by Cara Bristol
They reached his office stairs, and she expected to take them, but he veered off down a corridor she hadn’t known about. Sensor-controlled lights switched on. “Stating fact,” she said. “How did you become a cyborg?”
“I was an archeologist on an expedition when Lamis-Odg attacked my team.”
The terrorists. An insignificant nation-planet of people who worshiped a mythological deity they believed gave them the mandate to rule the galaxy. They weren’t large or powerful enough to wage an outright war, so they resorted to guerilla attacks and singular acts of terrorism. Their reach was spreading, and they’d become adept at recruiting malcontents.
“They killed my four colleagues but kept me alive in a cage not large enough to stand up in. They smashed my legs so I could fit,” he said matter-of-factly.
Lamis-Odg had crippled him. “You were tortured.” Her throat thickened with empathy and horror. For a human, losing legs compared to a Faria losing wings.
“I survived. I was rescued and sent to a cybermed facility. Gangrene had set in, and my legs were too far gone to save. They had to amputate. Doctors offered me the option of receiving standard issue prostheses—or becoming a cyborg. It was an easy decision. Afterward, I joined…the military.” He shrugged. “When my stint ended, I opened this shop.”
They’d gone down the long hall, made a couple of turns, and now approached a heavy metal door. Dale palmed a scanner, and the panel slid open to reveal a personnel descender. They couldn’t be going up to the moon’s surface. So, there was another level below? “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
His lips twitched. “You’ll see.”
“Will I like it?”
“You might.” He gestured.
What did that mean? His nearness had nerves buzzing with awareness. Her heart thudded. Faking calm, she stepped onto the vertical transport. “Why did you leave the military?” she asked. Keep him talking about himself, and he’d be less likely to question her. Besides, she was damn curious.
He palmed the scanner on the inside and punched a code into the keypad. Doors closed. The descender jerked and then ascended.
“We’re going up?” Her body registered a pressure not dissimilar to the draft that pushed beneath the wings she used to have. “To what?” In hacking into Flight Control’s computer, she’d discovered the factory was located a kilometer underground. Did the moon have a breathable atmosphere?
“If I tell you, it will spoil the surprise.” He leaned against the wall. “Relax.”
His bulk filled the space and made the enclosure seem small, tight. His warm, masculine scent seeped into the marrow of her bones. She felt light and giddy. Who needed wings when his presence made her feel as if she could fly? She focused on the fastener of his tan shirt. Metal. Round. Large and heavy. Fabricated for a big man with big hands. Would those hands be rough if he touched—
Stop it. Accompanying him had been a bad idea. She should have refused the invitation to walk. He couldn’t force her to keep him company after-hours.
They rode in silence, the only noise the faint mechanical whirring. He’d never answered her question about why he’d left the military. This is awkward. Say something. She lifted her gaze to his face, but he spoke first.
“Three men in my unit were killed, betrayed by an informant we’d all trusted. I’d lost the ability to disengage my emotions during missions, so I quit before my rage became a liability and I endangered my teammates.
Betrayal, she understood. Rage, too. “What did you do with your anger?”
“I transformed it into ambition.”
“You built this shop.”
“Yes.”
“And that helps?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
An experience they shared. Without warning, defenses crashed. “My husband tried to kill me.” Words she hadn’t meant to say tumbled out. She began to shake.
He slapped a hand on the scanner. The transport jerked to a stop. “Is that what happened to your wings?”
She nodded. “I saw hints of anger in him before we married, but he never directed it at me.” He had nicknamed her his jewel, had coddled her like a precious gem wrapped in a soft protective case. She hadn’t realized when they married that the case had already become a prison. “That changed after we were bonded. When I couldn’t endure his rages anymore, I attempted to annul our marriage. He intercepted me before I reached the ministry of civil affairs and tricked me into going home with him.” Tears spilled over her cheeks. “H-he cut off my wings. He said he would ensure I’d never leave him again.”
Dale cursed, but he was gentle as he pulled her against his hard body. His heart drummed a reassuring beat. Illumina balled her hands into fists. She’d been running for so long. His comfort coaxed her from self-imposed isolation, tempted her to lean on him and soak up the feeling of protection.
Be strong. His concern posed a hazard to her safety. His embrace, however solid seeming, was no fortress. Security was temporary at best, a dangerous illusion at worst. Nothing could prevent Alonio from finding her eventually. Her best chance for survival was to keep moving, keep him guessing.
But she couldn’t resist uncurling her fists, splaying her hands over taut muscle. Dale’s energy hummed against her palms. Infiltrating his computer network would take little effort, but she snapped up a barrier. She would not invade his privacy. Besides, some thoughts were better off unknown. What if he pitied her? Faria medical personnel had. She’d seen it in their eyes—heard it in their overly cheerful and loud voices, as if she’d lost her intelligence and hearing along with her wings.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
Many had offered sympathy, but few understood the trifecta of her loss: her mobility, her lifemate, her trust. All gone in a single swipe. Dale could empathize. His suffering had been no less than hers. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re fortunate you survived.”
“Help got to me in time.” If she’d been found a minute later, she would have bled out. Illumina dashed at her wet cheeks then slid her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. One more moment then she’d move. He smelled so good.
“What happened to your husband? Did they prosecute him?” His voice rumbled against her ear.
“Questioned and released.” Cleared of suspicion.
“Released?”
“He had connections.” Far-reaching, powerful ones. And when all the evidence disappeared as if it had never been…
Dale swore again.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For caring.” She let her fingertips trail over his waist as she pulled back to peer at him. His eyes were dark, intense. Conflicted.
He lifted his hand to touch her hair, stroking a long strand, letting it flow over his fingers. Warm tingles traveled up the shaft to her scalp then sizzled downward, lighting up erogenous zones along the way. Her eyes fluttered shut. Flying again.
“Illumina?”
Her eyes popped open.
Dale lowered his head. She met him halfway and parted her lips for his kiss. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Her eyes closed again, and she melted against him, her legs going boneless. They weren’t in a transporter but a centrifuge that spun out inhibitions and reservations like chaff.
He’d spread his legs to compensate for their height difference, but her neck was still bent at an awkward angle. She didn’t care. She needed him, this moment, this kiss. To be held. His masculine scent and taste filled her senses, seeped into the marrow of her being, whipping desire and longing into aching need.
He pulled away, his reluctance to part evident in how his lips clung to hers, by his groan. “I shouldn’t do this.”
“Me neither,” she said, but stole another kiss.
He surrendered, hugging her tight, capturing handfuls of her hair and letting it flow like water through his grasp. Flames of lust curled, snapped, and crackled. From root to tip, her hair vib
rated, sending electrical jolts zipping from nerve to nerve. Moisture pooled in her core. She was flying, careening along the edge of ecstasy. She gasped against his mouth and wrenched away. Chest heaving, she warded him off with an outstretched arm. “Stop…you almost—”
“I’m sorry. Did I tug too hard?”
“It’s not that.” She strove for calm and rearranged the tresses over her shoulder. Her hair did not respond to her touch the way it did to his.
“Then what is it?”
“My hair is…sensitive. With most species, the shaft part is dead. Faria hair is alive, innervated. Having you touch it like that—”
“Your hair is an erogenous zone?” A smile slid across his face.
Her hair registered tactile sensations acutely, but she’d never been brought close to orgasm by having it stroked. Only Dale’s touch affected her that way. Alonio’s hadn’t. “Not exactly,” she said, confused. Why him? Why now? On the vertical transport of all places!
With a cheeky grin, he reached out and wound a curl around his finger. Sharp sensation shot straight to her clit. She shuddered with pleasure and pulled away. “Why don’t you show me what you wanted to show me?” she suggested.
A tryst with this man would be reckless and foolish. He was Terran, for goodness sake. An alien. Worse, a cyborg whose circuitry could pose problems.
He started the transporter again. Every cell of her body jittered, and her actual erogenous zones? Firing signals like mad.
Dale crossed his ankles and leaned against the wall. “So how about those Mets?”
“What?” She frowned.
“It’s an old Terran saying.”
“What’s a met?”
He shrugged. “Some sort of a sports team. People used to say that when a conversation got a little awkward.”
Perhaps if they’d only been conversing, there would be no awkwardness. Or if we didn’t stop kissing. Being in his arms had seemed natural, right. Not awkward at all. The situation had spiraled into something she hadn’t expected. A stroll through the plant. A surprise not yet revealed—although there’d been plenty of others. Confessions. Solace. A kiss. A touch. Where did she go from here?
Away. This flirtation couldn’t be allowed to continue. She couldn’t start something with her employer. She had no energy for entanglements, even temporary ones. Deceptio provided a brief stop on a long itinerary.
With a jerk, the descender arrived at the unknown destination.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” No.
The doors slid open, and the light spilled out to reveal a round indistinctive room with some low benches in the center. This was what he’d wanted to show her? There wasn’t much to see. He gestured, and she ventured out.
Breathing room. Space. She expelled a sigh of relief to be out of the confines of the transporter until its doors closed and darkness enveloped them in a tighter cocoon, heightening awareness of the whuff of his breath, his woodsy scent, his body heat permeating her skin no matter how far away he stood.
“Take my hand,” he said, and his palm enclosed hers, fueling the riot of nervousness and desire. He guided her forward. “Sit here.” He released her.
She bumped one of the benches and lowered herself to the seat. By sound, she tracked him across the room. Overhead something clicked and hummed. First a sliver then a widening expanse of twinkling light appeared. The ceiling rolled back to reveal a glass dome and a star-studded sky.
Floating center stage in the vastness—a huge orange and violet orb.
“Naran,” he explained. “The planet around which Deceptio orbits.”
“It’s beautiful!” Illumina rose to her feet in awe. She’d arrived under blackout conditions so she hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of anything. On other worlds, she had seen many foreign and amazing sights, but none as spectacular as the stunning swirling lavender and reddish yellows of Naran looming among the stars. So expansive the view, the room seemed to spin with kaleidoscopic effect. Colors and patterns merged and shattered and reconnected anew—like her perspective, shifting and changing, forming new impressions.
I should leave.
I want to stay.
Kiss me.
Don’t touch me.
“Sometimes, I need to see a bigger picture.” He spoke from beside her. Enthralled by the sky, she hadn’t heard him move. “That’s why I had the dome installed.”
“Do all employees have access to this room?”
“From the stars, they could determine the coordinates and pinpoint Deceptio’s location. So, no. You’re the first person to see this.”
“I’m honored.” Unexpected pleasure rushed through her, but so did guilt, although she’d done nothing egregiously wrong. Omission wasn’t the same as lying, and her actual fibs were harmless, beneficial even. She’d heightened the security he so valued by reprogramming Moonbeam’s entry protocol. She’d fixed his spaceship! All of that would be meaningless if she was found, but she’d be long gone before that happened, so Deceptio would be safer for her having been here.
“Is there anything on the planet?” She stepped out of his orbit, away from his disconcerting nearness, but she no longer focused on the celestial beauty, but on him. Hair endings tingled.
“No. Its surface is barren, and it has an atmosphere of poisonous gas.”
“Some of the most beautiful things are toxic.” Alonio was a superlatively handsome man.
Dale closed the distance. “And sometimes they’re just beautiful.”
How about those Mets?
Chapter Five
Illumina’s hair crackled with life—or perhaps her revelations of its properties had influenced Dale’s assessment. She sparkled like the constellations overhead. Her eyes radiated desire complicated by ambivalence, and if he had been a gentleman, he’d pay more attention to the latter and less to the former.
No one ever had accused a cyborg of being a gentleman.
Bringing her to his private observatory had been a whim he shouldn’t have indulged. Could he trust her? Small clues pointed to no. Except, didn’t everyone tell little lies? Make tiny omissions? He’d kept the observatory secret from his employees, who did not see sun or starlight for months at a time. Moonbeam bought stolen spacecraft; often sold remanufactured ships to individuals on the sketchy side of their planet’s laws. His spacecraft had helped topple more than one planetary government.
So he broke a lot of rules. But, until he’d met Illumina, not personal ones.
Under the stars, bathed in Naran’s glow, she was in her element as if she drew energy from starlight itself. He imagined her gliding on the wind beneath a moonlit sky on iridescent wings. How lovely she must have been. Still was. If he had one wish, it would be to give her wings again.
With two wishes, he would end her ex-husband’s miserable existence.
He moved closer. Her eyes rounded, and her lips parted in an irresistible invitation. He ducked his head and kissed her. She stiffened but then wound her arms around his neck and melted against him. He drew her closer, showing the effect she had, and deepened the kiss.
She tasted sweet, like an intoxicating delicacy, but with the punch of Cerinian brandy. He could get drunk on her. Perhaps he already was. Judgment had disintegrated then balance. His head spun.
He plundered her mouth, seeking satisfaction that could only be found in deeper intimacy. He suspected getting horizontal would only increase his appetite. His cock throbbed with urgency. Never had a simple kiss turned him on to this degree. Not simple at all. Complicated.
He buried his hands in her hair, stroking from crown to the ends tumbling below her hips. Amazing, incredible hair. Full, but as light as air, like strands of gossamer. She shuddered, moaning into his mouth.
He groaned when she slipped her hands under his shirt to splay over his back, smooth over his chest. With a delicate touch, she raked her fingernails across his skin, blazing trails of heat.
Breath mingled. Lips brushed. Tongues mated. Nee
d rose.
Illumina broke away, her eyes molten, liquid pools. She skimmed her fingers over his shoulders to the first button of his shirt. Then the next.
He covered her hands. They could stop this now. Ride the transporter to the shop. Go their separate ways. Think before they acted. “Are you certain about this?”
“I’m certain about this moment.”
Perhaps that was the only guarantee anyone got. Life changed without warning. When you thought you had things figured out, the world crumbled beneath your feet.
He cupped her neck, slid his hands under her robe to push the garment off her shoulders. It slithered to the floor. Jesus, Buddha, Lao-Tzu, she was naked underneath. Smooth, slender curves. Small breasts tipped with rosy centers, a tiny waist flaring to narrow hips, slim legs. A nymph. A sexy siren temptress.
Faria did not blush. They silvered. They glowed. Her face grew luminous, light shining from within. She lowered her lashes in the most bashful way and proceeded to dispense with his shirt. The fastenings of his pants proved too sturdy and stubborn for her to undo, so he assisted and then they both stood nude. Stared. Admired.
“How about those Mets?” They spoke at once.
A bark of laughter burst from his throat, a giggle from hers. Awkwardness vanished under amusement before humor fell to desire.
He pressed a heated kiss to her throat, roamed his hands over parts he’d only been able to guess at. Softness registered against his palms and recorded itself in his brain and his computer network. His nanocytes snapped and sizzled.
She conducted her own exploration of his shoulders, his chest, his clenching abdomen, and his waiting cock. Without hesitancy, she grasped him in both hands, smoothing over the weeping head, the hard shaft. Her amazing hair cascaded over her shoulders to brush his skin, the lightness of the touch stirring a torrent of desire. She squeezed his balls.
“Good?” she asked.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea.” He sank a hand into her hair.
She gasped. “Maybe I do.”
He chuckled and then caressed her breasts, cupping each one, teasing the nipples. The curve of her waist and hips led to her mound then between her legs where he sought out feminine folds, her clit, her channel. Muscles gripped his fingers.
