She didn’t speak. She had nothing to say, and he didn’t try to strike up a conversation. At least that was something. After all, she didn’t intend to let Ronan escort her back to her camp. She would make him tell her which direction to go, and she would go alone. And maybe he would even give her back the weapons she’d had on her when she’d passed out so she could protect herself should anyone try to attack. They had to be around somewhere.
“I need to get back to my people,” she muttered finally, fastening the last button on her vest. She searched the space and saw her boots by the door, stalking over and yanking them up before sitting on the cot to pull them on. “Which way do I go?”
“I can show you,” he replied, getting to his feet and gathering his own clothes. His looser fitting clothes took far less time to don, and he was dressed within seconds of her having laced up her boots.
But Sirah shook her head. “I’ll go myself. I can’t show up with the enemy. What do you think my people would do?” She laughed sarcastically. “They’d shoot you on sight and take me prisoner, question me for any information I got, and then try me for treachery.”
It was a copout. She could explain to her troops what happened, that Ronan had found her and saved her. She could make up some twisted tale about how the Tyrians had a moral code, and the fact that she’d been retreating when shot with the poisoned dart went against that code. But she needed an excuse to be away from him sooner rather than later. He was so intoxicating that she wanted more. She had to end this now or she would never walk away; she would fall into that pit of addiction that had her falling from grace.
He said nothing, and when she glanced up at him, she saw his face set into a hard, emotionless expression. He gave a short nod. “Fair enough.” The words were terse and clipped, and a part of Sirah flinched.
What had she been thinking?
Standing, she cleared her throat and tried to put on a professional, politically correct air. “Thank you for helping me, Ronan. I suppose it does show that not all of your people are ready to exterminate humans.”
He scoffed, “If only you believed that.”
Sirah gaped at him, and he held up his hands in surrender.
“I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine that you’d change your mind or give any credit to my people over the actions of one person.”
She shook her head, dismissing the discussion before it turned into an argument. She certainly didn’t want to waste any time, and she wasn’t going to stay here any longer than she had to. She might lose her resolve and strip him down again. “Which way do I go?”
Scratching the back of his head, Ronan turned away. “Head straight east. You’ll find the field where we fought. I think you’ll be able to find your way from there.”
Why did he sound so upset? Had she offended him? Pressing her lips tightly together against the questions she wanted to ask, she reached for the door, opening it and thinking twice as she stepped outside. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, “I really do appreciate your help. Thank you. And maybe we’ll eventually figure out a peaceful solution to this situation.” She closed the door behind her before he could say anything else that might draw her back in and marched off toward the rising sun.
It wasn’t until she reached the clearing in the forest where she’d fallen that her anger cleared enough for her to realize that she’d left without her weapons. She cursed under her breath. She was completely off her game, unsettled, and there was only one reason she could be so unfocused.
Images of Ronan swam in her head. The way his skin morphed, the color changing. The way his muscles moved in perfect union, like a well-oiled machine. And her body tingled as she remembered the way his hands felt on her, the way he filled her so completely. She stopped moving, stood perfectly still, and tried to figure out how to get past this little hang up. Ronan shouldn’t arouse this sort of disconcerting need within her.
She had to get back to camp, had to throw herself into her work, into the battle plans and fitness routines she maintained to stay on top of the end goal. And what was that goal? To drive out the very man she’d given her body to last night. Willingly. Desperately. If she’d pulled away from the kiss, he wouldn’t have taken things any further. She knew that to the depth of her soul. It didn’t matter that she barely knew this man. This mistake fell entirely on her shoulders.
Sirah spun a circle, and her eyes focused on a large branch of the tree beside her. It was cracked slightly where it connected to the trunk, and it sagged with the weight of the leaves growing in huge tufts. With a roar of frustration, she launched a roundhouse kick at it, her power taking the enormous branch the rest of the way down, the sound of the break echoing through the empty space around her and rivaling the sound of her wordless cry.
She felt mildly better, but it wasn’t enough. How could she have let her libido make decisions for her? She’d been raised with careful conditioning; she had the utmost control over her emotions and desires. She was the perfect example of a military child, raised to put herself last and her country, world, and species first. And yet, she’d allowed her body to call the shots, taking pleasure in the release.
Slowly, she faced back the way she’d come, part of her wanting to just let go of all the responsibility on her shoulders. Maybe the pressure had finally gotten to her, causing her to crack as the branch had with its weight. Maybe she was ready to be knocked down with just a little effort. And if that was the case, why not just throw caution to the wind and go back, give into that fire inside, the craving for someone to touch her like they worshiped her, to take her body with the instincts that ruled above all else?
She couldn’t do it. She would not fall victim to that desire. Besides, she knew without a doubt that, if she returned to the makeshift cabin, she would find it already empty. Ronan would have left, and she would feel even more foolish than she already did. It had been nothing more than a circumstantial encounter, a quick release that should have helped straighten out her head. The only reason she was having issues was because she still hadn’t reined in her detrimental urges. And the consequences would be enormous; it would affect not just her but her troops and every human on the planet if she didn’t employ that strict self-control she’d been taught from the time she was in diapers. She owed her species that much.
Telling herself that she could push it away if she just hurried back to camp and got busy, Sirah took several deep breaths, stretched her muscles, and then took off at a brisk run toward the camp she’d set up with her people. At this pace, she’d be back in an hour, and she would not slow down. She would go, pushing herself to the brink of collapse if necessary, and she would not think about turning around, just in case.
As she ran, she cleared her head, finding a meditative space where her steady breathing was the only sound aside from her feet hitting the forest floor. She fell into the rhythm, welcoming the way her muscles relaxed into it and took all conscious effort away. This had always been her haven, and she used it now, letting it calm and soothe her.
As the camp rose into view on the horizon, Sirah expected a great sense of relief. Instead, she dreaded her arrival. What would her people say? Worse, what if they could read her betrayal in her expression, her words? What if they could smell Tyrian on her, could figure out that Ronan the Alpha had taken what he wanted and given her freedom in return?
Her pace slowed to a walk, and she felt suddenly cold, the sheen of sweat on her body giving her a chill as a cool breeze blew past. She was being ridiculous. No one would question her. They would hear her out, be grateful that she was alive and well, and continue planning and strategizing to defeat the enemy. And she would use any of those wayward thoughts and feelings she couldn’t seem to dismiss to drive her, to fuel her along and motivate her even more. It was exactly what she needed to make it through and erase the last vestiges of longing for Ronan.
Chapter 5
“What do you mean, it’s gone?” Sirah snapped.
Calloway flinched at
her tone, or maybe it was the set of her shoulders and the tension in her demeanor. She hadn’t meant to take it out on him; he was just the messenger, the low man on the ladder. But since she got back to camp three days ago, took in the damage that had been suffered in the last mission, and started strategizing the next move, she’d been extremely irritable.
Straightening his shoulders and holding his head up, Calloway told her, “By the time we arrived back at our camp, realized you were missing, organized a search for you, and sent another wave out to surveil the enemy camp, they had left. We have trackers on their path, but we’ve heard nothing back so far. I’m sorry, ma’am. Finding you was prioritized, and we didn’t move quickly enough to secure the enemy.”
The nervousness in his voice made Sirah realize she was blustering, and her shoulders sagged ever so slightly. But the aggravation didn’t go away; it only shifted its focus to her behavior. She was being completely unreasonable. “I understand. Let’s just keep after them and find out where they’re going next.” She left that as a clear dismissal, and when she was alone in her tent, Sirah cursed herself.
Since she’d gotten back, she’d done everything she could to distract herself from the random thoughts about Ronan. Her body craved him, which was unbelievable after only one night. She tried to put it up to the poison that had still been in her system, changing her chemistry so that she had a permanent physical reminder of the way she felt pressed against him every time an image of his face, or worse, his body, came barreling into her brain. It wasn’t just disconcerting; the force of her attraction to him threw her off balance.
She’d run miles around the camp, spent hours with the makeshift weight setup. She’d tried not to sleep because memories of that night plagued her dreams, but then conscious thought had her evaluating the merit of sending Ronan a message to arrange for another intimate meeting, and she wanted to hurl something breakable at a wall and watch it shatter.
And the showers! She’d had to take the most utilitarian of showers to keep from touching herself and moaning as she imagined it was larger, stronger fingers stroking her.
She scrubbed her hands down her face and then fisted them in her hair, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice called to her right outside her tent. She hadn’t expected anyone else to bother her for a while. “General! It’s Beaver. Can I talk to you?”
Rolling her neck from side to side in a valiant but fruitless attempt to loosen the knots of tension, Sirah called out, “Come in.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and her eyes squeezed shut as she waited for Beaver to come in. When she looked up, his eyes were wide and insecure, something she wasn’t used to seeing, and she sighed heavily. “I’m sorry for my behavior. I’m under a lot of stress.”
He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Well, I’m not sure if this will help or make it worse.” He held out a small electronic device, and Sirah froze. It was a communicator, which means someone had sent her a message. Looking back up into his gaze, she waited for him to lay it on her. “It’s Tyrian technology, not ours. Although it looks the same.”
She stared at the device, turning it over and over in her hand. She should just push the button and hear what the Tyrians had to say, but she had a terrible feeling about it. The reasonable part of her knew it was something related to the war, maybe even specific to the last battle. But what if Ronan had sent her a personal message? She couldn’t listen to it in front of anyone. And the part of her that couldn’t quite get past the cravings, the desire to see him again, to run her hands through his hair, knew she wanted it to be from him. And she feared her disappointment if it wasn’t would be just as telling.
“Time sensitive,” the device stated flatly. “Message delivered. Auto delete occurs in five minutes.”
Damn! So, they had fingerprint technology that even recognized human prints. And she had no time to spare. She had to listen to the message or lose it. Training her face into the most stoic expression she could muster, she depressed the button to play the message, praying that at least Beaver could keep a secret if necessary.
Lights flashed, and a male voice she didn’t recognize spoke, giving her a sense of release, even if she was more disappointed than she wanted to admit. “The Tyrian military leadership requests a temporary truce and an opportunity to talk civilly in a public location of your determination. It is imperative that you respond quickly, ensuring the possibility of ending this dispute peacefully.”
There was a whirring sound, and Sirah stared into Beaver’s eyes in amazement and disbelief, his expression mirroring the same reaction. “Message erased. When ready to record your response, press the button.”
Sirah didn’t know how long she stood there, pondering what she’d just heard. While she wanted to believe the message, she was skeptical at best. It could be a trap, although all communications devices retained all messages in a cloud. Even Tyrian conversations. And because she had been actively involved in this conversation, she would be able to access it should they betray their offer. The powers that be on the other side of enemy lines would never stand for such deception.
But she also knew something else, deep in her gut. Something she couldn’t prove but was absolutely certain of. This hadn’t come from the top of the chain. This had been a scheme concocted by one specific individual with the intention of drawing her in. Ronan was behind this, and she wasn’t going to get sucked in.
She squared her jaw and started to press the button, but Beaver put a hand on her arm. “Think really hard before you answer,” he said, looking terrified to be giving advice to a superior. “I hate the Tyrians as much as you do, and I want our planet back. But we’ve dealt with other hostiles and found a way to work it out.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No other race has come in here, guns blazing, trying to eradicate our kind.”
He held up his hands to stop her before she went into a tirade. “I’m not arguing that point. But if they’re willing to discuss the possibility of laying down arms and working out a deal, I don’t think we can afford to turn away without exploring the offer.”
But Sirah didn’t want to take that route. She didn’t trust herself to get that close to Ronan, not without giving something away. “You really think that’s what they want? What if it’s a trap?”
“You and I both know their moral ground won’t allow that.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping my boundaries, but we’ve just started taking the offensive, and we’re not faring so well. We lost three men this time, and we thought we lost you. We can’t afford another failure like that.”
She jutted her chin out defiantly. “And how many did we take down?”
“I don’t think it matters. We can’t lose anyone else, or we won’t have the manpower to make a real move again. I think this is in our best interest.” Beaver pleaded with his eyes, and Sirah had to admit he was right. She had a queasy feeling wash over her, and she didn’t know whether it was from admitting defeat, the thought of seeing Ronan again, surrounded by others this time, or a combination of both. Either way, she wasn’t happy about this in the least.
“Fine.” She hesitated, thinking fast. She had to identify a place for them to meet and give herself time to strategize. They needed a plan in case things fell through, and they had to determine what terms they wanted to present for any truce that would be called. And personally, she had to steel herself against these feelings she couldn’t get under control. Even if they raged through her in Ronan’s presence, she couldn’t let anyone know about them, and she needed to find her determination, that solidarity of will she knew she possessed.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button and spoke. “We’ll meet at the Grace Motel, on the western edge of the forest. Three days at 1300. Bring ten men, no more no less, and I’ll do the same.” She pressed the button again, let the message play, and pushed it a final time to accept the message. With that, it flew off, its drone programming already set with a homing
device.
“I want Joey, Charlie, Deuce, Messina, Kyle, Bishop, Rodriguez, Ericson, Battaglia, and Renshaw,” she rattled off to Beaver. “We’re going to put together our approach. And then you’re going to join Bishop and I to draw up a proposal for the ceasefire and truce.”
Beaver nodded, looking nervous and excited as he saluted and hurried out of the tent. Sirah brushed fallen hair back from her face, wishing she had a punching bag. She needed to release some aggression. Whether this offer was legitimate or not, Ronan knew exactly what he was doing. He was putting her in an uncomfortable position, and whether it was to use it as leverage or to try and prove some male pride she didn’t know.
This was probably going to be the hardest mission of her career, and maybe the most difficult experience of her life.
She stood to lose so much, and she hated that her dignity played such a large role in that. She should be far more concerned with the existence of the human race and the freedom of her people. The ownership of the planet and the removal of the enemy threat should have been at the forefront of her mind. But for some reason, the concern of being outed for her mistake rode heavily on her back, like a half-ton monkey. Sirah ached to take back that one stupid night. Had it been glorious? Yes. Would she ever have expected this sort of fallout? No. But that was the problem. Neither of those statements should have been true.
Grabbing her pistol and stuffing it in her waistband at the small of her back, she shoved the tent open and stormed toward the mess hall, which was more of an awning with tables and chairs set up beneath it. That was where the group of men she was calling to her side would meet, and she wanted to wait here rather than in her own tent, where she would drive herself insane with regrets and what-ifs and all the things she didn’t want to think about. Instead, she could pace back and forth here, where she could at least watch the movement of the well-oiled engine she’d put together. Her people functioned flawlessly, even in the face of defeat and loss, and she felt good about that. They should all be self-sufficient if she’d done her job.
Her Strict Captor Page 3
