Liberation's Kiss: A Science Fiction Romance (Robotics Faction Book 1)

by Wendy Lynn Clark

  A black funnel of smoke billowed for the sky from the smoldering crater that had, until just a few minutes ago, been her street.

  Her belly dropped.

  How could she ever survive? The Robotics Faction destroyed her street. From space.

  The distant whine of a seeker drone squealed against her molars.

  She swallowed the urge to throw up.

  They dropped down a ramp to the riverside and ducked under an overpass. Xan helped her out and wedged the grav-bed in a dark corner, next to an exhaust grating. He felt along the solid wall for something—an access panel—which he unscrewed with fingernails, dragged free, and studied the wiring.

  The former see-through crystal was polarized to a cloudy white. Her body outline showed through it like a reverse shadow. The outline of her rescuer, who had taken the brunt unshielded, shadowed the foot of the bed.

  Yes. She had a rescuer. Cressida took a deep breath and slowly let it out. When her heart threatened to flutter out of her throat anyway, she mentally recited the seventeen newest alphabets she had memorized. And then she calmed.

  Xan worked tirelessly to rescue her. His torn, burned flight suit stretched taut across his broad, well-muscled back. His torso slimmed to a fit backside, a masculine butt she itched to grip and squeeze. His powerful hands precisely pinched wires into an intricate crochet.

  Who was this mysterious man? He kissed her like he knew all of her secrets. But she knew none of his.

  He completed his electrical project and the utility grate at his feet slid open. He squatted to lift it free, grimaced, and inspected his torn knees. He bent one, then the other, and tsked. His breath turned ragged as though pained.

  She willed her legs to stop trembling and hold her weight. “Are you okay?”

  “So to speak.” He rotated his ankle. “I blew out the lubrication. I won’t be able to run very far or very fast until it’s repaired.”

  She touched the swollen joint with her lightest fingertips.

  He stilled.

  She would find a medkit to heal him. He had jumped so far; it was amazing he wasn’t completely broken. She looked up. “We’ll get you to a—”

  Metal.

  Her heart thumped once, painful and hard. Her throat squeezed off her voice. The sour taste of death filled her mouth.

  A deep cut on his forehead exposed not white bone around the ragged cut from bashing the bedframe. It exposed the iconic bio-silver of a robot.

  He was an android.

  Her savior was an android.

  From the Robotics Faction.

  Come to kill her.

  His head tilted. The gentle inquiry that quirked his brows tugged on the gaping skin. A reflection like a nocturnal beast’s shone in his retinas. “Get me to a what?”

  Ice stabbed into her.

  No. No. No.

  She stumbled backward.

  A shadow crossed his face. He reached out. “Hey—”

  She turned and ran.

  ~*~*~*~

  “What’s wrong?” The question was less than half out of Xan’s mouth when Cressida rolled to her feet. Fear contracted her face. She was terrified.

  A furious whine of scout-drones converged on the street. Cressida, panicked beyond rational thought, raced out to meet them.

  “Shit!” He raced after her.

  The unlubricated bolt attaching his left tendon to his knee heated above proximal levels in one, two, three strides and then dry-locked. He stumbled.

  Cressida reached the edge of the overhang’s shadow.

  Shit, shit. He surged on his right leg. Falling, his hand ghosted down her shifting shoulder blades, brushed micrometers from her pumping buttocks, and clamped onto her retreating ankle. He slammed into the ground. She cried out and fell forward, landing hard on her palms. Her brown hair touched the light.

  He yanked her backward.

  She cried again and scraped against the ground, helpless. Fully in shadow, he crawled over her and covered her head with his wide palms, hoping to make a silencing cone between his titanium-alloy bones and the concrete. Four deadly drones screamed overhead, their purple beams flashing, seeking her. They reached an intersection and split.

  Her gasps for breath turned to shuddering. Sound hitched in her throat, and moisture leaked from her eyes.

  He stroked her hair with his fingers. It would be so much easier if he were still connected to the network. He’d get a bounce-back from the drones’ live feeds all over the city, seeing what the rest of the Faction saw. He’d ensure they knew about the woman—who had to be an android, a rogue like him—who’d caused everything to go wrong. He’d update the ventilation access panel schematics. This moon used nonstandard wire code that possibly didn’t record unauthorized access. The moon probably didn’t even know or care what unauthorized access was.

  Cressida’s shuddering, if anything, got worse.

  He risked a full stroke of her head. Her short brown hair slid silkily beneath his fingers, like an animal pelt. A mink.

  She made a quiet noise. A whimper.

  He soothed her with a reassuring hush. But things were not right.

  Strange awareness pulsed low in his belly as he became conscious of her whole body, curved protectively under his. Her soft derriere pressed against his hooked thigh, tempting him to squeeze the supple flesh beneath her jumpsuit. Her slender back and sinuous spine led to a creamy neck and slim shoulders, perfect for him to nip and lick. The sensuous curve of her feminine waist pressed against his hardening cock.

  That piece of his body, which he had never specifically considered before, pulsed and heated according to an entirely new set of inputs. Ones that reacted, mystifyingly, to her scent of heat, and the silkiness of her hair beneath his wide palm, and the sudden urge to roll her over on top of him and press all of her curves against his hard places and kiss her again. Hard, and repeatedly, until they both figured this mystery out or got off trying.

  Fuck.

  Her kiss…. He still tasted her on his tongue. Sweet, and innocent, and disconcertingly Cressida.

  Strange impulses crackled across his brain, seemingly disconnected from his programming. What did they mean? Disconnection from the Robotics Faction was nothing in comparison to the feeling of Cressida’s lips on his, and the demand to protect that feeling—and the luscious, delectable woman who invoked it—ricocheted through his body with far more intensity.

  His, it seemed to say.

  An android didn’t own anything. But the urge to possess something—to possess Cressida—crackled, barely contained, under his hot skin.

  She shifted.

  The whine of the drones receded from audible range. His knee joint re-lubricated enough to unlock, although he couldn’t run on it anymore or else it would fail again. He uncovered her head and let her up.

  She scrambled to her feet and started running again.

  Shit. She was still panicked.

  He was up in an instant, caught her at the crest of the overpass, and pulled her back into the shadow, away from cameras.

  She struggled. “Leave me alone.”

  “What the hell?” he demanded.

  “Let me go!”

  “Stop trying to get yourself killed.”

  She fought for the open street.

  He pinned her against the wall.

  She paused, shaken, fear white in her eyes.

  “What are you trying to do?” His question, intended to be calm, echoed with the force of a yell.

  She flinched, and then shouted back at him, “You’re a robot!”

  “And?”

  She blinked. “You’re going to kill me.”

  “If I wanted to kill you, I’d let you run out into the street.”

  “Liar!” She rubbed her nose. Dirt and blast powder caked her cheeks. “You’re taking me somewhere to kill me quietly.”

  He gaped at her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  But she wasn’t. Her fragile blue eyes accused him.

  He
raked a hand through his hair. Grit cascaded off. “Didn’t you hear the drones overhead? Don’t you hear the sirens right now?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  All he wanted to do was catch her in his arms again and hold her safe. But she rejected him in every way. She was the right one, too. Desiring to save her—desiring her—was an error. An error. He stepped back and paced in front of her, struggling to identify and, furthermore, control that inexplicable heat flash in his brain, the one that had apparently disconnected his logic processors in a surprising and dangerous way.

  She glared at him, sniffling back her unshed tears.

  He flexed his hands to stop himself from forcing her against his chest and stroking that mink-soft hair again, nuzzling her, promising her it would all be okay. He didn’t know if it would all be okay. He didn’t know what the hell else was wrong with him.

  He took a deep breath. Atmosphere flowed into his brain, and with it, the calming mix of nutrients that his biological components needed to repair themselves.

  “There are six thousand three hundred forty-eight satellites angled on Liberation VI right now. They are scanning a forty-mile radius of your last known location. The only reason they haven’t already found you is because they were trained on your residence, and atmospheric interference from the recent explosion most likely masked your escape. Stepping out from under fourteen feet of solid rubilum alloy will summon exactly the kind of attention you most want to avoid right now. Okay?”

  Her posture softened slightly. “You could still be intending to kill me.”

  “I am not intending to kill you.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair, beyond frustrated with her naked disbelief. “Not until I find out what the hell makes you so special.”

  At a cursory glance, there seemed to be absolutely nothing to separate her from the hundreds of billions of other humans living and dying in the thousand worlds. Nothing that would earn her a death sentence or a mysterious stay of execution.

  He took her silence to indicate she was at least thinking now, which was better than running off irrationally. He pressed forward. “You were waiting for me to rescue you. Why?”

  “General—” Her eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  He took a menacing step. “Explain.”

  “A family friend promised to smuggle me off planet.” Her chin wrinkled. “He never would have sent you.”

  He studied her. She appeared so guileless. And helpless; easy for anyone to pick off. A twinge squeezed his chest. He rubbed the unfamiliar sensation. “What do you know about a rogue?”

  “What’s a rogue?”

  “Seems human but is actually an uncontrolled robot.”

  “That would be you,” she said icily.

  Technically, that was true. “I’m talking about a female android who has the ability to implant and execute code. What do you know about her?”

  She shook her head.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Cressida.”

  “Why would I know about a robot?” she demanded. “You’re the reason I’ve been running for the past fourteen years. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be on Dinar IV, surrounded by my loving family. Maybe I’d even be an ambassador already.”

  Fine. Maybe she didn’t know about the rogue. He tried a different angle. “Why does the Faction want you executed?”

  Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  He pushed. “What crime did you commit?”

  “But—but that’s what I want to know!” She wrung her hands at the wrists. “What’s so wrong with me that your entire empire should want me annihilated?”

  He reviewed her name, Cressida Sarit Antiata. They were not useful trade partners like the Nar, but they were not unknown in their quadrant of space. “What about your family?”

  “The Antiata Conglomerate has many enemies. None are specific to the Sarit branch.”

  “Is there something inside you, in your blood or in your genome, that has been bred as a weapon?”

  She shook her head, open-mouthed. “We already thought of all this! My parents took me to so many doctors. No one could find a difference from my siblings. Nothing seems wrong. Can’t you tell me anything?”

  He shook his head.

  She looked like she was going to cry. She hugged herself. “I thought you would at least tell me the reason before I died.”

  He lifted a brow. His forehead, which he hadn’t noticed up until now, pained him with a sharp throb. “I’m not connected to the Faction.”

  Her shoulders dropped. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m disconnected. I have no idea what they’re doing right now.”

  Drones’ patterns emerged from the chaotic sirens.

  He strode forward and pressed her against the wall, cupping her head near where he guessed her identification chip would be broadcasting. Only a direct pulse would find her chip, but he wanted to lower those odds.

  She stiffened. “Xan—”

  “Shh!”

  Six drones passed by at eye level, feet from where they stood in shadow, purple scattered over them. As before, he felt their scans like a tingle in his brain, reading where his ID ought to be but passing over it as though it were a lump of rock. Neither receiving nor broadcasting, he was nothing, not even alive. He was absence.

  They disappeared.

  Her heat blazed against his skin, and her scent twined like a radiant hand around his cock and squeezed. He forced his breath to remain steady even though all he wanted to do was close his eyes and bury his nose in her hair. She smelled so good. Human, and female, and something else. Indefinable, but so distinct he would be able to smell a single molecule in an empty room and follow it into space.

  And her body felt even softer on the front than the back. Full breasts pressed against his titanium alloy chest, small and perfect globes with a hint of nipple. He strained all of his senses to take in more.

  She trembled between his hard body and the stone.

  Ah. The stone was cool, and she must be wiped out, and they still had a lot of ground to cover before they reached freedom.

  He started to step back again.

  Her fingers curled in the ragged holes of his flight suit.

  He stopped.

  Her cheeks also flushed, spots of color so different from the usual cool mien. Her other hand rested against his shoulder. Cool fingers caressed his skin through the rips, sending slick pulses of pleasure straight to his cock.

  Her breath quickened and she seemed to catch herself. She released him. “You’ve been shot.”

  “Not bad.” He eased back reluctantly, releasing her. “Turns out disconnection works two ways. I’m harder to hit.”

  But not impossible, as his cauterized scars proved. They had to get the hell out of here, now.

  She followed him back to the open access hatch. “Then you’re really not under the control of the Robotics Faction?”

  He shook his head. The piston in his knee scraped against the tendon, heating again before dry-locking. Shit. He limped.

  “And you’re not going to kill me?”

  “Not unless you give me a reason.” He dropped beside the open grating, swept the interior of the ventilation corridor, and eased himself down the ladder. His forehead pinged about damage, his knee pinged about damage, everything pinged about damage. Fuck, he hurt.

  She looked down at him, biting her lip.

  He’d love to kiss that expression off her face. “What?”

  She clasped her travel bag strap. “I can’t figure out whether or not to believe you.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you this.” He rested his elbows on the street. “Come with me and I will find out what’s wrong with you. I will cut you open if I have to, and I will find out what it is.”

  She shrank back.

  “Or, you can stay here. Seeker-drones are currently sweeping a radius, tagging places like this one for visual eyes-on. Someone, either another platoon of bx-58-clas
s sentries or an upgrade, will do that visual. Unlike the seeker-drones, they won’t be confused by light and dark. They will find you, and they will kill you. Whereas this ventilation tunnel”—he smacked the street—“if the schematics are to be believed, leads all the way to the Central Transit Hub. You want to get out of here, and that is the way out.”

  She looked over her shoulder. Back at the street.

  Damned if the rejection didn’t twinge like a scatter shot.

  He climbed down to the inner level, swinging his dead knee awkwardly. Funny, feeling all these emotions he’d studied was like mispronouncing words he’d only read before. Humans felt this intense shit all the time? No wonder they hired him—via the Faction—to do the most insane, nonsensical assignments.

  By the time he reached the bottom, she had climbed down after. A tightness in his chest eased. She trusted him, at least enough to go down a storm drain. Then it was a matter of climbing back up, closing the access hatch, and climbing down again.

  “Won’t the transit hub be guarded?” she asked in the dimness behind him, over the steady whir of the fans that cooled the magnetic and electronic panels ensuring the daily operations of the city.

  “Oh, heavily.” He swung beneath a low-hanging coolant pipe and put his hand on her forehead absently to keep it from hitting. “Especially once enough time has passed that you could conceivably have reached the hub. They’re probably already concentrated there with the bulk of their forces. It’ll be like trying to break into the mainframe of Central Command and then out again.”

  The whir of the fans whited the silence for some minutes.

  She finally asked, “Then, you’ve got a plan for how to do that?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas noodling around.” He limped past a power transformer. His right knee was beginning to ache from lubricant exhaustion too. “If you’ve come this far, you must trust me.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “I don’t trust you at all.”

  Her denial stuck like a spike in his brain. It felt wrong, a tumor too deep to be excised, and made him a little sick. “You don’t, huh?”

  “I’m just going this direction because it makes the most sense.”

  “Uh-huh,” he muttered. “Sure.”

  “I am.”