by Cara Bristol
“There will be another way.”
“I’m not willing to wait for it.” She spun on her heel.
“Amanda, stop.”
She flipped him the bird over her shoulder. The door opened. The guards stood outside, armed and ready. She swept out. The door slid shut.
Come back here! he shot out via wireless. She did not respond.
Sonny punched the air. Fuck it all to hell.
Chapter Seven
After delivering her to Kilead’s personal chamber, the servant departed. Considering what he assumed would transpire, she’d expected more of a welcome, but Lamani’s son didn’t even acknowledge her. He sat and frowned at his PerComm, his ridged forehead shadowing his beady eyes. Deep groves bracketed a slash of a mouth. While she’d been bathed, coiffed, and perfumed—prepped for the sexual interlude—he hadn’t bothered to change from the military fatigues he’d had on earlier in the afternoon.
No soft music played, and enough light blazed in his chamber to be noticed from space. There were no hala petals to lead the way to the bedroom. Given the carnivorous nature of the flowers, that was a good thing. But for a man with lust on his mind, he had no romance in his soul. He intended this to be a wham-bam-thank-you-female. Probably not even a thank-you. She had a hunch he considered undoing his trousers foreplay.
Somebody was going to get screwed tonight.
But not her.
Her plan would work. It had to work, because the alternative—sexual intercourse—chilled her to the core.
Damn Sonny! She’d intended to bounce her idea off him, maybe tweak it a bit, except he hadn’t shut up long enough to hear it. Stupid, sexist ass.
His intentions were good. He wanted to protect you.
If he respected her, he would have realized she didn’t require protection. If he had her back, he’d support her instead of trying to undermine her.
Amanda clutched the wrapped bottle of Cerinian brandy to her thundering chest and pasted a seductive smile on her face. She could have used some of the “tutoring” their females received. Did they have techniques for getting a man off with a minimal amount of effort? Like without any physical contact? ’Cause she didn’t plan on touching Kilead anywhere with a ten-meter pole. Especially not his pole.
Finally, he set the PerComm aside and gave her his attention. Or at least the package she held. “What’s that?”
No hello? The man was a charmer.
“My name is Sumara, and I bring you a gift.” She eyed the PerComm. Non-cyborgs relied on Personal Communication devices to access all public data in the galaxy, communicate with others, and store personal or confidential information. A cyborg kept everything he or she needed to know in his or her head. What plans and strategies might the PerComm of the son of the most notorious terrorist contain? Lamis-Odg’s backwards beliefs and customs did not extend to technology. On that score, they were as advanced as everyone else. If she could peek at the device…
“Bring it here.” He motioned with his fingers.
She glided toward him. Keeping her eyes downcast, she knelt at his feet. Thank you, Janai. If not for the information provided by the woman who’d defected, Amanda wouldn’t have known women were expected to bow down before men. Another not-so-quaint anachronistic custom.
He snatched the bottle and tore off the wrapper. “What is it?”
“Cerinian brandy.”
“Alien alcohol?” He glowered, unattractive features getting uglier.
Debriefing materials had stated Lamis-Odg eschewed alcohol and other consciousness-altering libations. Officially. Unofficially? She fluttered her lashes like a moron. “It is said only the most virile men can handle the potency of Cerinian brandy,” she whispered in a breathy voice. “But if they can…they can go all night.”
He uncorked the bottle and raised it to his lips then his eyes narrowed. He thrust the bottle at her. “You drink first.”
“I don’t…”
“Drink.”
Nanos would filter out the chemical she’d added to the brandy. Probably. If they didn’t…she was as good as dead.
I’m Amanda Mansfield, a spy, a field agent with Cyber Operations. I’ve come to locate your father so he can be terminated. Anything else you’d like to know?
She sipped and smiled.
Kilead grabbed the bottle, raised it to his lips, and gulped. He choked, his bulging eyes shooting flames. His throat probably felt like it was on fire. If a glare could kill…
She grabbed the bottle and took a swig then licked her lips. See? Nothing. You’re not going to be outdone by a girl, are you? He didn’t need to know the girl was a cyborg and immune to the brandy’s burning effects.
“You have other mates?” she asked and handed him the bottle.
He knocked back another swig. The ridge pulsed in his ruddy face. He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Three.” Chatty guy.
He thrust the bottle back at her. So this was to be a drinking game, was it? Keeping her wits wouldn’t be a problem. He would crash long before she got a slight buzz, but the less she imbibed, the more available for him. A quick physiological diagnostic scan revealed the chemical had not affected her, but it could be she hadn’t ingested a large enough quantity. The drug hadn’t been tested on cyborgs—or on Lamis-Odg. One teeny, tiny loose end, which she’d intended to discuss with her partner. The ass.
She raised the brandy to her lips then faked a swallow and a cough. She rested the bottle on her thigh.
His face split into a smug, arrogant smile. His gaze, glassy now, roved over her. “You are not as attractive as my other three mates, but if you can produce sons, you will be worth the price.”
She stifled a sigh of relief. The chemical appeared to be taking effect. His filters were slipping. Or maybe he was naturally rude. Better give him a little more.
She feigned another taste and a choke, offered the bottle, and nodded approvingly as he swallowed. His face flushed scarlet. Amanda widened her eyes as if amazed. “You are a strong man, indeed. It will be my honor to serve you and to bear your sons to carry on your legacy.”
“As I shall carry on my f-father’s when he p-passes into the Blessed Beyond.” His words slurred, and his head wobbled on his neck. “It is the will of the Great One.” He fumbled in placing the bottle on the table, couldn’t seem to figure out which end was up.
She righted it before it spilled and left a puddle of evidence.
His eyes rolled in their sockets.
Maybe she’d given him too much! Crap! What if he succumbed to the alcohol before the additive did its job? Time to herd him in the right direction.
“Infidels must be vanquished,” she said. She sighed and hung her head, shaking it with feigned despondency. “If not for them, Lamani could rule from the homeland. His isolation causes me great despair.”
“Do not despair.” He patted her head, almost affectionately. The brandy must have mellowed him. “We cannot lose. We shall conquer the infidel peoples, and my father shall return from Malodonia to his rightful place in the homeland.”
Malodonia!
The import thundered in her chest. At best, she’d hoped for a clue, like Kilead’s father was in sector six. Instead, she’d narrowed it down to a single planet. She’d plucked the needle from the haystack. Malodonia. Of course! Those blue bastards had sympathized with Lamis-Odg from the onset.
She’d gotten the actual fucking location. Her. She who’d “washed out” of the Terran military after being injured. She, who “hadn’t done anything with her life” except join Cyber Operations and fight to keep the galaxy free. She had discovered the hideaway of the most notorious terrorist to ever live. Not bad for a failure, huh, Daddy?
There was no time to waste in getting the information to Carter. A man in hiding might move around to throw off his trackers. She opened a secure channel to Cy-Ops headquarters. Lamani is on Malodonia, she transmitted, and fired off the same message to Sonny.
Send a woman to do a man’s job
, and what do you get? Results!
She needed to make the most of this opportunity. While he was still conscious, she should get as much info as she could, beginning with his father’s given name. “Lamani” was a title. Narrowing the search to Malodonia helped a lot. But to assimilate with their society, he wouldn’t use a title meaning “prophet and incarnate.” He’d use his given name or an alias.
“Your father must be proud of you,” she said. “You have served him dutifully.”
“I am his favorite son.” His head bobbed as if it would fall off.
Ping! Ping! Her messages bounced. Shit. Sonny had complained she hadn’t responded to his hail, but she hadn’t received one. Obviously a barrier, physical or electronic, impeded wireless communication. Once they left the compound, the situation should improve. They could shoot the intel to Carter on their ride to the shuttleport.
But she couldn’t communicate with Sonny. Amanda gulped. She’d expected to handle this on her own, had insisted on doing so, but that had been with the expectation her partner would be nearby if she ran into unforeseen trouble. He disliked her involvement. Probably didn’t even like her. But he would come running if she needed him. That was a given.
Except now it wasn’t.
How much longer will Kilead last?
Beady, glassy, shifting eyes attempted to focus on her face. “You are not as ugly as I first thought.”
She batted her lashes. “You are aptly named. Kilead…perceptive one. Lamani has sired a wise son. Your father’s given name must also suit his stature.”
“He is great,” he agreed. “However, I do not wish to talk about him any longer. I have other things on my mind.” He motioned. “Remove your clothing. The time has come to put my prospective mate to the test.” He popped the fastening of his pants.
* * * *
None of his hails had gone through. Had she switched off her receiver to ignore him or had she encountered trouble? Much as it pissed him off, Sonny hoped the former, but anything could happen, and that anything wouldn’t be in their favor.
He paced the floor and raked a hand through his hair.
Seducing Kilead was bullshit. No way in hell could he kick back and chill in comfortable confinement while his partner sacrificed herself. They’d find another way to get the intelligence. And if they didn’t, then they didn’t. He would rescind the offer of his sister. If he had to, he’d confess he’d lied about her virginity.
He strode to the door.
It opened with a hiss, surprising the guards, who whipped around.
“Halt!” one of them cried.
Caught in the crosshairs of two photon blasters, he froze, nanos buzzing. He calculated the odds of disarming the guards and knocking their heads together. Point one percent.
“I must walk. Stretch my legs,” he said.
“Walk in your quarters.”
“I’m a guest, not a prisoner.”
“Your status is not for us to determine. Get back inside.”
“I must speak with Lamani-al-bon immediately.”
“Get back inside. I won’t tell you again.”
One tenth of one percent? He’d faced worse odds in his Cy-Ops career.
His arm blurred as he decked the guard on the left while swinging a kick at the other sentry, but the latter whirled out of reach. A photon blast hit Sonny square in the chest and threw him into his quarters to slam into the floor. Agony racked his body as the electrical current disabled his nanos and paralyzed muscle fiber.
Drool spilled out of his mouth as he twitched.
The sentry stepped on his hand, ground it under his boot, and peered down at him. “Don’t try to escape again. The next shot will be set to kill. Your behavior will be reported.” He kicked Sonny in the ribs and left the room.
So, fact one: Kilead had cyborgs on his guard force. Nobody but a cybernetic organism could move so fast.
Fact two: He was indeed a prisoner, not a guest. There would be no strolls among the dunes or hala sightseeing tours.
Fact three: Kilead viewed him as a threat or at least had some inkling he could be one. Why else would he have put a cyborg on him?
Conclusion: Getting out of here would prove tougher than they’d thought.
Second conclusion: They had no time to waste.
Amanda! Report!
The painful needles jabbing his muscles indicated the paralysis was receding, but he still couldn’t move. Nanos, scrambled by the blast, hadn’t recovered yet.
His situation couldn’t compare to what Amanda was experiencing. Why did she have to be so stubborn? It was almost like she had something to prove. Would she really go through with it? Let the terrorist touch her? Let him fu—
Don’t think about it.
He had to block out what she might be doing.
What happened on Darius 4, stayed on Darius 4.
It hadn’t. The sensations of how she’d felt against the wall, her body clenched around his, bit at him when he could least afford the distraction. Like now. As muscles seized, a fusillade of memories bombarded him. Her smiles. Her smartass remarks. The tightness, the wetness. Her smell seeping into his bones, her whimpers of ecstasy, her kicks urging him on.
Their encounter had been hectic, yes. Furious, yes. Fast, yes. But perfect, oh yes. Sex had never seemed so right. And somewhere along this ill-fated journey, he’d begun to care for her. He admired her strength, her courage, the way she stood up for herself. Even the way she defied him and refused to listen. It pissed him off, but he respected her for it. Their night could have been the start of something.
Except, it had been all right. Not bad.
Had it been the mission motivating her, or had she developed another itch? Maybe Kilead could do a better job of scratching it than he’d done. Jealousy churned his stomach. He clenched a weak fist and ground his teeth. Forget it. Forget her.
She could fuck every man on Lamis-Odg. It had nothing to do with him. She was a cyberoperative, his team leader, to get technical. His function was to provide the muscle while she got the intel. Do your job. Cancel the emotion.
While he had developed feelings for her, he didn’t register a blip on her screen. The only thing he’d rated had been a not bad. She couldn’t have made it plainer she didn’t want more than one night.
He’d wished he could blame his obsession on the photon blast but couldn’t. Preoccupation had come before his infuriating, stubborn partner had marched off for a private session. But, paralyzed, unable to do anything but think, he’d confronted the truth: he hated her plan because he couldn’t tolerate another man touching her. She’d burrowed under his skin. It wouldn’t have mattered if Kilead had been a Xenian, a Terran, or another cyborg. Sonny wanted her for himself.
Damn her!
Chapter Eight
Kilead keeled over, and Amanda lowered his body to the floor. Nanos rushed to calm her thumping heart. She watched as his erection wilted. That was a close one. In retrospect, she may have been a tad hasty in spurning Sonny’s protection. If Kilead hadn’t passed out, their date might have gotten ugly. She’d do almost anything to save the galaxy from tyranny and terror, but she drew the line at sleeping with the enemy.
I might owe Sonny an apology.
She’d miscalculated how long the alien could last under the influence of Cerinian brandy laced with a double dose of Loquitol. Truth serum. The chemical relaxed critical cognition and hindered the ability to separate and maintain contradictions while enhancing vulnerability to subliminal suggestion. Besides depressing higher reasoning, it depressed alertness, causing the individual to eventually fall asleep.
Kilead muttered something unintelligible, and she knelt beside him. She brought her mouth to his ear. “You were wonderful,” she whispered. “Potent. Masterful.”
Beneath closed lids, his eyes moved rapidly, and his slash of a mouth curved into a smirk. “Fucked her. She loved it,” he muttered. Even nearly unconscious, he was a disgusting pig.
“But, she isn’t
the appropriate mate for you. She’s not what you need, what you like.”
“Not good enough,” he muttered. “Must dispose of her.”
Whoa, stop the shuttle!
“You want her alive.” Her pulse raced. “She gave you the best night of your life. She fucked your brains out.”
“Fucked my brains out,” he repeated. “I’ll keep her.”
She sat back on her haunches. This wasn’t working—or it was working too well. The serum had made him too suggestible. He leaned whichever way she directed him, but his actions were still filtered through his culture and belief system.
Amanda whispered in his ear, “You were great in bed. Virile. Powerful.” He nodded, thin lips curving. By morning, there needed to be no doubt in his mind she’d aced his little test. “She pleased you—as much as a female could. But, now that you have tested her, she is no longer pure. You must have a virgin as your mate.”
“Yes,” he murmured.
She hated reinforcing the sexism, but getting off the planet alive took precedence over ideology. And getting the intel to Carter.
“You intend to send her and her brother Tetric back to their space station tomorrow.”
He frowned, the Odgidian ridge pulsing. He gave a little shake of his head. “No.”
What had been his intention then? Imprisonment? Execution? A chill traveled down her spine. Had he ever planned to let them go? He’d never seemed suspicious of their disguises. By all indication, she and Sonny were pure-born citizens—and yet, he would eliminate them as easily as he would target the enemy. How quickly hatred and tyranny could shift sidewise and be directed against one’s own people.
“They represent no threat to you. They are harmless. You feel generous towards the female who served you well and towards the male who brought her. And you are so wise. After you send them back to their space station, Sumara will spread the word how virile you are. Females will desire you, and men will desire to be you. You will bring glory to the Great One.”
“The visitors should return to their space station,” he mumbled.