Claimed by the Cyborg (Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance Book 5)

by Cara Bristol

  “You can’t promise that.”

  Could he offer a 100 percent guarantee? No, just living was fraught with danger. PeeVees, skimmers, and spaceships malfunctioned and crashed; nature flooded, shook, and swept her planets with violent regularity; and assorted criminals and sociopaths sought and stalked new victims. No one was immune to the vicissitudes of life, and cyberoperatives who ventured into the problem areas of the galaxy faced greater hazards than most. Agents had been killed in the line of duty.

  However, enhanced hearing, sight, and cognition gave cyborgs a huge advantage. Computer and mechanical enhancements made them bigger, stronger, faster than most men, and nanocytes healed most injuries they did sustain.

  “I give you every possible assurance,” March said. “Cyborgs aren’t easy to kill, and our training is the best in the galaxy.”

  “You handled yourself exceptionally well in the Sha’A’la,” she conceded. “You were so powerful out there.”

  “Thank you, but it was supposed to look that way.” He shrugged aside her praise, but her words heated a warm glow. He wanted her to be proud of him, for her to know he would always protect her, care for her, love her.

  “Naimo was supposed to win, but everyone watched you. All eyes were on you. Including mine.”

  “They cheered for Naimo. They hissed at me.”

  “Because of how masterful you were.”

  “Because I’m an alien.”

  “Your proficiency stood out. Though the outcome was predetermined, they feared you could win.” She paused. “Which you did.”

  “If Naimo hadn’t collapsed from food poisoning, he would have won.”

  “Because you would have let him.” A proud smile curved her lips. “If it had been a fair, unfettered competition, it would have been no contest. Naimo didn’t have a chance, and everyone knew it.”

  If the fight had been “unfettered” as she’d put it, there wouldn’t have been fight. He would have ended the battle before the man had drawn his blade. He wouldn’t boast about his prowess, but the pride in her voice did funny things to his insides, caused him to hurt with pleasure. This woman’s admiration meant a lot. He hoped he could live up to the man she believed him to be. He’d rather die than disappoint her.

  “So you should know I can take care of myself, and you don’t need to worry,” he said.

  “Kaxeni!” she replied in her native language, the equivalent of touché.

  “I have treasured every moment I’ve spent with you at the night side palace,” he said. It had been an idyllic three days of making love, talking, and being together. Sometimes they would hold hands and sit in silence or listen to music. They studied the stars and kissed under the falling ones, which were meteors and not real stars, but that didn’t diminish the magic.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” Jules said. “I wake each morning expecting to find you fading into a dream.”

  He’d lost her once; he would never let her go again. March pulled her into his arms and kissed her, imprinting the solidness of their union. “That’s how real it is.”

  Their love was deep and genuine, but they still had to get off Xenia before they could fully express it. “We should return tomorrow,” he advised. Her decision would not be well received, and he had a hunch the longer they waited, the more explosive it would be. Opposition and animosity would rise as gossip spread that she’d chosen an alien over a native son. Though the genial emperor loved his daughter, he had his limits. March had gotten a glimpse of them.

  Jules sighed. “I wish we could stay at night side longer, but you’re right. I must break the news to my father and the council.”

  “Explain to me about the council. Doesn’t your father have final say?”

  “He does….but…the council has grown in influence. With its support, the emperor’s power is great. Councilors have a lot of sway with their people. The emperor can force his will, but if the people do not support him, they find ways to circumvent his will. Originally, the members were the chiefs of their tribes. When the planet was unified, the chiefs became the council to give their clans a voice and allow the emperor to keep tabs on the regions. Councilors inherit their positions, too, and their lines go back as far as my father’s. Besides being emperor, my father is the chief of his tribe. Naimo and Kur’s father, Councilor Omax, belongs to the second largest tribe. My bonding with Naimo would have given me the automatic support of my tribe and Naimo’s, which represent the majority of the population, 60 percent.”

  “Quite a power match.”

  “It would have been, although it wasn’t planned that way. The seer matched us. But the situation is further complicated by the fact that Xenia is on the cusp of a new era. The next ruler will begin the next millennium, believed to bring even greater harmony and prosperity. So many factors are in play. And basically, my people dislike change; they prefer the comfort of the familiar. Before Xenia was imperialized, we did not advance because the warring tribes destroyed what the others had accomplished. The traditions my ancestors forged created friends out of enemies and brought us stability, peace, and prosperity. For a thousand years, we have not fought a single civil war. Who else can say that?”

  Nobody. Terra didn’t have that record. A thousand years ago, a primitive Earth had been in its Middle Ages, exploring, conquering, fighting, killing. Only in the last hundred years—a mere blip of time—had Terra achieved planet-wide peace. For Xenia to regress would be a tragedy. “Your leaving could ignite a civil war?”

  “It could. At the very least, it will be a big upset, and people will blame my father because he opened Xenia to outsiders, joined the Association of Planets, allowed aliens to visit—permitted one to fight in the Sha’A’la and steal their empress.”

  * * * *

  The walk to the night side palace was a silent one, and at first it had seemed companionable, but then Julietta began to wonder. “You’re quiet,” she said as they entered her bedchamber.

  “You’re giving up a lot to be with me, and the fallout will be huge.”

  She shook her head. “Yes, the impact will be great, but no planet’s future should be vested in a single individual. People won’t like it, but my abdication will force Xenia to become stronger. And though there are negatives for me, what I will gain will be far greater than what I give up.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She sidled over to him and stood on tiptoes so she could wrap her arms around his neck. “You. The only man I ever loved. The only man I will ever love. Perhaps I am selfish to put my desires ahead of my people’s—that’s what they will accuse me of—but I can’t deny my needs any longer.”

  She stared into his clouded Terran eyes. Had he changed his mind? Did he fear the storm? She couldn’t blame him if he did. “Perhaps you’re having second thoughts?” Julietta bit her lip. “You don’t wish to be involved with me after all?”

  He grabbed her wrists when she would have pulled away. He rubbed her pulse points with his thumbs, his reassuring touch calming her fears. “That’s not it at all,” he said in a low voice. “I will face whatever comes to have you. I worried you might be suffering regrets.”

  “Never.” She wiggled a wrist out of his grasp and stroked his face. A sexy, bristling growth of hair tickled her palms. Xenian men didn’t grow hair on their faces. “I promise. The only thing that will separate us is death. I would die for you. I would sacrifice everything to save your life.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Humor filtered through his tone. “I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”

  “I’m serious.” She thumped his chest with her fist and glared at him.

  “So am I.” He closed his arms around her and held her tight. “Whatever happens when we go back to the main palace, we will stand united.”

  “Exactly,” she said. His support bolstered her courage. With March beside her, she could do anything. It would be hard, but it would be worth it. Since leaving Terra, she’d been dead inside. With him, she l
ived.

  Her people would forge a new tradition. She didn’t know what solution they would come up with, but her father and the council would find it.

  Julietta kissed him. He tasted like an exotic Terran wine. For sure he caused her head to spin and her heart to flutter. Heat ignited in her belly at the throb of his growing erection. A slight touch, a smile, a simple glance, and passion flared. It had always been like that.

  They broke apart so they could remove their clothing, and then she flung herself into his arms again. His body was hard where hers was soft. She rubbed against him, enjoying the rasp of his body.

  They kissed, their lips and tongues meeting in a familiar but urgent way. How she’d managed to leave him the first time she didn’t know. She couldn’t do it now. Perhaps I was stronger then.

  No, not stronger. Foolish. I didn’t realize the gift I had. Had she stayed with him as a student, the political problems would have been worked out already.

  She ran her hands over his chest, so much more muscled and harder than before. Everything about him was bigger than before. She bumped her pelvis against the long, hot length of his cock. Always an attractive man, as a cyborg, he was sexier, more magnificent.

  “What are you smiling about?” he murmured against her mouth.

  “You. I rather like you as a cyborg.”

  He harrumphed but swung her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a yacuni feather and carried her to the large bed. They rolled to face to each other, kissing languidly, exploring with their hands.

  March kneaded and caressed her breasts and tummy. He teased the nub between her legs, sending her pleasure spiraling. She kissed his neck, whispering words of love in Xenian against his ear. With a soft touch, she caressed the hard cords and broad planes of his body. She followed the span of his shoulders to bunched biceps then to sinewy forearms and strong hands with their rough palms and calloused finger pads. She gave his hand a squeeze before jumping across to his abdomen where an arrow of hair led to the prize.

  She clasped his thick erection, and he groaned. Smooth and hot, it jerked as she stroked the length. A pearl of fluid formed at the tip.

  “Fuck!” March swore when she dipped her head to capture the pearl on her tongue. Closing her mouth around the head, she drew him deep, laving and loving, memory guiding her to bring him the greatest pleasure. His balls drew up tight, and she caressed them.

  He tangled his fingers in her hair. She squeezed her legs together, her hips rocking, needing his touch down there, but bringing him pleasure pleased her, too.

  His hips jerked, and then he shifted. She grunted a protest and tightened her lips around his cock, fearing he would pull away, but he turned sideways until he could nudge her thighs and bury his face between her legs. His tongue curled around her clit, slid between folds, and dipped into her channel, driving her need higher. She sucked him hard, eliciting groans of hunger. Then he froze, and shuddered against her, fighting for control.

  March pulled away and rolled her onto her back.

  She pushed against his shoulders. “No, you,” she said.

  His eyes widened, but he shifted. She straddled his hips and lowered herself. Thick, hard male flesh stretched tissues already tender from repeated couplings. She didn’t care. She needed him inside.

  “Easy, Jules, easy.” He stilled her. “Take it slow.”

  “I don’t want it slow,” she said. She wanted him fast. Hard. Now. A sense of urgency pervaded as if time was running out.

  She rocked on his erection, moving her body as fast as she could, gyrating and thrusting with as much force as she could muster. March groaned and then his hips moved, control wrestled from him by his own desire. He met thrust for thrust, driving his pelvis upward as she slammed downward. Flesh slapped against flesh. Calloused fingers flicked over her clit. Heat flooded her body. Her pussy fluttered.

  Big hands covered her breasts, squeezed her nipples.

  “Harder. Pinch harder,” she urged.

  Rapture exploded through her like a thunderstorm. Lights flashed behind eyelids squeezed shut. His fingers dug into her flesh as he pounded into her. Her core contracted as waves of pleasure crashed over her. March bellowed as he climaxed, driving deep and hard inside her body.

  Together they scaled the heights, fell together, and collapsed in each other’s arms. Replete.

  The way it had always been.

  The way it would always be.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I love watching the yacuni. They’re so peaceful,” Jules said as they tromped across the field on the way to the skimmer.

  Easy for her to say. She hadn’t been gored and flipped through the air like a Xenian child’s melachee ball. March glared at the grazing animals, glad they were across the field, far away. His nanos had healed his injuries, so no harm, no foul, but if he hadn’t been a cyborg, it could have gone differently. “If you say so,” he said.

  Jules hugged his arm. “They’re very docile animals. The male only attacked when I came between him and his baby. I’m glad you’re okay. You scared me when you went down.”

  “I was fine. As you saw.” He kissed the side of her head. “I’m more worried about your father than the yacuni. I hope he won’t be angry I hijacked the skimmer and went incommunicado for four days.”

  “Don’t be offended, but he probably didn’t notice. He is the emperor. Most likely he’s been too involved with running the planet, consulting with the council, seeing off the dignitaries who came for the bonding and”—she made a pained face—“rescheduling the ceremony.”

  “That’s the part I’m most worried about—how he will react to the news,” he said.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Jules said. “You should stay out of it. Let me talk to him alone, and let it be my decision.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t let you confront him all by yourself. I am involved. You wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for me.” Once he’d blamed her for leaving him. Now that he knew the enormity of the pressures, her sacrifice humbled him. If he could take the heat for her, serve as the scapegoat, perhaps her relationship with her father could be salvaged. “If he blames me, he’ll be more apt to forgive you,” he argued.

  “But if he blames me, if he sees this as my failing, it will be less likely to jeopardize relations with the galaxy. Ambassador Aaron has worked hard to open communication and visits with Xenia. I would hate to see the door slam shut right after opening. And there’s the council to consider. Even if my father forgave you, the council never would.”

  An alien, an outsider, he would be blamed for the defection. The council would become wary of other aliens—and especially requests for an outpost. Carter was going to kill him for destroying the groundwork.

  However, a man stood by his woman and did not allow her to face trouble alone. Their “elopement” would throw her planet into political turmoil and undermine the hard-won treaties and agreements. They both had a lot at stake. So they would face it together.

  “I want to be there when you tell him,” he insisted.

  “I can handle it by myself.”

  “You don’t need to handle it by yourself. I’m here. And, as your father and the council will accuse, I am the cause.”

  She halted. “You mean more to me than anything in my world. If you hadn’t shown up, I would have bonded with Naimo. But you aren’t the cause of my defection, you’re the catalyst. I never aspired to be empress. I do not have the calling, and the idea of an arranged bonding caused me much heartache. You allowed me to listen to the truth of my heart. Your love and support give me the fortitude to face the fallout.”

  “Think of how much stronger you’ll be with me at your side,” he argued.

  “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

  “A cyborg never gives up.”

  “All right. Don’t say I didn’t try to spare you.”

  “Never.” He wiped a smile from his face with the back of his hand.

  They left the
field, entering the scrubby wood, and March led her to the clearing where he’d parked the skimmer. The tall grass surrounding it appeared untouched, except for his footprints leading away. A good sign. No one had been here.

  March punched a code into the keypad, opened the hatch, and gestured for Jules to enter. They strapped into the seats. He tapped in and reactivated the skimmer. “Computer, return to the palace.”

  “At once. Prepare for lift off,” the skimmer responded.

  Once airborne, he hacked the controls again and erased the landing data.

  “Did you enjoy your flyby of the night side palace?” the computer asked as if four days hadn’t passed.

  “Yes. I wish we could have landed, though,” he said.

  “Landing was not on the programmed itinerary,” it replied.

  When Jules opened to her mouth to speak, March pressed a finger to his lips then accessed the controls again. “Okay,” he said when he finished.

  “What did you do?” she asked.

  “Deactivated the voice recorder so the ship won’t record our conversation. It can talk to us, but it won’t record our—your—voice.”

  “You can do that? How?”

  He tapped his head. “My computer can speak to the ship’s computer.”

  “Can all cyborgs do that?”

  “Yes, but we have varying degrees of ability, depending on our software. My hacking is about average for a cyborg, but some have very advanced capabilities. For instance, Brock—” He caught himself. The existence of cyborgs was no longer top secret, but that didn’t mean you went around pointing them out or revealing their specialized capabilities.

  “Brock?” She frowned.

  “Nothing.”

  Jules’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. “Penelope’s husband is a cyborg like you?”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “What about Penelope?”

  “No. She’s just a human.” A good ambassador, but unaltered.

  “Are there any female cyborgs?”

  “Most are men, but there are a few women,” he said. Cy-Ops had several on the payroll.