Her Empath

by Mina Carter

  “Oh no. You bastard thing!”

  She made a dive for it, grabbing the thin bar of metal and starting to straighten just as she reached a corner. Preoccupied, she didn’t look where she was going and completely missed the armed retinue coming the other way. She ran straight into them.

  Squeaking, she grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on. A male chest. A broad, extremely well-muscled male chest. She grabbed at his gray ship-suit and fought for balance.

  She wasn’t going to fall. There were few things more embarrassing than landing on her ass in front of a group of people. She was not going there under any circumstances, even if that meant touching up a complete, and incidentally very nicely put-together, stranger.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Flames licked her cheeks as she looked up. Right into gorgeous green eyes. Oh my, green eyes. Why did it have to be green eyes?

  Everything happened at once. The group around her snapped into life, and within a heartbeat, Samara had rifles pointed at her from all directions. Rifles attached to some very mean-looking marines. Instinctively she shrank closer to her green-eyed “rescuer”.

  “Miss, I need you to step away. Just step away from him. Come on, miss…now. Please.”

  The nearest marine lowered his rifle and held out his hand. The tone of his voice and the expression on his face were both near pleading. Like he was trying to talk a jumper down from the edge of a rooftop.

  “They think I’m going to rape and kill you. Or kill and rape you,” a dry voice commented. “Of course, how they think I’m going to do that with my hands behind my back eludes me.”

  Startled, Samara looked back up at Green-eyes. At the same time she started to notice more. Like the fact his hands were manacled behind his back and that his ship-suit was gray with the orange line of a prisoner down the sides of his arms and legs.

  Her lips pursed into a small “O” of surprise as she studied him further. His dark hair was cropped close to his skull, casting the strong lines of his face into sharp relief. He turned his head to glare at the marines and she caught her breath. There, on one cheekbone, was a small tattoo. It was a distinctive tattoo. One that every free person in the sector—hell, the galaxy and beyond—would recognize. A combination of six letters and digits… The alphanumeric code of a cyborg.

  “Shit.”

  Samara couldn’t help the epithet that crossed her lips as she backpedaled. She’d heard the horror stories. Everyone had. Cyborgs were merciless killers, apt to kidnap innocent women for their breeding experiments. Oh and they ate babies.

  “Lyon, actually.”

  His lips quirked wryly, but she caught the flash of something in his eyes as she backed up. Anger, or hurt? Embarrassment flared hot across her cheeks and she stopped, standing her ground. Her grandmother’s voice filled her head. Don’t judge a book by its cover, young lady. You never know what treasures lie beneath the cover.

  “That was ill-bred of me. I apologize. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for work.”

  She’d apologized. A human had actually apologized to him. Lyon’s surprise lasted all the way down to the medical bays and right into the detention cell that awaited him. Of course, he was a soldier first, so that surprise didn’t stop him from scanning the local area for an open connection to the communications array.

  Bingo. As the guards shoved him through the door to the cell, he found an unsecured port. It took him less than a second to hijack a medical report and piggyback his message. Once off the ship, the message would detach and ping out the ether until it found a route to the Chameleon, cloaked and waiting to strike from the shadows.

  Three days after sending his message, Lyon was shoved back into his cell, bloody and bruised from the latest round of “tests”. He was beginning to wonder if his message had managed to make it off the ship. Stumbling from a vicious shove, he caught himself against the opposite wall and pushed upright. He glared back over his shoulder, a look of dire retribution and hatred. Just five minutes out of the mag-cuffs, that’s all he needed. Then he’d show these researchers and their pet guards what a cyborg was truly capable of.

  The guard paled at the look and disappeared. Alone, as much as he’d ever be with cameras watching his every movement, he sank down onto the narrow bunk. It was barely wide enough for a child, but he managed to wedge his shoulders between its hard surface and the wall at night to get some sleep.

  Closing his eyes, he let his head drop back. Without moving a muscle, he activated several circuits and subroutines in the bio-cybernetic systems that laced his body. His lips quirked as the guard down the hall swore.

  “Crap, the cameras are playing up again.”

  “Does that mean I’ll have to wait? I do have other things to do, you know.”

  Lyon stilled at the new voice. A female voice. The voice he’d been waiting for. It was her. The nurse who’d apologized to him in the corridor. Despite himself, he sat up a little straighter. His male pride wouldn’t allow him to show anything that might indicate defeat. Not that it made any difference. She was human and he was a cyborg. She was a nurse here and he was a prisoner. No matter what his male instincts and drives were hinting at, nothing was going to happen.

  “No. Go ahead. He’s still got the mag-cuffs on. Just shout if you need anything, okay?”

  Lyon released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Her footsteps rang out against the deck plating as she made her way to his cell. Lyon found himself listening to them. Light, delicate and precise, they were much like the woman herself.

  She stopped at the front to his cell. Lyon kept his eyes closed. He knew she was studying him. He opened them as she released a hiss of frustration, her breath whistling over her teeth.

  “Christ. They’ve really given you a good going-over this time, haven’t they?” She snapped off the force field sealing the front of the cell and stepped in. “Now, you have to be a good boy for me. The cams are off again and Hawkins out there is as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. I’d rather treat you without half the marine detachment breathing down my neck.”

  She paused in front of him and looked down with a firm expression he found as cute as hell. Lyon surged to his feet. Her gray eyes widened in surprise, but to her credit, she didn’t scream or run. Reaching out with his manacled hands, he tucked a stray curl of her hair back over her ear.

  “You’re perfectly safe with me,” he promised. Just not safe from me. “After all, why would I want to hurt someone who’s helping me?”

  His onboard sensors registered the hitch in her breathing and the sudden increase in her heart rate. She was standing there looking so calm and collected, but he could tell the effort was costing her. Taking pity, he sat down.

  “There. See? Good boy. Happy now? Or do I need to roll over and play dead?”

  He had no clue where all these words were coming from. Normally he wasn’t the most garrulous of men. Not by a long shot. In fact, it wasn’t unusual for his squad to go days without getting a full sentence out of him.

  She smiled. It was just a hint of a smile, the merest quirk of her lips, but Lyon’s chest filled with triumph. He’d made her smile. It was the highlight of his day.

  “No, you’ll do as you are. Let me get a look at those bruises.”

  He sat back as she worked, ignoring the sudden cold of the antiseptic spray and the heat of the regenerator as she ran it over the large purple and black bruises covering his torso. The worst damage was on his back, particularly over his kidneys, although why they were bothering to concentrate their blows there he had no idea.

  He didn’t have the usual human weaknesses. His bones were laced with duerineium alloy, his joints replaced with cybernetic constructs. His organs, arterial pathways and nerve clusters were all protected by heavy-duty sub-dermal synthmesh that would absorb any blow an unaided human could dish out. He’d been designed to play chicken with a shuttle and still walk away.

  They literally couldn’t damage him outside the operating theatr
e, so the only reason for the beatings was to inflict pain. Some of his people mourned the humanity they’d lost in the in vitro tanks when their cybernetics had been implanted. He didn’t. The more he learned about the race which had created his, the less he liked them. Apart from the pretty little nurse standing in front of him. He liked her way too much for comfort.

  She hit a particularly sore section and he flinched. Swearing under her breath, she flicked a glance to his face.

  “Sorry, I’ll try to be gentle. I can’t believe they did this, what’s the bloody point?”

  The pressure from the regenerator eased up. He breathed a little deeper as the band of pain around his midriff disappeared.

  “Making a point. The sheer human joy in causing pain and suffering.” He shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m not human.”

  Easing farther down on the bunk, he spread his thighs to get comfortable. Without a break in her movements, she moved between his legs to get at the remaining discoloration on his stomach.

  “Bloody stupid. I’d like to get hold of them and give them a taste of their own medicine,” she grumbled, dropping to her knees to look critically at her handiwork.

  Heat surged through his body. The touch of her hands was maddeningly soft, heat surging through him before she knelt in such a provocative position. If she leaned forward just a little further… He bit back a groan of lust.

  Her gaze shot to his face, worry written all over her delicate features. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, drive a hand into her dark hair as he claimed her lips. He’d hold her still and plunder her mouth. Thrust into the welcoming heat, again and again, fucking her mouth with his tongue. Shuddering, he snapped out of his daze and looked at her.

  What was it about this woman? He’d had offers from women of his kind. Strong, capable, cyborg women. Women who could withstand his rough passion. So why did he want one who was so easily breakable?

  Closing his eyes, he tried to conceal the effect she had on him. He was lucky he was cyborg, with ultimate control over his body and its reactions. Or she’d be up close and personal with how she was making him feel. A face full of thick cock was hard to miss.

  “Sorry, I’ll be gentler.”

  Her voice was soft and calm; the consummate nurse. They needed medics back at base. All raiding parties were ordered to snatch and grab medically trained staff wherever they could and take them back to Redemption, the cyborg resistance home base.

  Lyon shook his head and put the thought from his mind. That way led to madness and a whole heap of trouble. He had a mission here. The sooner he remembered that, and stuck to it, the better off everyone would be.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse.”

  She winced a little. He hardened his heart. No doubt she was wondering how many people he’d killed. That was what humans always assumed of his people. They were killers, born and bred.

  “Okay, move your arms for me, please.”

  He moved to allow her to reach the bruising on his stomach. Not the easiest thing to treat when his hands were manacled in front of him.

  “Who’d you lose to?”

  She moved his hands again and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “To end up treating me. I can’t imagine it would be high on the list of dream assignments in the nurses’ bay.”

  “Oh.” Understanding filled her eyes. A blush raced across her cheeks.

  “No one. I asked for the assignment. Look, this is no good.” She sat back on her heels and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry, but I have to put you in the restraints…”

  She nodded toward the heavy-duty hooks on the wall above the bed. Used for restraining the most violent cases when the cell had to be cleaned, even he wouldn’t be able to break them.

  “It’s that or call a full guard detail in so I can get to the last bit of this. Which would you prefer?”

  I’d prefer you on your knees sucking my cock. The thought slipped through before he could censor it. Swallowing, he concentrated on something mundane. Like rewiring maintenance panels for the Chameleon or field-stripping a KL-700 heavy machine gun.

  He locked the wayward thought away. Not only had she apologized to him before, she was now giving him a choice. Admittedly it wasn’t much of a choice. Cuffed to the bed or get treated under armed guard, but still, it was a choice.

  “The restraints. Please,” he added as an afterthought and ventured a small smile.

  She smiled back and stood to draw the restraints together. He lifted his hands. A moment later the mag-cuffs clicked into place and, slowly, his hands were drawn apart. His hands safely out the way, it only took her a couple of minutes to clear up the remainder of his injuries. Finally she straightened and treated him to a bright smile.

  “There you go, all fixed up.”

  “Thank you. Are you going to divulge your name or is that classified information?”

  He couldn’t stop himself quizzing her as she packed her equipment away. Everything was handheld and he knew there wasn’t anything with a sharp edge in there. Just in case he managed to escape the three-inch-wide cuffs, which would be a miracle of epic proportions. No, the only way he was getting out of these babies was if his sexy little nurse made a big mistake or if he could charm her into letting him go.

  He was rusty, but he could manage a little light flirtation. The full-on Casanova act, though, that was well beyond him.

  She flashed him another smile from under lashes so full they had to be illegal. Lyon sucked in a breath at the direct look. How did she manage to look so hot in that utilitarian ship-suit? While it wasn’t fitted, it also wasn’t a sack, but there was no way it could be described as sexy.

  “No, not classified information. It’s Samara. Samara Williams,” she said and started to hold out her hand. Halfway through the gesture, she recalled he was chained up and stopped. A deep flush spread over her cheeks.

  Lyon inclined his head, ignoring her faux pas, and simply smiled. She blushed so prettily, her mouth a bee-stung pout. He looked away quickly, a wash of heat running rampant over his shoulders and chest all the way down to get all friendly with his cock.

  “Pleased to meet you, Samara. Now we’re all introduced, would you mind letting my arms down a little? My fingers are going numb.”

  “Oh! Yes, of course. There you go.”

  Stepping to the side, she reached up and activated the restraints. This time the mechanism drew Lyon’s wrists together over his head. Hearing the click, she pressed the button to release him and turned around to zip up her kit bag.

  Perhaps through sloppiness or inexperience with the equipment, she didn’t check to make sure the sound she’d heard was his mag-cuffs locking together instead of Lyon clicking the cuff against the metal of the wall. He froze for a second when she turned away, hardly daring to believe his ruse had worked.

  Testing the theory, he pulled at his wrist. It came away from the wall with a small snick. He blinked, all his attention focused on the woman in the room with him. She’d made a mistake. He was free. What did he do now?

  His logical side said he put her out of commission and fight his way off the ship. Or, nastier, use her as a human shield. She’d been nice to him though. She’d apologized and given him a choice. Treated him like a human being and not the animal the rest of her race branded him.

  Was he really going to repay her by proving the rumors right?

  Also by Mina Carter

  Cyborg’s Price

  He's one of the most dangerous creatures in the galaxy... so why can't she keep her hands off him?

  A junior nurse aboard the Combined Fleet Ship Valkyrie, Samara's days are usually filled with minor bumps and scraps and the occasional health or workspace check. But when a dangerous prisoner is transferred aboard, she finds herself on brig duty. Dealing with the big, lethal looking military grade cyborg should be terrifying, but one look into his green eyes and she can't think of anything other than what his big, hard body would look like under the grey sh
ip suit...

  She's small, soft...and his enemy. He should keep his hands to himself and forget her.

  Captured and en route to a medical facility for dissection and study, cyborg Lyon expects nothing but pain and degradation from his captors. But Samara isn't like the others, treating his wounds with care and igniting a fire deep within. When she neglects to ensure his cuffs are locked tight, all hell breaks loose. A hot, sensual hell against the cell wall. When his team arrives, Lyon knows he should walk away...but he can't. His little human has gotten under his skin. He'll take her as payment for his suffering, keep her in his bed and pleasure them both for as long as he has breath left in his body.

  However, the universe, and the Fleet, have other ideas. A tracker on board brings a horde of fleet ships down on their heads.

  Can Lyon and Samara survive betrayal, a fleet attack and their own suspicions, or will their happily ever after disintegrate under fire?

  GET CYBORG’S PRICE HERE!

  Alien Lord’s Captive

  Earth girls might be popular...but they're definitely not easy.

  Sergeant Cat Moore has a little problem. Well, actually a big problem... When her base is attacked and boarded by an alien war group, she finds herself in the sights of their leader, Tarrick, a Latharian war-commander. Their captors might be ripped, hot warriors looking for that one special woman, but the women of Sentinel Five have this little thing against being slaves. Even if their leader is well on his way to stealing Cat's heart as well as her body... Because her sexy alien has a thing about making sure her every need is met and has some very inventive ways of doing so. Until she gives him a bad case of mating marks around his wrist, and all bets are off.

  Why? Because her sexy alien lover left one thing out when he introduced himself… Like the fact he’s a freaking alien prince…

  The strong, not so silent, and ruthless type, Tarrick's duty as a war commander means little time for himself. With no women of their own, a base full of human women is a bounty he can't ignore. Nor can he ignore the little human whose voice called out to him across the galaxy, a woman he'll stop at nothing to make his own.