by Ivy Barrett
Grasping her hips firmly with both hands, he drove his full length inside her. Tighter and tighter she stretched, accommodating his thick shaft. She clenched her teeth to keep from crying out as he filled her emptiness.
He paused for a moment with his shaft buried to the hilt. His heartbeat thudded against her breast, her core echoing the steady thump. She savored the completeness of their joining and the comfort of his strong embrace. How had she survived without these feelings?
His hips pulled back slowly, prolonging the blissful slide. She pressed her shoulders against the massive mirror behind her as he drove inward again and again. Four slow thrusts were all he could stand then he slipped his hands beneath her pink bottom and fucked her in earnest.
Bending his head, he claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss without interrupting the steady motion of his hips. She stroked his shoulders and squeezed his back, her lips open to his questing tongue.
Tension built and his pace sped up. The unmistakable slap of flesh against flesh filled the bathroom. His mouth muffled her cries until pleasure burst within the vision, pulsing through her body and saturating her mind. A yell as piercing as her orgasm shattered the image and released her into a colorless void.
Echoes of sensation ricocheted through the darkness, drawing her back toward reality.
Who was her phantom lover? Sex had never been like that, not even with Nicho and… Nicho was dead.
She sat up on her bed trembling and disoriented. It was dark, but she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten home. Triggering her nanites with a practiced mental command, she waited for the cold rush of adrenaline to clear away the cobwebs. Her heartbeat sped and her muscles twitched, but she felt no less muddled.
Had the party been real? Searching her mind, she found distorted faces and muffled voices, events that made no sense. Her last clear memory was… She wasn’t even sure what day it was. Something was definitely wrong.
And if none of it was real, why did her ass feel hot and achy as if she’d recently been spanked? She rubbed her thighs together and wiggled a bit. She wasn’t wearing panties!
“Security, please respond.” After a moment of silence she repeated the command. Still, there was no reply.
Feeling decidedly shaky, she lowered her feet to the floor and stood. The room tilted and her stomach heaved. She covered her mouth with her hand and stopped moving until the sensation passed. Pressure thrummed behind her eyes, but the nausea subsided. And through it all she registered the faint throb of her bare behind.
She crossed to the control console and found it equally unresponsive. Was there a power outage? “Lights, fifty percent.” Nothing happened.
The power must be out. So why hadn’t the emergency generators kicked on? The security grid and emergency lighting had redundant backups. This didn’t make sense. She hurried down the hallway as fear welled inside her. She couldn’t sit here in the dark, wondering what was going on. Central security was stationed two floors down from her apartment. They’d know what had caused the outage and if she needed to sleep somewhere else tonight.
A sick feeling erupted in the pit of her stomach. If she’d been spanked, what else had he or she done while she was unconscious?
Lightning arced overhead, illuminating the skylights. Thunder crashed an instant later and she crossed her arms over her chest. A storm. This was nothing more than a weather-related power outage.
Expelling a shaky breath, she hurried along. She hadn’t always been this easy to rattle. Not that long ago she’d considered herself brave. Then she found her husband strangled to death in their bed and her entire world changed.
A movement in her peripheral vision drew her attention into her office. She stumbled to a stop in the doorway, momentarily paralyzed by disbelief. It was him, the man from her dream. Even in the shadowed room, she recognized him instantly.
“Security to the penthouse, code red,” she blurted, not knowing what else to do.
“You don’t need security, Cassandra. I won’t hurt you.”
Security didn’t respond. She hadn’t really expected them to. It had been instinctive to call for help. “How did you get in here?” She paused for a breath, trying not to sound so shrill. “Who are you? What do you want with me?” Why did you spank me, and was that all you did? Fear closed her throat before the last made it past her lips.
“You were supposed to be sleeping peacefully until long after I’d gone.” He took a slow step toward her and then another.
If it hadn’t been for her nanites, it was likely she’d be unconscious rather than confused. “That didn’t answer my questions.” She licked her lips and backed into the hall. “Did you drug me?” Was he responsible for the power outage? That was even more likely than the storm. He didn’t seem violent, but she wasn’t taking any chances. “Did you—rape me?”
“I would never hurt you.” His wicked smile flashed in the shadows. “Unless you wanted me to.”
Then the image rolled through her memory. She hiked up her skirt and leaned over the side of a bed—her bed—offering her bare behind to her unseen lover. Were they lovers?
Her mind remained a jumble of scrambled images and unanswered questions. There wasn’t anything in this house that couldn’t be replaced—at least not anymore.
She pivoted to the side and made a dash for the front door. Warm fingers clasped her upper arm, bringing her up short barely inside the living room. He reeled her back into the hallway and pressed her against the wall.
“I can’t let you sound the alarm until I’m gone. Please go back to your bedroom and behave.”
“Behave?” she scoffed. “Who the fuck are you?”
“My name isn’t important. You know I won’t hurt you.”
And she did. Instinctively she knew he meant her no harm. So why couldn’t she remember his name or why she’d let him into her apartment? She wasn’t sure how, but she also knew he was here because she’d allowed him into her life, likely into her bed.
Shards of golden light erupted in his light green eyes. The beauty held her spellbound for an instant before her brain registered the significance. “You’re a mutant,” she whispered the accusation as dread unfurled within her. Mutants had killed Nicho! Mutants threatened everything she held dear. “Why are you…? What do you…?”
“The less you know, the safer you’ll be.” He swept his knuckles along the crest of her cheekbone.
She batted his hand aside. “Is that a threat?” Shoving him backward, she tried to dart past him. He slapped his hands against the wall on either side of her and pressed in close.
“I won’t hurt you, but I will do whatever is necessary to protect my mission.”
His warm breath wafted across her lips and tingles danced down her spine. She could remember the blissful fullness of his cock moving deep inside her. Why was the sensation still so strong?
“What mission?”
Sadness extinguished the mutant light burning in his eyes. He cupped her chin with one hand and lowered his head as if he meant to kiss her. Unsure if she wanted to resist or test the accuracy of her memories, she hesitated a moment too long. His lips pressed over hers and she went wild. Shoving and kicking, she thrashed within his arms. His presence pushed into her mind and she screamed, the sound muffled by his lips.
Detecting danger, her nanites surged into action. He gasped and jerked his head to the side. “Stop fighting me. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Get out!” She slammed the heel of her hand against his shoulder.
He took her face between his palms and stared into her eyes, his gaze glowing like molten gold. Go back to sleep.
No! Get out of my apartment!
Determination hardened his expression and he pressed his forehead against hers. You will go to sleep—now.
Darkness closed in around her, sucking her into oblivion.
Chapter One
Stilox, three years later
Turning in a slow
circle, Mal Ton Adoha took in the verdant beauty surrounding him. Flowering bushes and wide vegetable gardens were interspersed with sporadic clusters of leafy trees. A wide footpath wended its way across the park and disappeared into a fruit orchard in the distance.
“How?” One word was all he could maneuver around the lump in his throat. Stilox, his home world, had been decimated by the ongoing war with Protaria. The atmosphere had been scorched, making climate domes necessary to sustain life.
“Establishing an ecosystem inside a climate dome is incredibly complicated,” Roark Talbot explained. “The design team kept the details secret until the environment stabilized. They didn’t want to raise everyone’s hopes only to fail.”
“This is amazing. I knew we Stilox are too damn stubborn to lie down and die, but I never dreamed I’d see something like this in my lifetime.” As the pleasant shock wore off, Mal Ton’s pragmatic nature resurfaced. “Are the new shields online? If the Protarians have any idea what we’ve accomplished, they’ll blast it all to hell. This must be protected at all costs.”
Roark chuckled. “No one will argue with that, Commander. Everyone is as excited by the design team’s success as you are.”
“And the shields?” he persisted.
“Another triumph. They’ve created a continental matrix that encompasses all four climate domes. The grid randomly generates fictitious signals, making it impossible for anyone to decipher the readings. The Protarians will know we have a fourth dome, but they’ll have no idea what’s inside any of them.”
“Until they slip a spy past our security.” Mal Ton never underestimated the enemy. He’d seen too many comrades pay for that mistake with their lives.
“That’s always a possibility, but access to this dome is strictly monitored. DNA scanners are hard to fool.”
“Given the right motivation, even the most dedicated rebel can turn traitor.”
Roark arched his brow at Mal Ton’s pessimism. “Do you know something I don’t know?”
“I’m sure I know lots of things you don’t know.” A smile quirked one corner of his mouth as he let the oxygen-rich air soothe him. “All I’m saying is we can’t allow ourselves to be lulled into a false sense of security. Despite the progress we’re making, the enemy is still breathing down our necks.”
“No one on Stilox has forgotten the danger.”
Accepting Roark’s insistence with a nod, Mal Ton turned back toward the entrance to the medical complex. The materials needed for the ‘new’ structures had been scavenged from the twisted ruins beyond the climate domes or stolen from Protaria’s abandoned cities. Manufacturing on Stilox was nearly nonexistent. Mal Ton found the patchwork architecture oddly appealing. Regardless of the mismatched lines and jumbled textures, this was home.
“How’s Andrea?” Mal Ton had only seen Roark’s mate for a few moments before she led Lorelle off to the research lab. The primary reason Mal Ton had brought Lorelle to Stilox was Andrea’s knowledge of human physiology. With only scanner readouts and transported samples Andrea had identified the cause of Lorelle’s symptoms, but Andrea had been unable to predict a final outcome. Hopefully direct access to her patient would allow her to be more specific.
“Andrea is amazing.” A dreamy smile curved Roark’s lips. “I’ve never met anyone quite like her.”
Mal Ton understood his friend’s expression all too well. He’d never expected to fall in love again and certainly not with an off-worlder. His life was governed by duty and honor, strategy and routine. Yet his life had been anything but routine since he first encountered Lorelle.
“The same can be said about Lorelle.” Mal Ton allowed himself to smile. “She has far exceeded my expectations. From what little I saw of humans on Earth, I never would have guessed she’d adapt so quickly.”
After a thoughtful pause, Roark prompted, “So catch me up. How is Fane and what’s going on with Max?”
The office Roark shared with the rest of the research team seemed small and airless after the unexpected luxury of the agricultural park. Mal Ton sighed. Where should he begin? There was so much to explain. “It’s official. Daniel Keller is Max.”
Roark didn’t seem surprised. Max and his band of rebels had been causing trouble for the past few months. Though the Stilox militia had been curious about his identity and motivation, Fane, the leader of the Mutant Underground, had made it a personal quest to expose the rebel leader.
“How did Fane finally unmask him?” Roark slipped in behind his desk as Mal Ton lowered his tall form into one of the chairs facing him.
“One of the humans saw Max’s face. As soon as Fane scanned her memory, all of our suspicions were confirmed.”
“If Daniel Keller is Max, then he already works for Chancellor Howyn,” Roark mused. “What did he gain by shooting down Lorelle’s ship?”
“We can only speculate, but it stands to reason that Max intended to trade the humans to Howyn in exchange for his support.”
“His support in what?”
“Max and Fane are both incredibly powerful mutants. I think Max had his sights set on the Underground.”
“No one in the Underground will follow the likes of Max. Those people worship Fane. They’ll scatter across the face of Protaria before they accept Max as their leader.”
Mal Ton shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “There are many ways to motivate people. Fane uses loyalty and compassion. Max deals in manipulation and fear.”
“That shouldn’t surprise you. Max has spent the majority of his adult life at Howyn’s side.”
“True, but this gets even more interesting. While Lorelle and I were rescuing two of her shipmates, Max flashed into Cassandra Myer’s apartment and teleported out with her in his arms.”
Roark’s mouth gaped for a second before he snapped it shut. “Max kidnapped Howyn’s daughter? Has he lost his mind?”
“The answer to that remains to be seen.”
Scooting to the edge of his chair, Roark shook his head, clearly shocked by the new developments. “What is Max trying to accomplish?”
“His motivation might well be moot. Howyn offered Fane the last two humans in exchange for Cassandra’s safe return.”
“Wait a minute. I thought Max had the humans.”
“Howyn snatched the last two right out from under Max’s nose. Cassie’s abduction could be retaliation, or Max could have a more complicated reason for taking her. We just don’t know.”
“Is Fane going to make the exchange?”
“He has to find Cassie first.”
“Is that a problem for Fane?”
“Probably not.” The Underground didn’t follow Fane because of his good looks. He was one of the most powerful mutants on Protaria. “We should know more in the next day or two.”
Roark nodded, obviously distracted by all the new information. Pushing back from his desk, he said, “Let’s go see if Andrea’s finished examining Lorelle.”
Mal Ton followed him along a corridor then across an enclosed pedestrian bridge that led to the commercial complex. Housing pods surrounded the sprawling central unit and access tubes connected each to the other. It reminded Mal Ton of a mouse habitat his sister had constructed as a child. The structure focused on functionality rather than esthetics.
When Mal Ton entered the exam room, he found the women standing in front of a readout screen. Andrea analyzed the information while Lorelle fiddled with her sleeves, looking tense and uncomfortable.
“How are you holding up through all this turmoil?” Roark asked.
“Are you talking to me or Lorelle?” Andrea didn’t take her eyes off the readouts.
“I see to your care and protection. I was referring to our guest.”
Lorelle manufactured a smile and clasped her hands behind her back. “I’m remarkably well, all things considered.”
All things considered indeed. Both women had been taken from Earth against their will and thrust into the middle
of a war they were only starting to understand. Mal Ton stepped up beside Lorelle and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Do your scans reveal anything new?”
“I don’t know yet. She hasn’t worked her way around to a diagnosis.” Lorelle sounded a bit annoyed, which wasn’t surprising. Patience had always been a challenge for his feisty mate.
Andrea continued to study the readouts. Her lips pressed together and furrows marred her smooth brow.
“Just spell it out,” Lorelle advised. “I’m a yank-the-bandage-off type of person.”
“All right.” Andrea glanced at Roark then Mal Ton before she explained, “The concentration of nanites in your body has multiplied by a factor of ten since the last time you were scanned.” She turned from the screen and faced Lorelle. “I knew they were self-replicating, but I had no idea they’d reproduce this rapidly.”
The numbers and diagrams meant nothing to Mal Ton, but he felt compelled to look at the readout screen.
“I feel fine,” Lorelle insisted. “In fact, I’ve never felt better in my life.”
“The bonding fever has subsided?”
Andrea was a doctor. She wasn’t asking about their sex life, she was questioning one of Lorelle’s symptoms. Still, Mal Ton barely suppressed a glower.
“I’m still ridiculously attracted to this lug, but the… urgency is gone.”
He gave Lorelle a reassuring squeeze.
“Have you developed any new abilities?” Andrea asked.
“My abilities mirror his, but can’t that be caused by our intimacy?”
Andrea made a noncommittal sound and scratched the bridge of her nose. “Sex with a mutant can cause a temporary transfer of their abilities. The collectors are proof of that. However, I think the nanites are responsible for your symptoms. They’re making repairs and alterations in you as if you were Stilox.”
Fane’s doctor had explained all this already. They’d been hoping for something new. “What will happen if you can’t shut them down?” Mal Ton asked.
