“Still coming?”
Mishka nodded. “Nolan can, apparently, sense her. He says she’s getting closer.”
Jaxon fell asleep a moment later, his head lolling to the side, his chest rising and falling evenly. Content just to be near him, Mishka stayed where she was.
She must have fallen asleep, too, because sometime during the night, she opened her eyes and Mia was there, standing beside the bed. She’d bandaged her hand and showered.
“Touch him and die,” Mishka said. “I will not tell you again.”
Dallas limped through the doorway and stopped beside Mia. His features were drawn tight, his eyes flat. He did not look like the upbeat, vivacious agent she’d once read about, nor the sarcastic agent she’d met all those days ago. He was the man Jaxon had once tried to be: unemotional, unruffled.
He and Mia shared a look and then said in unison, “I’m sorry.”
They shared another looked and sighed. They sounded gruff but sincere.
“Here it is, flat out,” Mia said. “I’m not apologizing for failing to trust you. Considering everything that happened and that goddamn list, which I still don’t understand, by the way, that was a good decision on my part.”
“Identify weaknesses so you can eliminate them.” She stared pointedly. “Isn’t that standard agency procedure?”
Mia’s mouth fell open. She closed it with a snap and glared at Mishka. “Fine. That’s great. Smart, even. But like I was saying, I’m not apologizing for that.” A pause, most of her aggression melting. “I’m apologizing because you love him, I saw it every time you looked at him, and I wanted to rip him away from you. Tit for tat, you could say.”
“My reasons for apologizing were a bit different, but whatever.” Dallas shrugged. “I shot at you.”
Mishka relaxed, but only slightly. “It’s fine,” she said, obviously surprising them. She’d done worse. How could she blame them for these minor occurrences? “All of it.”
“No, it isn’t,” Jaxon said. When had he awoken? She hadn’t felt him move. “You almost killed her.”
Hesitant, Dallas stepped forward. “You can’t beat me up about it more than I’m doing to myself.”
“I could try.”
Dallas squared his shoulders, half accepting, half belligerent. “Try, then.”
Mishka didn’t want to be responsible for a rift between Jaxon and his friends. She loved him too much for that. Propping her weight on her elbow, she leaned down and nibbled on his ear. “Forgive them. Please. Think of the fun we’ll have torturing them mercilessly with their guilt.”
His gaze locked with hers. “Can I tell them the truth?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Sure, why not?”
His lips twitched but his eyes were hard as he stared over at the pair. He told them about the chip, how she’d been controlled by it. For once, she wasn’t ashamed, guilty, or angry that someone might pity her. The present and future would no longer be spoiled by the past. She wouldn’t allow it.
By the time Jaxon finished, Mia and Dallas were pale. Shamed.
Mishka took pity on them, but only because they’d always had Jaxon’s best interests at heart. “How’s the hand?” she asked Mia.
“Healing,” the agent said, then added dryly, “Thanks for not slicing the bones to powder.”
“My pleasure.”
“I know you could have done a lot worse. Bitch,” she muttered.
Mishka tried not to smile. Coming from Mia, the word was a compliment. Sometimes. “I have a policy not to hurt ballerinas more than necessary.”
Mia ran her tongue over her teeth, but remained silent.
She turned to Dallas. “No side effect after stun?”
“Besides the personality change?” he asked, his voice as dry as Mia’s had been. At least there was emotion now, self-deprecating as it was. “Besides wanting to kill you one moment, then kill myself instead the next?”
“Yeah. Besides.”
“Nope.”
They shared a grin.
“Good,” she said, and kissed Jaxon’s lips. “Does this mean we’re all friends now?”
“Hell, no,” Mia said. “I’m not painting your nails or shopping with you. This just means we’re not going to try and kill each other.”
“That’s all I ever wanted.” Mishka eyed Dallas again. “So. Since you two are friends, does that mean she paints your nails?”
“Sadly, yes.” Dallas uttered the words deadpan.
Jaxon laughed. “Get out of here, guys. You can send her flowers or something.”
They argued about the flowers (who would do the sending) and the nail painting (what color looked best on Dallas) the whole way out.
Mishka looked up at Jaxon, who was smiling up at her. However, he couldn’t hide the concern in his eyes. “You tamed me, my friends—kind of—and the Schön. Only one thing left for our happily ever after.”
Yes, she thought. The chip. As soon as he recovered, they’d have to deal with that damn chip.
Four and a half weeks later
Jaxon had Mishka moved into his—their—house, a ring on her finger, and now, his wife, fresh from surgery. Twice he almost lost her. Twice her heart stopped beating and the doctors had to bring her back.
Twice he almost died himself.
He would rather have her with him, dependent on Estap’s survival, than live a single day without her, he realized all too soon yet all too late. He hated himself for pushing her to have the surgery.
But after sixteen hours of hell on Earth, watching from a glass partition as his wife’s hair was shaved and her head freaking sawed open like a melon, he finally felt like he could breathe again and wasn’t in danger of vomiting his intestines.
The doctors predicted a long but hopefully full recovery, even though the chip had been embedded deep and was connected to things it shouldn’t have been. She might have memory problems, but with her past she might appreciate that. As long as she didn’t forget him, he was happy.
God, was he happy. He stopped hating himself when she began to rouse, her swollen eyes opening.
She lay on a clean bed, monitors strapped all over her body, and he climbed in beside her, oh so careful. This was the complete opposite of all those weeks ago, when he’d woken up in the hospital and she’d been beside him.
“Jaxon,” she said, the word slurred. She was groggy, but happiness shone in her eyes.
“I’m here, baby.”
“How do I look?”
He peered over at her. Her eyes were swollen, her forehead discolored, and her head wrapped in a thick white turban. “Never better.” And he meant it. No matter what she looked like, she was beautiful to him.
Her lips twitched, as more and more sleep and exhaustion receded. “You don’t mind the shaved head?”
“Hell, no. You’re sexy and tough as shit. Only downside is that there’s nothing for Mia to braid if you girls ever decide to do a sleepover.”
“Ah, you’re so sweet.”
“No, I’m honest. I’m also a man in love, and once you’re up and around I’m going to prove it. Over and over again.”
That twitching became a full-fledged smile, though her head lolled to the side as if it were too heavy for her to hold in one place.
“The gang is currently in my living room, watching TV, eating every crumb in the house, and waiting to hear how you are.” Jaxon traced a fingertip down the firm plane of her stomach. He was going to spend the rest of his life making this woman happy, making her smile and laugh. “But I want you all to myself.”
As he touched her, her monitors began to beep a little faster, a little louder. “Estap still in his coma?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“When I’m at full strength, I’m going to give you his head as a present. You can do whatever you want with it. That should prove my love for you.”
Jaxon chuckled softly. “My sweet killer, a softy down deep.”
Slowly she raised a hand and b
rushed it over his jawline. As she peered at him, she frowned.
“What?” He wanted her smiling. Always.
“I just asked the chip the likelihood of us staying together.”
Old habits. He hoped she did not come to regret losing the chip. “And?” he asked gently.
“Silence. That’s weird. I cannot remember a time when there was not a voice inside my head, giving me the answers I needed.”
“Well, I can tell you the answer to this one. I’m not a math whiz, but there’s a one hundred percent chance I’m never letting you go.”
Her frown melted away, and she gifted him with that smile he’d so craved. “God, but I do love you. I think I’m going to like coming to you rather than the chip.”
Now he smiled. “I’m glad.”
“You gave me ecstasy when all I’d ever known was sorrow,” she said. “In return, I’m sorry to say I think I’m going to be high maintenance like Cathy. I’ll probably even cling.”
“Cling to me all you want, then cling to me some more.” Gently, so gently, he kissed her. “I’ll never be able to get enough of you.”
She chuckled, and the sound warmed his heart. Life, he thought, was so damn good.
“You smell like sex.”
Devyn leaned down toward Bride, moonlight caressing him as though it couldn’t help itself. Maybe it couldn’t.
“The dirtiest kind of sex, at that—which just happens to be my favorite.” His thumb traced her palm.
A shiver slid the length of Bride’s spine. He was flirting with her, wickedly so. Though she had no desire to flirt back—really—she forced herself to say, “Wow. Already we have something in common.” One thing she knew about men. They were more likely to help a woman if they thought they’d get something in return. “That’s my favorite kind, too.”
That put a surprised sparkle in his amber eyes. “Isn’t this just my lucky day, then?”
PRAISE FOR
THE ALIEN HUNTRESS SERIES
Savor Me Slowly
“Gena Showalter doesn’t pull any punches in this hot, hard-hitting science fiction romance. With Savor Me Slowly she shocked me and scared me and turned me on, sometimes all on the same page. I’m so glad she took the characters to their sensual and emotional limits—and beyond!”
—New York Times bestselling author Susan Sizemore
Enslave Me Sweetly
“Showalter first demonstrated her skill at blending sizzling romance and nail-biting suspense set in a convincing futuristic society in Awaken Me Darkly. She now continues the roller-coaster-like adventure in an equally entertaining tale that will please a wide cross section of readers.”
—Booklist
“This well-written book will appeal to all readers.”
—Romantic Times
Awaken Me Darkly
“Mia Snow is perfect as the alien hunter with the secret.”
—Booklist
“It’s hard to resist such a heady mixture of speculative fiction, romance and chick lit.”
—Romantic Times
“Sizzles with intrigue…. Similar to Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake series…. Brilliantly written…. Amazing.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A fantastic read…. Fascinating characters…. Gena Showalter has created a very interesting world that readers will enjoy visiting over and over again.”
—A Romance Review
“The final spin will shock…. Mia is a fabulous ‘bad girl.’”
—The Best Reviews
MORE PRAISE FOR GENA SHOWALTER
“Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spellbinding story!”
—Kresley Cole, USA Today bestselling author of Wicked Deeds on a Winter’s Night
“Wow…Gena Showalter always takes us on a fantastic ride….”
—USA Today bestselling author Merline Lovelace
“Gena Showalter’s sparkling voice shines…the perfect canvas for her sizzling and enthralling paranormal imagination!”
—Deidre Knight, author of Parallel Attraction
“Scorchingly erotic, sinfully seductive….”
—Jaci Burton, author of Wild, Wicked, and Wanton and Hunting the Demon
“Sizzles with sexual tension!!!”
—New York Times bestselling author Sharon Sala
ALSO BY GENA SHOWALTER
Awaken Me Darkly
Enslave Me Sweetly
Savor Me Slowly
Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Gena Showalter
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
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ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-6364-1
ISBN-10: 1-4391-6364-2
eISBN-13: 978-1-45165-196-6
To Lauren McKenna, whose amazing insight blew me
away. This book couldn’t have been possible without you.
To Kelli McBride. He was always yours. Except for the few
times he was mine. But mostly he was yours. And mine.
Fine, he’s all yours.
To my three Walters: Jill Monroewalter, Kresley Colewalter
and PC Castwalter. Pillow fight, anyone?
To Deidre Knight, who’s always in my corner.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
PROLOGUE
Devyn de bon ci Laci, prince of the Targonia Royal House, drew his knees to his bare, dirty chest for warmth. Though he told himself over and over to stop, his shivering didn’t cease. He was fifteen summers, yet every time he was shoved into this cell, he felt like a child again. Lost, forgotten.
You are a prince, and have been promised to Princess Mika since birth. You disgrace our family every time you even glance at another female. His father’s voice filled his head, the disappointment and disdain as fresh as before, and still enough to destroy him.
He’d learned at a very young age to lower his gaze when anything female stepped into a room he occupied. He’d learned to hold his breath so that he wouldn’t smell their sweet scents, learned to inch away from them so that they could not even brush his shoulder with their delicious warmth.
But sometimes, he was ashamed to admit, even the thought of those things brought the traitor between his legs to attention, aching, filling, silently begging for contact. Any contact. Even the rasp of clothing would make him moan, desperate.
“Shameful,” he muttered, echoing the reproach he’d heard too many times to count. A reproach that always preceded being sent here to “consider the depth of his betraya
l.”
For this newest indiscretion, he’d been as careful as always. He’d been reading in the library—a text of newly discovered worlds—wishing he were far, far away. Wishing he were anyone other than who he was, when a servant his age, but very female, had entered.
Servants were not supposed to talk to him, weren’t even supposed to look at him, but she’d noticed him and had gasped in surprise. He’d glanced up. Rather than race from the room as was the custom, she’d stayed. Rather than pretend he hadn’t spotted her, he’d stared, breath trapped in his lungs, skin hot and tight, mouth watering. His pants, already too tight, had strained against his growing manhood.
How pretty she’d been, her skin suns-kissed, her dark eyes heavily lashed, her breasts straining against her robe. When her lush, pink lips had curled in greeting, his heart had nearly beaten its way from his chest. He’d wanted to rush to her, put his hands all over her body, lick her and kiss her and thrust into her the way a prince was only supposed to thrust into his wife. But she wasn’t his wife, would never be his wife, so his guard, never far from his side, had pushed her from the room and called for his father.
How long ago had that been? How long had he been here, trapped in this cell? He’d lost track of the days. All he knew was that he was cold, enveloped by a sphere of thick darkness, denied any sound but the ring in his ears, and alone, forbidden to know the touch of another. In the last, he was greatly familiar. But to lose his other senses, as well…it was a torment beyond comprehension and one he’d sworn never to endure again. No matter what he had to do to avoid it.
The Alien Huntress Series Page 57
