrested me, took me to the camp under guard, and ushered me into the morgue filled with the bodies of children. Sasha was there. Kristen was, too.” His voice broke. “They took my baby’s heart. When I refused, they used her instead. She was only six fucking years old.” His harsh swallow sounded like distant thunder.

  “Sasha’s hands were bruised and bloodied. She’d put up a fight before they’d killed her. I’ve always hoped she never saw what they had done.” The words, so quiet and guttural, sounded like another language.

 
; Not able to stop the leaking tears, Analena tightened her hold around him and rubbed her face against his chest, at a loss for any way to take away his pain. “I’m so sorry, Trace.”

  Minutes passed before his hands cupped her cheeks and he brushed the tears. “It’s been over nine years. A long time. Another lifetime.”

  “How did you get free?”

  He closed his eyes again. “The execution cells are near the perimeter of the camp. Some disturbance caused the security to falter. A number of us broke free. We all headed different directions. Some were rounded up, but I found a break in the grid to Down Below. Several followed with me. The squads searched for weeks for us.”

  “And you survived.”

  “Mostly. I wanted to die more times than I can count.” He shook his head. “Sleep was worse than reality. I couldn’t remember Sasha’s face, but my daughter—I can see her with my eyes open.” He’d been staring into space, then he suddenly focused on her. “I’d almost given up when my Angel started to torment my dreams.”

  His hands trailed to her shoulders and down along her back. “She didn’t give me a night’s rest. In all these long years, she’s teased me, frustrated me, provided distraction,—kept me going.”

  “Trace, I’m not—”

  He rolled her over and pressed her down with his hard body. “I’d wake up with her taste on my tongue.” He licked along her neck and scraped his teeth over one spot until she groaned.

  “Loneliness has a way of working at you.”

  He palmed her breast and brushed a kiss over the scar on her shoulder. “I never saw her face, only parts of her body.”

  “A whole other woman,” she whispered, shaking her head, but the Roman numeral for twenty on his bicep showed through her fingers’ grip. Her palm skated across scarred flesh. She didn’t need confirmation of his execution designation. He’d been as close to perishing as the children. What did it matter if he confused her with his dream? They were here now. He’d chosen her, right?