Ontarian Chronicles 2: Operation Hydra

by Cyndi Friberg

  “Am I important to Ontariese?”

  Setting his teeth, he debated whether to shove her away or sweep her into his arms. “You’re the High Queen’s niece.”

  “How did you become involved in this mission?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Charlotte asked me to lead the team.”

  “Then the High Queen doesn’t find you obsolete.” Her eyebrows raised in challenge.

  The High Queen had developed the joint council. She above all others was responsible for his displacement, but Trey was tired of explanations. He was tired of words.

  She framed his face in her small, warm hands. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  An unexpected rush of emotion inundated his heart at her simple words. His pulse raced and he pressed his mouth to her forehead, hiding his grin. He eased her away until their gazes locked, and he forgot what he had been about to say. Her eyes glowed subtly. “What’s wrong?”

  “I thought you wanted to shave...”

  Desire slammed into him. “I do.”

  The corners of her mouth quirked. She loosened the belt and slipped out of the robe, handing it to him. Gods of the day moon, she was spectacular. His body clenched and his shaft jerked, demanding an end to their play.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  He grinned. “I’ll show you just how up I am in a few minutes, but first, put your foot on the ledge and steady yourself against the wall.”

  Kneeling again, he reached for another blue capsule. She moved into position as he retrieved the razor from the bottom of the tub. He turned back to her and groaned. His face was on a level with her belly, her mound less than a hand’s breadth way.

  Soon!

  Her trust amazed and humbled him. He would make this night wonderful for her if it was the last thing he ever did. Bursting the capsule, he spread warm foam over her feminine curls, insinuated his fingers between her thighs. Captivated by her heat, her softness, he pushed deeper, rimming her core. She sighed and squirmed, neck arched, eyes closed. With a throaty murmur, he dragged his fingers back, and focused on the task. Determination steadied his hand as he carefully plied the razor.

  Rinsing the residue from her body, his fingers lingered against her smooth mound. “So incredibly soft.” He stroked her with feathery touches, no longer able to resist the temptation of her silken folds. Delving between, he slid his finger back and forth, against but not into her core.

  She gasped, her thigh flexed, her fingers fighting for purchase against the slick wall.

  “Careful,” he whispered. Cupping her warm bottom with one hand, he parted her folds with his other. He inhaled her intoxicating scent and breathed against her heated flesh. She shuddered, her weight shifting restlessly.

  He stroked her with the tip of his tongue, centering his teasing caress over her sensitive nub. She tangled her fingers in his hair, trembling. “Shouldn’t we... I need to lie down.”

  He swept her into his arms. “Your wish is my command.”

  Her soft laughter sent blood rushing to his already aching crotch. It was going to take all his self-control not to pounce on her like a ravenous beast. He had never felt desire this acute before.

  Setting her down beside the sleeping station, he pulled back the covers. He expected her to be shy and timid, but her hands were unknotting his belt before he could turn fully to face her. Unable to conceal his surprised chuckle, he caught her eager hands and shook his head.

  “I want this to be good for you. If you touch me, I’ll go up in smoke before you’re even starting to simmer. Do you understand what I mean?” She didn’t respond. “You’re going to have to trust me, at least this first time.”

  A slow, wicked smile parted her lips. “I’ll do whatever you tell me the first time, if you do whatever I tell you the next time.”

  Trey closed his eyes and trembled. She was the most outrageous female he’d ever encountered and she’d not yet been with a man. Wait until she got a taste of passion. His knees nearly buckled.

  “You’re going to kill me, woman.”

  “Not until after the second time, at least.”

  He wanted her naked and writhing beneath him. The sooner, the better. His fingers tunneled through her thick hair, cupping the back of her head. Pressing his mouth over hers, he didn’t really kiss her. He needed to touch her too badly, to memorize the texture of her skin.

  Her arms loosely circled his neck, allowing his free hand to roam. He stroked the long line of her back and squeezed her bottom, explored her curvy hips and the sweet indentation of her waist. She shifted restlessly, pressing against his hand and arching her hips into his erection.

  He eased her back until her knees bumped the edge of the mattress. She automatically sat. Kneeling on the floor, he took a moment just to look at her. A soft rosy flush darkened her cheeks; her lips were slightly parted. Her thick golden hair rested over one shoulder, teasing the upper swell of her breast without concealing the sweet nipple. She pressed her thighs together. He wasn’t sure if she ached, or if she was still uncomfortable with her nudity.

  “Trey,” Krysta murmured. He put his hands on her knees, gently guiding her legs apart. She tried not to resist, but he wanted access to her most intimate flesh and he was still dressed! “Take off your robe.”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  She let him move her legs farther and farther apart, until she was open for him, ready and waiting. The absence of hair made her feel wanton. He could see everything. Her inner muscles tightened and hot moisture flooded her core. Still he didn’t touch her. He stared, obviously wanting, but determined to deny them both.

  “If this is some twisted game. If you don’t intend to --”

  His arm curved around the small of her back and his mouth interrupted her words. Hard and insistent, his lips urged hers open. His mouth moved over and against hers, his tongue teased with little flicks and light strokes. She tangled her fingers in his hair and delved into his mouth, tasting and caressing him, penetrating deeply. Each harsh, urgent breath revealed how badly he wanted her. “Lean back on your elbows.”

  She did and he dragged her hips to the edge of the bed. With effortless accuracy, his fingers found the exquisitely sensitive trigger protected by her feminine folds. He stroked her with his fingertip. She arched her back, an unconscious invitation. Bending to her breast, he captured her nipple between his teeth, laving just the tip with his tongue.

  Krysta had experienced orgasms before, quick bursts of sensation that left her feeling empty and alone. This was so gloriously different; it built with gradual intensity, slowly encompassing every portion of her body. Fiery darts launched from her nipple and lodged where his fingers strummed, accelerating the pressure, intensifying the heat.

  He drew her nipple deeply into his mouth, pushing his middle finger slowly into her core. Sizzling pulses of pleasure detonated within her body. Her inner muscles squeezed his finger and Krysta cried out.

  “Oh, my,” she whispered as the feelings receded.

  Trey kissed her slowly, tenderly, thoroughly. He shed his robe and pressed her body to his, skin to skin. They groaned into each other’s mouths. He wanted to devour her, to bring her to climax again with his fingers and his mouth. He wanted everything all at once. He wanted to feel her full, round breasts pressed against his chest as he thrust into her, but he wanted them in his hands as he took her from behind.

  Damn! He wanted all of her. Dragging his mouth from hers, he cupped both her breasts and whispered, “Lie back and try to relax.”

  She laughed. “This isn’t... real conducive to relaxation.”

  He knelt, hiding his erection. If she saw it, she’d panic. He’d never been this hard before. And she’d never taken a man... any man. The thought thrilled and terrified him. How could he possibly make this good for her? She responded beautifully; he just had to be patient.

  He was doomed! Arching over her, he rubbed his cheek against the silky skin between her breasts. Her nipples were still
gathered, hard, ready for more attention. He wanted to laugh. She wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

  He suckled her greedily, as much to distract her as to pleasure her, but his attention moved to the juncture of her thighs. Her slick heat enveloped his finger as he pushed into her throbbing core. She was tight, but oh, so wet.

  His chest tightened and his hands trembled. This was ridiculous. He had never cared this much about his partner’s pleasure. Giving his lovers release was a matter of pride and he was a very proud man, but this was different. His whole body ached with the need to feel her utterly lose control.

  Gently positioning himself, he carefully used her moisture to ease his way. She gasped. He groaned. She sheathed him so tightly he wanted to die, needed to rut like a madman. But he was determined to take her with him -- even if it killed him.

  “It’s going to sting, baby. I can’t help that, but after the sting, it will be better than anything you can imagine.”

  She was panting, those glorious breasts quivering with each ragged breath. “I don’t know about that,” she said, her voice thin and unsteady. “I have a pretty inventive imagination.”

  He covered her mouth with his, grasped her hips, and thrust hard, burying himself to the hilt. Krysta clenched her teeth and collapsed across the bed. This couldn’t be right. She knew there would be pain, but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel her body stretching around his hard, throbbing shaft.

  “You okay?” he whispered.

  She nodded, praying he couldn’t see the strain in her expression. This was supposed to be her grand adventure, her declaration of independence, and all she wanted to do was cry.

  “Sure you are.” He gently touched her face. “That’s why you’re white as the bed linens and trembling besides. Do you want me to pull out?”

  A sob finally broke through her façade. “I don’t know. It hurts. It really hurts.”

  “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he instructed.

  He gathered her firmly against his chest and crawled onto the bed, scooting her back as he went. Krysta’s breath hissed out as their movements increased the pressure inside her. The sharp burning was beginning to abate, but she felt so incredibly... full.

  His arm slipped under her neck and his mouth settled over hers, touching her, soothing her with safe, familiar kisses. “Touch me. I want to feel your hands on my body.”

  Tingles coursed through her at his urgent whisper and she didn’t hesitate. She stroked his shoulders, explored his broad chest, his thick arms, moving the smooth skin of her calves against his lean flanks. He groaned into her mouth, delving deeply with his tongue.

  Shifting onto his knees, he eased his hand between their bodies and gently caressed her belly, her breasts, and finally the tiny knot of nerves just above where their bodies joined. She clutched his shoulders. Each skillful pass of his fingertips made her body pulse, rippling along the entire length of his erection.

  He pulled back slowly. She clamped her legs around his waist. Softly, he laughed, his hands moving to her hips. “Ease up, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

  As she relaxed her legs he slid back in, filling her, stretching her, completing her. Her body melted, easing the way, welcoming his return.

  “Better?” he whispered, repeating the slow glide in and out.

  Trembling, on the razor’s edge, she buried her hands in his hair and kissed him. He moved faster, deeper, each individual lunge triggering a separate spiral of sensation. He tore his mouth from hers. His hands lifted her hips and he threw his head back, his hair streaming over one side of his face. Krysta watched him through the haze of her own passion. He was primal, savage, but she wasn’t afraid.

  His need thrilled her, escalating her desire. She arched for him, accepted him -- claimed him just as wildly as he claimed her. Deep within her body, she felt the pulsing start. It curved, tightened and tingled. He thrust into her fully, clutching her to his chest. They cried out together as ripples of pleasure passed from his body to hers and back again. His mouth found hers and they kissed until the last echo of sensation faded.

  “Are you okay, now?” he asked.

  She laughed, hearing the smugness in his tone. “Don’t get too comfortable with yourself, Lord dar Aune. You promised to do whatever I say next.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shortly after they returned to the resort, Krysta had the control module powered up and ready to go. Trey understood her eagerness, but their arrival had prevented him from making love to her for the third time. His greedy body still simmered.

  “Someone from Operation Hydra is responsible for that file, Krysta. You can’t forget that. This could all be a clever trick.”

  “It has to be real.” She navigated through several menus. “This was part of the prophecy.”

  He couldn’t read the words on the module’s small screen, but she appeared to know what she was doing. “What do you mean?”

  “‘The serpent will split from the inside out. The Hydra will fall; there is no doubt.’ That was the first line of the prophecy.”

  “From the inside out,” he repeated. “Hydran will be betrayed by one of his own.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What were the other two lines?”

  “‘When the hero at last sets aside his disguise, the time’s drawing near -- turn your eyes to the skies...’ Well, the ‘hero’ has set aside his disguise, and we understand the significance of the skies.”

  “Load the file. You’ve got me really curious.”

  They sat next to each other at the small round table in the main room of the suite.

  “Here we go,” she whispered, anxiously.

  The shadowy figure of the Companion appeared on the screen, little more than a silhouette, asexual, indistinct.

  “Please identify yourself and I will load your personal preferences,” the synthesized voice suggested.

  “I am Krysta.”

  “Please state your password.”

  “Freedom.” She slanted a glance at Trey to see his reaction to her choice. His eyes were fixed on the screen, but a distant smile quirked one corner of his mouth. The Companion’s image morphed, taking on the characteristics she had selected two years earlier. Trey’s half-formed smile vanished and he turned his bright gaze on her.

  “Where did you get this image?” he demanded.

  She looked at the familiar face of her Companion. A mass of wavy black hair brushed his wide shoulders except for three thin braids that extended to mid-chest. The braids were decorated with beads and bits of bone. His wide-set eyes easily dominated strong masculine features. The outer mass was pale blue while both the iris and pupil were fathomless black, with a thin red ring separating the two. The ring could widen and brighten, indicating the Companion’s mood.

  “I’ve seen his face in my dreams for years,” she said softly. “It took forever to get the image just right.”

  “You’ve dreamed about this man?”

  Surely, he wasn’t jealous of the Companion. She successfully fought back the chuckle, but a smile curved her lips. “It’s just an image.”

  “No, it’s not. His name is Drakkin. He’s the director of the Symposium.”

  “What’s the Symposium? I know nothing of this man.”

  Trey shook his head. “We’re way into Mystic territory now. How did you perfectly create Drakkin’s face if you’ve never had contact with him? He isn’t even Ontarian, so what does he have to do with you? I don’t like this. Drakkin can be one mean son of a bitch when he decides to be difficult.”

  “I don’t think this has anything to do with I-219,” she said uncertainly. “The image is part of my profile.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “So, when you were talking to the Companion about your sexual fantasies, you were talking to Drakkin.”

  “I was talking to a figment of my imagination,” she snapped. “You’re fixated on this Drakkin person and we haven’t even opened the file. Companion
, please open I-219.”

  “Yes, Krysta.” The Companion’s image wavered and then dissolved.

  Krysta laced her fingers together and tucked them between her legs. Her gaze bore into the screen, willing the static to take shape, to reveal something meaningful. A warm hand touched her knee and she jumped, releasing a nervous laugh. She wove her fingers through Trey’s and welcomed his gentle squeeze.

  An all too familiar voice sliced through the static. Krysta’s hand tightened around Trey’s. A solitary image formed. The voice grew louder. Krysta stared at the screen unable to assimilate the words, only able to identify her enemy.

  “Can you pause this?” Trey asked, penetrating her stupor.

  “Companion, pause.”

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  “It’s Hydran’s personal log. Look at the date stamp. This was thirty-nine years ago. Operation Hydra was in its infancy.”

  “Judging from his appearance, do you think this is legitimate?”

  Nodding shakily, she rubbed her hand across her lower face. “I think it’s real.”

  * * * * *

  They had been scanning through Hydran’s log for over an hour when Krysta stumbled onto an index. The Companion confirmed that the log entries continued into the current year, so viewing each would take far longer than they had.

  “Do you recognize any of these headings?” Trey asked as she scrolled through the alphabetical list.

  She shook her head. Trying to summarize forty years in a matter of hours was no easy task, but Krysta refused to be discouraged. She had lived through most of these years. How many surprises could the log contain?

  Trey scooted his chair closer to hers on the same side of the small round table. “Wait.” He pointed to an entry. “Gath cet Fintar was the male guardian.”

  “Companion, access Gath,” Krysta directed.

  Hydran’s image appeared, seated behind a desk, confident and composed, with a few less wrinkles and a lot more hair. Krysta was amazed that thirty years didn’t make more of a difference in his face. The same cold, calculating blue eyes stared back at her from the screen. He began to speak.