Her vision wavered. Spots danced in her eyes. The men towered over her. Striker spoke to them, but their voices sounded like they were underwater.
She pushed away the hands that reached for her. Striker. The hurt in his eyes was too much to bear. Too much.
When her vision clouded over, she let it take her, pushing away the only arms capable of giving her any comfort.
Chapter Twenty One
Awareness returned to the sounds of smothered, exhausted sobbing and intermittent snuffling. The dark, warm cocoon of sleep gave way to hard lights and general background noise that grew louder. She wanted to drift back into the incoherent depths where she didn’t have to deal with anything again, but she couldn’t block out the crying and general misery. Even after fending off death, she couldn’t shake responsibility.
With an internal sigh, she blinked her eyes open to see several faces peering down at her. The handsome face of Striker and his concerned, wary eyes; another man with what looked like a dusting of gold on his tan skin and a person / thing that looked like a… she jolted from the cot and wobbled on unsteady legs.
Gasping, she peered into Striker's face. The concerned and wary expression now anxious. “The tree. It’s alive. Anyone else see that? Am I hallucinating? A tree. Moving. Right there.”
She was ashamed to find not only her finger shaking, but her hand and arm as well. Striker hooked his arms around her back and beneath her knees, hoisted her from the cot and into his lap.
“I can stand,” she wailed as she flung her arm against rock hard pecs.
She didn’t want to be in his arms. She wanted to reject the instant hit of comfort and protection that washed through her like ambrosia. Didn’t deserve feeling anything like that. Not even close.
“Vivien!”
That deep rumble held such power, such as to make her insides turn to mush, to make her waver and return to his embrace, to make her want good things for herself. The tree-thing the other golden skinned man came closer.
“Stay where you are.”
The tree rustled. “You either.”
The golden-skinned man held his palm to his chest. “I am Arix, commanding medic of the Starlight.”
“Where did you come from?” She looked beyond his shoulder to see frightened women spread through the room, looking back at her. It reminded her of triage after a battle. Which it basically was.
Big, burly men wearing uniforms similar to Striker’s tended to the women. Some sat on a cot with a woman curled in a lap, held securely in muscular arms, caring for them as they sobbed and cried.
“You need medical attention, Vivien,” Striker said.
Arix held a handheld device in her direction, a mirroring frown on his forehead. Can everyone stop frowning already? An insane giggle nearly overflowed out of her mouth, and she worked hard to swallow it back down, concentrating on the red and white flashing lights of the device.
“Her brainwaves are… unusual.”
“Stop doing...whatever it is you’re doing and leave me alone,” Vivien said.
“She needs to calm,” Arix said, looking at Striker, concern tightening his features.
“It’s just a headache. I always get one after a near-death experience.” A giggle burst out. She quickly snapped her hand over her mouth, hoping no one noticed.
He bent towards her, warm breath caressing her ear. “Vivien. Stop.”
She struggled in his grip, thoughts sliding on the inside of her skull without sticking. Images of the dark entity threatened to envelop her again. She was going into full-bodied panic and she couldn’t stop it.
Arms tightened like a steel band around her. A deep, rumbling voice sounded in her ear, warm breath on the shell of her ear. A vine wrapped about her ankle. “It’s not getting me again. It won’t. Let me go!”
The rumbling voice sounded again. She latched onto a soothing sound. “Calm. Calm. Calm.” The words repeated in her mind. The single repetitive word like a balm. Her mind slipped.
An image of lush, green forests entered her mind. She flew over the tips of tall trees and gradually descended through the trees until she came to a clear, winding river trickling over large, flat white stones. She looked around her. The air was cool but not frigid. It settled like a cool balm on her heated skin.
The sound of gurgling water drew her captured her attention. She stepped on top of the rocks, tiptoeing as she did when she was a little girl to the edge of the water. Her bare toes dipped into the water. It was nice and comfortable.
A warm sun broke through clouds. The effect of the deep blue sky, rather than cold flat grey, was startling. She sighed, tipping her face back to the warmth. Heat. At last! She drank in the warmth, letting the rays soak through her skin.
A large flat rock sat by the waters edge. She sat on it, facing the water and mountains beyond.
“Beautiful.”
She whirled around. Striker stood to the side, watching her. She had a feeling he didn’t mean the scenery, and a flush worked on her face.
“How did you get here?” She spun, seeing nothing but a thick forest of pines, framing the white stones of the river. “Where are we?”
“We haven’t gone very far at all. Our bodies are on the gurney, and you’re still on my lap, but we thought this vista would be far more relaxing for you.”
“We?” She shook her head, trying to find some sort of logic into her thoughts. “How did I get here?”
He chuckled, at such odds with his serious gaze. “We’re in a mind-space at the moment. A figment of imagination that is the most calming for you. The locals came up with this idea, and it’s a damn good one. I’m coming round to their way of thinking.”
Things just weren’t making any sense. If she was honest, ever since the moment she’d been taken, nothing made any sense. “I’ve gone mad, haven’t I? I have to be. It’s all finally got to me.” She sighed, taking a lasting took at the amazing vista. “I would never have thought insanity would look so good.”
“You’re not insane. In fact, you’re the most sane person I know, despite everything you’ve been through.”
She scowled at him, not wanting to talk about herself or anything else for that matter. Why couldn’t it all go away? She was so sick of the fighting. The struggle. She rested her elbows on her knees, looking away from him, not wanting to see the condemnation in his eyes now that he knew everything about her.
“I don’t want to talk about myself.”
“Then we won’t.”
She glanced up at him, surprised. Generally when people told them you didn’t want to talk about an issue, it had the opposite effect.
He gestured to the rock. “May I?”
She wanted him to gather her in his arm, and at the same time she didn’t. She was such a goddamn mess. She was intimately aware of his large frame settling next to her. He was so much larger than her, his body all muscle mass, lean and built for strength. Next to him, she didn’t feel weak though. Just – feminine. She concentrated on the distorted rocks beneath the water rather than the man she could barely resist.
“That’s it. Despite what you say, I am going mad,” she muttered to herself and was surprised when Striker chuckled.
The deep sound warmed something deep inside her. “I thought I was too. The Callisteans have that way about them.”
She glanced at his profile, curious despite her declaration of not wanting to talk about anything. “The Callisteans?”
“Yes. The original inhabitants of this planet.”
She frowned, looking about. “You said they were technologically advanced. All I can see are trees.”
Maybe that was just – wherever she was – but even when she was trekking through the forest, she hadn’t seen anything other than nature. She was surprised at herself. Only a few days ago, she thought Earth was all there was, and now she was considering aliens from another world. Had even made love to one.
Her insides heated at the memory. And it had been the best damn lovemaking ses
sion she’d ever had. She could get used to that sort of treatment. Mad at herself, she quickly shoved the urge aside.
Don’t slip. Keep it inside. That way, no one gets hurt.
“They let their planet rejuvenate after the Reptile invasion, but they remain very technologically advanced,” Striker said.
“How do you know that?” Despite the aching weariness that crept inside her, she was curious. “And why didn’t I see them when we came here?”
Striker’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “They were all around us, but we didn’t see them. They just needed to connect with us in a most unusual way.”
She pursed her lips. “What are they, the masters at camouflage?” Her instincts were usually spot on, but she hadn’t had an inkling about their existence at all.
He chuckled again, and goose bumps broke out over her arms, “Yes. They are. They only made themselves visible to me after… we’d drank their blood.”
“What?”
He turned humour-filled eyes her way. “I had the same reaction, but they consider water their blood, the fauna their muscle and bones. They found a way to survive the invasion by integrating with the fauna of their world. That’s what I mean by being technologically advanced. No other being as far as I’m aware has been able to transfer their consciousness like that.”
She stared at him, incredulous. “That sounds like something right out of a bad science fiction novel.”
“I have to admit, I agree. Only they can create something like this,” Striker said, gesturing to the glorious view of the river and glorious mountain range dressed in a layer of fresh pines beyond. The mountain was so huge, the huge pines looked almost insignificant in comparison.
“We’re really in some...mind-space somewhere?”
He nodded. “We thought, considering the circumstances, it would be for the best.”
She sighed, dropping her head into her open palms. “I totally lost it.”
“I think even the most hardened warrior would have… lost it,” he said, repeating her words, which sounded a bit strange coming from him.
“That’s bullshit. There’s never an excuse to lose it. People get killed when that happens.” Bitterness and crushing guilt crashed down around her heart, followed by the usual rush of rage. “And don’t tell me I have to forgive myself or any of that shit, because that’s not going to happen.”
“I’m not going to tell you that you have to get over anything,” he said.
She gaped at him but quickly pulled herself together, gathering the familiar anger. “And don’t lecture me either.” She’d had enough quacks doing that as well.
“I will do nothing of the sort. Experiences make you the person you are today, good and bad. Experiences make you grow. You need to embrace the good and the bad,” he said.
She snorted. He knew what had happened. He knew everything about her He’d seen it play out in her mind in multicolour. “I’d do anything to go back in time and have my friends back. Can these Callisteans do that? If they’re so technologically advanced, haven’t they harnessed the essence of time yet?”
A sleek blond brow rose. “They may have. We’ll have to ask them.” His expression turned serious, his brow creasing in lines. “We’ve all had bad experiences, Vivien, and as painful as they are, I would still choose to keep mine.”
She scoffed, “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious. My team members chose to fight the war. I wouldn’t minimize their brave sacrifice by wishing it away,” he said.
She scrambled from the rock, facing him, fists clenched at her thighs, putting as much venom in her words as she could. “How can you even say that!? Your friends died! Killed! Just like mine. There’s nothing I want more than to bring them back.”
Ignoring the pain that shot through her heart, she stumbled over the rocks, backing away from him. “You’re a heartless bastard if you don’t want that as well. Go away and leave me alone, Striker.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Large palms on her shoulders had her spinning around until she was face to face with a furious Striker. She didn’t expect that. “How dare you?!”
She wriggled to get out of his grasp, but his grip was too firm, his hands too large to budge, “Get your hands off me!”
“Not until you listen to reason. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and give your team the respect they deserve.” Sky blue eyes glinted with a glimpse of frost, making her even angrier.
“Don’t tell me what to think,” she said.
Being this close, this up front and personal was too much. Too hard. She didn’t want to listen. Didn’t want to hear. Didn’t want to think.
Her chest constricted, air burning in her throat as her lungs refused oxygen, but how could it? She wasn’t even in her body. Was she?
“This is all in your mind. Our minds, that’s for sure,” Striker said. His mouth firmed into a straight line, white tension lines radiating around lips she couldn't stop thinking about kissing her.
“Then get out of my head!”
His gaze hardened. His lips parted. “No.”
Then he descended, capturing her mouth with his. She struggled, eager to wrangle herself free, but his arms tightened around her. He stepped towards her, capturing her within the steel-cage circle of his arms.
His mouth firmed over hers in a brutal kiss. She resolutely kept her mouth shut. She stopped struggling. There was no way she was getting away from his strong, long reach, so she did the next best thing and shut down. She closed her eyes. Her arms dropped to her sides.. She stood still and took herself away.
She forced her thoughts back to that cell. Her team members all lined up on their knees, facing the ends of rifles and faceless torturers. This was what she had to remember. This was her penance.
He moved back a fraction, creating only a slither of space between them. “No, you don’t.”
She was whisked away from the cell, to find her bare feet on flat, white rocks. The river continued the gurgle. The pines gave off their fresh scent that was caught in a gentle breeze. She was back! How the hell was she back?
He pressed his mouth against hers again. Softer this time. He nuzzled her, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. A sigh breathed through her body, and just for a moment she leaned a little into him, his hard body supporting hers. She brought her palms to rest against his chest. Solid. Firm. Warm.
The cell. That’s where she needed to be.
Another thought flickered over the top. Striker looking down at her, pushing up on his arms on either side of her shoulder while he nudged inside her. She gasped, pulling back from the kiss.
She caught a smirk before his mouth descended. His tongue swept into her mouth. His flavour burst on her tongue. Male musk and earthy spiciness. She parted her lips, allowing him in deeper with the next sweep, which he readily gave.
She didn’t know how her hands slid up and over his shoulders to wind around his neck or how she softened against him, her breasts replacing where her hands had been pressed against his chest. He rumbled in his chest, the sound erotic and masculine.
She broke this kiss, gazed up at him as though almost drunk. His eyes had lost the chill, now replaced with the flickering beginning of something far, far hotter. His mouth was slick with their kiss, his lips parted, breath mixing with hers.
She had to think… had to… the cell. Her team. She was responsible. Gut-wrenching guilt slammed into her gut. She didn’t deserve this attention. Didn’t deserve to forget.
There was a growl before she found hers back against the cold surface of the large rock she previously sat on. Striker manoeuvred himself between her parted thighs. His pelvis pressed against her core, protected only with a scrap of cotton underwear.
“You dishonour their memory.”
“Wha… what?” She stared up at him, thoughts rambling in her brain, emotions smashing her heart. She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that. That’s not what anyone else had said.
She should be guilty. She was responsible…
Striker ground himself against her core. Heat and pressure sparked a heady pressure. “They came for you. Gave their lives so you could live. You dishonour them with your guilt.”
She’d never thought about it like that. Had only lived the horrible facts over and over again. “But if it wasn’t for me, they would be alive.”
“Yes, they would be.” He tilted his hips, grinding his firmness against her. She opened her legs, helpless to the gnawing need within, and allowed him to push against her more fully. The need increased. “But they chose to sacrifice their lives.”
“For me.”
“Yes, for you. And it was the greatest gift they could give.”
He ground his erection on her point of need. She tossed her head back, gasping with the powder keg that was brewing to be unleashed. He took advantage of her opened mouth and claimed her in a ravishing kiss.
He lay over her body, their pelvises pressed together, stomach to stomach, chest to chest. He tilted his hips, rubbing her in delicious strokes. The friction of their fabric almost too much to bear. She needed more. Without restriction.
“As you wish,” he murmured.
The next thing she knew, she was naked. So was he, and his erection slid through her wet folds without the restriction she was lamenting.
She clawed at his shoulders, becoming mindless. “I need… I need.”
The pressure was almost unbearable. She needed release. Needed to seek that elusive glorious height of ecstasy.
He thrust along her slit, so slowly, rubbing his delicious long length through the most sensitive part of her body. Nerves sparked alive. She wanted… needed...more.
“Not yet.” His voice was gravel. Raw.
His face was set in hard lines, the tension affecting him as much as it was her. Why was he holding off? She’d give him everything. He thrust. She arched her hips to allow him entrance, but he adjusted his hips so he slid in her groove. She wanted release, but alongside Striker's maddening teasing, there was an indefinable piece of emotional rawness that held her back.
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