Lust Plague (Steamwork Chronicles)

by Silverwood, Cari

  A heaving, naked body pile, sprouting limbs and heads, wriggled and writhed on the floor a few yards away. One woman, three men, all nude—or mostly. Discarded clothes lay all around.

  Zombie F. Early form. No one was coming at his throat. He let out a long, calming breath and ran through what he’d been told. If you were in the middle of it, you got it or you didn’t. No one knew how it transmitted. And his squad was in there. The captain too. A lot of others who might need help. Maybe fighting off some of the more badass zombies.

  Keep going.

  “Pardon me.” He slipped his shotgun free, stepped over a limb sticking out from the pile, then adjusted his weapons, and his trousers, before moving on. The aura of lust was so thick in here his cock felt hard enough to dent steel.

  Walking slow and careful, he turned right toward the gym, where the squad should be. No signs of shooting yet.

  On the way, he directed two normal women toward the launch deck. If worst came to worst, they could evacuate on a gyro.

  With the gymnasium doors in sight, he found a young blonde-haired woman struggling in the corridor with four zombified men. Their slack faces, empty eyes, and devotion to lust gave them away. For a millisecond, sadness swamped him. None of them would ever be people again.

  The world would be so messed up if this thing took over. He let a hint of anger through.

  “This ain’t right.” He reached for one man, thumped his head, let him go, grabbed another’s arm. Shivered at the fury burning up his veins. Ice, man, ice. Killing might be expected, but he just plain couldn’t do it. Do not throw him toward the metal spigot. He could see the guy’s head caving in if he hit that.

  Aim corrected, Sten threw him at the wall, then stared at his hands, clenched them in tight. The pain steadied him.

  At least he got to do something. With his blood fizzing in his veins the way it was, hitting somebody felt good.

  Huh, she was kissing the last of ’em. What the…? Was she affected or not? He wrenched away the last man and clobbered him too. The woman flicked back her pigtails and looked at him wild-eyed, then leaned against the wall, panting, breasts heaving, hands at her mouth. Only her pale blue eyes showed.

  Ground-up zombie, saliva, semen—none of those had caused infection, and the scientists hadn’t pinned down how it was communicated. She seemed normal.

  “You okay?” He shoved one of the moaning unconscious men farther away with his boot—sending him sliding across the polished timber floor. “You like kissing zombies?”

  “Yes. Um. No, I don’t like that! Oh dear. I feel odd.” Looking bewildered, she took her hands away from her face and peered wistfully down at the man she’d been kissing. She shrugged. “The…the captain. She’s in there. I’m sure I heard her scream. Please, can you help her?”

  Me, the savior. Heh. He liked the notion of championing the underdog. Thing was—did the captain count as an underdog?

  Was it possible to be half infected? He checked the woman over. Her brain seemed to be mostly functioning.

  “I’ll try, miss. Head for the launch deck. I sent others there. Grab a pistol.” He gestured. The floor was strewn with abandoned weapon belts. “You can shoot?”

  “Yes. Thank you! I’m Emily,” she called as he shoved open the doors and looked in.

  “Sure. Nice to meet you, Emily,” he muttered, then blinked and took in the scene.

  Like some erotic spiderweb, the woman fastened to the rope wall sprouted wire. Each line from breast, groin, and skin, led to the hand of a zombie. Least they all had their pants on. Seemed like they’d strung her up but little else. But was she infected? If she was, he’d have to abandon her. God, that notion hurt.

  The tall GAM lieutenant had orange-fire eyes. Shiny eyes and one helluva evil grin. He rummaged through the facts about Zombie F again.

  This man was some special zombie, but what was the label? One thing the PME had taught him was to take out the officers first in a fight. A lieutenant with fire in his eyes had to trump a plain one.

  “Hi there, Mr. Lieutenant!” As he strolled closer, he sheathed the shotgun, draped his left hand on the pommel of his sword. Shoot in this crowd and the captain would likely get hurt.

  Kaysana’s eyes had rolled back in their sockets. She breathed in and out full throttle through a gag. Uneven tremors quaked her body. For a few long seconds, he examined her. Though her wrists and ankles were secured, her back arched forward, forced into a curve by the pull of the wire on the clips fastened to her.

  Seeing her like this sent lust howling through him. How twisted am I? He wrenched his gaze away.

  But is she a zombie?

  Everyone had paused to stare at him.

  Four. If he was lucky, maybe they’d all be as brain-dead as those in the passageways.

  “Ah shite.” He took a last stride to draw level with the fine wires—hoping like mad they were soft copper—and drew his sword with a neat flourish, ending with a high stance.

  Blank stares met him.

  “Welcome.” The lieutenant’s voice growled in a tone deep enough to plow furrows in the earth. Eyes brightening, he lunged for Sten.

  Sten hefted the sword higher, carved the sword down in an arc that sliced the soft wires first, then through the lieutenant’s wrist. He spun, boots sliding, cut through the rope wall on one side, sending Kaysana swinging, then the other, freeing her. She thumped to the floor, her body wreathed in rope and wire.

  A fine crescent of blood fell. The lieutenant screeched, staring at his severed hand flopping about on the floor.

  Inches from Sten’s nose, a drop of dark blood meandered down the vertical length of sword. “Looks like you’re not immune to steel.” What the hell was it these guys were called? Upper men?

  “You can’t stop me.” The man grasped his wrist stump. The bleeding slowed, then stopped, as if a faucet had been turned off. “I’m the right hand of God.”

  Sten inclined his head, pointing. “Left, now, Mr. Zombie. Right’s gone.”

  Like shop dummies creaking slowly to life, the other men moved in.

  “You challenge me?” The lieutenant’s left arm rose.

  Sten kicked him in the chest with a nice thud of boot heel on flesh. Mr. Zombie skidded ten feet and whacked into a stack of metal weights.

  Departure time.

  He sheathed the sword, knelt and scooped up the woman, ropes and all, then took off at a jog for the exit. Given a few minutes, the lieutenant might perk up again, and he didn’t fancy a rematch.

  Shoulda blasted off his head. His inner raw self liked to see blood, guts, and killing. Well hang it all, his self could take a hike. He didn’t kill anymore unless he was really really pushed. No zomb was going to make him kill it. These once were men.

  Never again, though.

  The three zombies growled but barely moved any quicker. A tortoise could win a race against them.

  “Our power grows as you approach the center,” screeched the lieutenant.

  “Fuck off,” Sten muttered.

  The soft, naked weight of Kaysana across his shoulder and the smell of her sweat and body tantalized him. He jogged on.

  He eyed the plump bottom a few inches from his mouth. No, bad idea.

  Chapter Three

  The whirling above flickered dark, light, dark, light. Thunder accompanied her. An engine? Kaysana shut her eyes, drifted away to the throb of her body, as if every cell inside her pined for something indefinable.

  She surfaced again, blinked away grit, groaned. Something plucked at her wrists, then at her ankles.

  “You awake?” A gruff voice. Not one she recognized. More blinking turned the blurred mess in front of her into a man. Tall, bulky, arms like, like—she blinked again—darn, big. Where’d she seen a man like that before? Black shirt and leather coat and brown leather trousers with a craggy face that said he’d lived. Gold wolf stud earring. Sten. He’d rescued her.

  Her sex flared with an ache so strong she barely understood it. Wetness
surged between her legs. She saw herself impaled on him…curving back, breasts upthrust.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Fear surfaced. She shoved the visions, the feelings, away. No. Never ever did she let her body rule her mind. The law, she followed the law, always.

  Under her back, rope crisscrossed and something hard, maybe rocks, poked at her, though some sort of cloth was between her and the earth. The sky above was blue, cloudless. Blink again. Half a mile away, she spotted her airship.

  “I’m awake, yes,” she croaked.

  On her ship, she’d been screaming. Flashes came to her—the bite of clamps on her nipples, men watching, avid, their mouths open as if they swallowed her cries of pleasure… She remembered the hot, near-orgasmic flood of desire. Why, though? What the hell happened? I can think. I’m still me. Zombie F? Can’t be.

  Her rescuer put his hand at her naked shoulder. Even that made her jump and suck in a breath.

  “I have to take this last one off. Might sting.” Above the clamp on her left nipple, Sten poised finger and thumb.

  The attached wire trailed across her breast. The pain bothered her little. His hand, though—broad fingers, man’s fingers, what they might do to her. She imagined him touching her cleft, sliding in. Her pussy spasmed and she bit her lip. What the… This is so wrong.

  “Wait!” She struggled to get her arms under her, to get some distance between her and Sten. “Don’t touch—”

  Understanding flared in his eyes, and for a millisecond, there was something else.

  “No? Why not? You need that off.” Before she could react, he’d sat next to her and hauled her over his leg to sit between his knees.

  “Because—” With his arm across her middle, he kept her there. Wriggling made him hold tighter. She seethed, wriggled again, subsided. Damn him. “Because—”

  Being enclosed like she was, by a man, a hard, muscular man, sent everything whirling. And, out of all the men it might have been…Sten. From the moment he stepped aboard ship, she’d watched him. Suddenly nothing in her head seemed to work right anymore. Her thoughts, her emotions, her tongue were weighed down and drowning in warm jelly.

  “Because you’re a frigging frankenstruct. Let go!” The words spewed out, and like a balloon accidentally released to the sky, she clutched at the tail end, knew the terrible error she’d made. She gulped. Why’d I say that? Awful, awful thing to say…

  Yet his only reaction was to rest his cheek against her hair and say quietly, “Oh? I thought as much. Leave this on and your nipple’s gonna fall off. How about while I do this, to distract yourself, you tell me what happened up there?”

  He put his hand back where it had been.

  Fascinated by the sight of his fingers so close to her breast, she licked her lips.

  “Wait.” Grabbing his wrist seemed as likely to work as telling an avalanche to stop, but she tried.

  As his fingers nudged the clamp, she gripped him tighter, realizing too late what her body would do. Pulse pulse. The finger and thumb pressed, released the clamp. All the sensations from the last few hours surged to life. Hot blood needled through her; white shards splintered. Her back arched, mouth open, neck curved—she gasped and shuddered as she came.

  When she opened her eyes, Sten’s face was there in shadow above her, blocking out the sky, and she’d fallen sideways onto his thigh. She squinted, licked parched lips. The still-golden blade of a gyrocopter cut across the sky to the left of his head. A swallow flitted past.

  “Damn,” she whispered.

  “Why?”

  His rough voice alone sent tremors through her. Through his clothes, his erection nudged at her bottom. This was intolerable.

  “Why? Because I just—”

  “Came? I figured that.” His hand cradled her head. His thumb brushed at her earlobe.

  She shuddered again, swallowed. Whatever was she doing staring up into his blue eyes? Yet…nothing seemed more important. His face was unusual—heavy cheekbones, wide nose, big deep-sea-colored eyes, every feature laid out large, like a face drawn in broad strokes. Strange how much he appealed to her. Those lips, she envisioned them crushing hers, taking.

  No. This wasn’t right. Yet…something had changed. Had the zombie virus flipped some switch inside her? She felt what she shouldn’t. And even if, right now, she couldn’t figure how to unswitch it, she would. She damn well would.

  “I think I might have Zombie F.”

  The coolness at crotch and breast reminded her of how Ling had cut away her panties and sliced holes in her bodice. Where were her hands? She moved them to cover her breasts and crotch. Ugh. More problems. Sten didn’t seem inclined to release her despite her revelations. What’s wrong with the man?

  “Did you hear? And, um, clothes. Have you something I can wear?”

  He stroked his chin. “Clothes? You sure you have the virus? You’re talking. And you’re not one of them überzombs. No orange eyes.”

  For a few seconds, his words seemed to echo in her head.

  “Überzombs? You mean raised men?”

  “Whatever. Like that guy on your ship. Neither of us is a zombie.”

  We aren’t? Relief sliced through her.

  The movement of his mouth fascinated her. She half closed her eyes. Off balance, she felt herself awakening to desire again and tried to fight it. Was he looking at her body? She fumbled, repositioned her hands. She had to get away from this man. “My lieutenant? Ling? He went mad. My crew—”

  “Were rutting their brains out. Having fun. Doing what comes naturally, I suppose, when inhibitions are removed. There’s nothing more you can do for them.” His thumb stroked her ear, swept an electric thrill through her body. She opened her mouth the smallest distance. Cool air wafted across her tongue, lips. More, please.

  No. People are up there. My people. By the equivalent of gritting her teeth and running through a multiplication chart in her head—the square root of one hundred and forty-four is twelve—she put a brake on those chaotic feelings.

  With a calculated look, as if he watched the minutiae of changes on her face, Sten resumed caressing her ear. “You know why I was there, on your ship? We have history.”

  His words were confetti on the wind, blown away and gone. She couldn’t resist turning into the caress, closing her eyes. So sensuous, like a hot sigh owning her body.

  “You like that, Kaysana?”

  “Mmm. No.” But it was really a yes. He remembers me? From where? As the massage continued, her thoughts slowed as if swimming through warm syrup.

  “I was on your ship firstly because they told me I was needed. And second, because you were there. When the PME announced all frankenstructs were free, yours was the ship I took to get out of the country. I remembered you.”

  She stared up at him, watched as he lowered himself—those blue eyes coming nearer, growing bigger. I should move. His fingers played with her ear, and it was so damn mesmerizing.

  Then his lips pressed onto hers. Soft, insistent, yet with so much maleness embodied in this simple touch she couldn’t help groaning into his mouth. The light, feathering way he idly moved her lips with his, licked her, or gave a small teasing nip sent a searing message from her mouth to her clit. Unable to resist, she put her arms around his chest, answered his kiss. When she tried to pull him closer, he stopped and looked down at her.

  “Do you like that?”

  That same question.

  Truth fought with the lie waiting on her tongue. “N… Yes.”

  “See. The way I look at this, we can give in to how we feel right now. Or not. And that would seem a waste.”

  He cupped her sex with his hand. She arched into it, gasping as he slid one finger along her slit, then slowly pushed between her labia and inside her.

  “I can stop.” He searched her face. “But you know what would really please me? Making you want me enough to beg. That would just make my goddamned day. I’m easily pleased.” The intensity in his eyes said the opposite.
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  Beg? Never. She blinked, went to say the words…

  In and out slid his finger, dragging her juices with it. The moisture slicked her pussy—some trickled down her slit, cooling on her ass. Her eyelids glided shut. The sound his finger made, this proof of her desire, made her want more—more inside her, more faster, more deeper, more everything.

  “Beg, Kaysana.”

  Sten. The name returned. She snapped open her eyes. Frankenstruct. What am I doing? Mortified, she met his gaze. He stared back, determined, full of the knowledge of what he was doing to her. Thick, slow, he moved his fingers. Wetness squished. Her vagina ached and squeezed around him.

  Beg? No. Never. Even though her body screamed, yes!

  She scrabbled for purchase, hands slipping on the blanket beneath. Her palms scraped across dirt and leaves. “I have to go. Let me up. This is hardly—”

  “Proper? Maybe not. But I like it. So do you. You want me.” Said flatly, like he had no doubt. “I can see it. Like I also see this.” He shifted above her, added a third finger, rammed in, fast, hard, stretching her, hitting some place high that jolted her in an exquisite way.

  Unable to resist, she collapsed down, neck tilting back, gasping.

  “Mmm. Uh.” She grabbed wildly at his biceps, dented his skin with her fingers.

  But. He’s frankenstruct. I mustn’t.

  Torn between two desires, she pushed with her feet, trying to shove herself away from him. All the while, he pumped into her, and each new thrust flowered sensations within, farther, higher, tighter until her body wrapped around that rhythmic penetration. She shoved with her feet again. He followed her.

  Cornered. Confused. Her ragged breaths, her frantic, hammering heartbeats betrayed the turmoil in her soul.

  “Yes? Or no?”

  White-hot desire met her fears and doubts and flamed them into a molten puddle. Her fingers pressed so hard onto his muscles, they hurt.

  Her determination broke and fell away. “Yes!” she choked out.

  “Say please.” His fingers swirled, rubbed up and down on that wonderful spot.

  “Please!”

  “Good.” He sucked out those fingers, and for a second, she could breathe, could think again…except he gathered up her wrists and a piece of rope.