Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  He confirmed Duster’s safety and took a moment to catch his breath, letting the adrenaline and testosterone recede. Feeling jittery and out of sorts, he stood from the main console and paced the bridge floor. Back and forth, he strode deep in thought for what felt like five minutes but turned out to be almost two hours.

  They wouldn’t know the full cost of human life for a few days, but he felt each sacrifice for the protection of his world. Duster didn’t have to be his conscience anymore as Mary, seeing his world through her eyes, reminded him of his past. In addition to being a pickpocket, he also spent time as a meatbag. He’d just been lucky in that he hadn’t died while so employed.

  As his pacing burned off the residual of anxiety, he found himself sagging with exhaustion. Part of him wanted to curl up to Mary in the cell and sleep, but it was too dangerous. Not that he feared the IWOG returning, but Mary herself posed the greatest threat. He didn’t think she’d kill him to commandeer the ship, but she would be sorely tempted to gain control. Given an inch, that woman would rip her way through miles.

  Refusing to underestimate her again, he wisely returned to base. Glaring daylight greeted his landing and polarized the windshield of the ship and his vision implants. Making his way to the cell in the back, he found Mary curled up, sleeping peacefully with her arms over her head, still bound in plastimetal cuffs.

  Her simple brown cotton skirt had pulled up high on her hips, exposing her legs. Even the bulky cast couldn’t detract from the sheer beauty of her coltish limbs.

  The cotton shirt with the large black buttons twisted around her torso, giving him teasing hints of her pale flesh. Two black buttons pulled part of the shirt taut, opening the fabric to expose one coffee-colored nipple.

  Mary, oblivious in drug-induced sleep, with her skirt twisted up her gorgeous legs and her exquisite nipple exposed, didn’t stir. To see her reclined, reposed and so damn vulnerable…

  His erection came to life with a shocking vengeance as he peered at her through the bars. He damn near licked his lips. Captive, captor, mercy and Pyrrhic victory rolled through his mind like thunder as his cock strained against his thin black gi pants.

  Without thinking, he fished for the keys at the front of his pants and almost climaxed. Gritting his teeth, he went back to the bridge and got the keys out of his leather pants. If he’d been wearing them, he wouldn’t have been able to get the keys out of the pocket. He throbbed so fully primed he almost climaxed with each step he took in returning to the cell.

  She stirred when he opened the cage and uncuffed her. She moaned out a sleepy protest and wound her arms around his neck and shoulders when he picked her up. Warm with sleep, her body exuded a peaceful scent of vanilla, like fresh-baked sugar cookies.

  “Everything’s okay?” she mumbled to his neck.

  “Everything’s fine, my lady.” He kissed the edge of her ear, and tears threatened. Blinking them back, confused, he stood immobilized with her cradled in his arms. He heard his father’s words, “Toughen up, pansy, real men don’t cry,” and he fought his tears down. He understood his sudden urge to cry came from a compelling sense of relief. Those he cared most about were safe. Himself, Duster, but most importantly, Mary. For the first time in his life, he found himself more concerned about another’s safety rather than his own, or Duster’s.

  Michael had put Duster’s safety before his own on occasion, but this time, he’d put Mary’s above his own. Her trick compelled the IWOG to make this major assault, and he’d known she was dangerous when he’d taken her with him, but he hadn’t cared. More than anything, he wanted to keep her with him so he could keep her safe.

  She rolled her head away from his shoulder and blinked up at him with sleepy velvet-brown eyes. “I order you to kiss me, Commander.”

  When he did, his whole body charged with electric intensity. Her lips parted for his tongue, and her arms tightened around his shoulders. Standing in the cell, he spent a good five minutes kissing her until she began to drift back to sleep.

  He wasn’t insulted by her lack of response but pleased by her deep-down trust in him, and a bit chagrined, because the drug in her bracelet was partially responsible for her relaxed state.

  As he carried her into House, his guards held open the doors so he didn’t have to crash through them. He nodded to them, seeing his relief mirrored in their eyes. They had loved ones too, and they’d all just survived the most pressing IWOG attack to date. Michael knew his people would find their own way to celebrate the sheer joy of survival.

  Making his way to Mary’s bedroom, he ordered House to open the door and barely turn on the lights. A golden glow filled the room. Peaches and hyacinth wafted in the air. Carefully placing her within the cool silk sheets, he tried to unwrap her arms.

  “No.” She clutched him tight. “You stay here.”

  Exhaustion didn’t dampen his rampaging testosterone. One deep breath of her filled his mouth and nose with vanilla sugar cookies. One deep breath of her filled his already straining black gi pants to bursting.

  “Mary, you should sleep.” He pulled her arms forcefully away, and when she frowned, blinking at him, she exuded a smoky essence of flowers.

  “I order you to get into my bed, Commander.”

  Grinning, he looked down at her insistent face. “I’m probably going to regret this, but what makes you think you’re still in charge?”

  “This.” She lifted her hand and cupped him through the thin black gi pants.

  A great groan escaped his chest when she squeezed gently.

  “Come to my bed, nameless man.”

  Commander slipped into the bed beside her but refused her advances with whispered protests. He spooned up to her back, and she fell asleep.

  Pain woke her, and he propped her cast-bound leg on a few pillows. He offered to get her pain meds, but she declined.

  “Just stay with me.”

  Safety settled around her with his embrace, like a cuddly blanket, soothing her back to sleep.

  Hours later, three short beeps, a note of silence, followed by three short beeps, broke her peaceful slumber.

  Commander rolled away from her. “What?” He sounded exhausted.

  “Is Mary with you?” Duster asked.

  Duster wouldn’t say much of anything if he thought she was listening. As much as she admired his paranoia, it annoyed her too.

  Commander left her bedroom without a word, and she found herself a little relieved, because she couldn’t remember exactly what happened yesterday. She remembered being on a ship, but everything after that was fuzzy.

  She spent several days alone, making everything she could think of with the origami paper he’d given her. She tried to read but constantly drifted off into fantasies about him. Vivid daydreams made her wet and her clit throb. Unable to locate the cameras in her room, she barely refrained from soothing the ache with her own hand.

  “I can do that to myself, thank you very much,” she mumbled. She would like to. Very much. But she didn’t want to give Commander a ringside seat. Or maybe she kinda did. What would happen if she just flopped back in the bed and boldly took care of business? Her face got hot just thinking about such a display.

  By gritting her teeth, she managed to keep her hands occupied with the origami paper rather than the screaming needs of her aching body.

  Late on the third evening, Clara presented her with a box. When she removed the lush paper, she found a simply cut pine-green silk shirt, matching skirt and black lace underclothes. Her eyebrows drew up. She wasn’t sure what to make of his gift, but after taking a bath, complicated by the fact she had to keep her cast-bound foot dangling over the side of the tub, she dressed herself in the beautiful outfit.

  Dardinian silk rubbed her flesh like a thousand hot breaths, and she now understood why he preferred this to all other fabrics. She wondered if she could handle being in charge of him, or if he would even offer the option again. He must have something in mind. Why else would he give her these luscious clothe
s? She had only ever dreamed of wearing something so sexy and delicate. Sadly, the panties wouldn’t fit easily over her cast, so she left them off.

  After a strong knock, her bedroom door opened.

  “Ready for dinner?” Commander stood dressed in black trousers, black jacket and a red silk shirt. His feet were bare. He had such big, tan, strong feet. Christ! Even his feet are sexy. He was indescribably handsome dressed up, but all she could think of was how to get him out of his clothes.

  As they ate, she imagined watching him remove his jacket, his shirt and his trousers with hypnotizing grace. She imagined the scene vividly. His gaze burned with an intensity that she could feel, as if every glance were a sweeping caress along her skin. She fought to keep her head and managed to engage in casual conversation that quickly faded. In the end, she couldn’t really remember what they’d discussed, only that his rumbling voice had aroused her.

  After dinner, he walked her to her bedroom door and left her with a kiss on the back of her hand. Sweet, romantic and utterly frustrating.

  “I forgot to thank you for the gift,” she called to his retreating back as she balanced on her crutches.

  He faced her. “That shade of green suits you.”

  “There was a problem.”

  “Indeed?” One sleek eyebrow rose.

  She paused for effect. “I couldn’t get the panties on over my cast.” He’d confessed her panty-less state aroused him so…

  His gaze dropped to her hips. His eyes widened as he considered the full implications of what she said. “Anything else you want to tell me before I go to bed?” His voice sounded as strained as his face looked.

  “Don’t you want to know if the camisole fits?” She tried to keep her voice casual. “I could show you.” She proceeded to unbutton the shimmering pine-green shirt.

  He watched her pop the first four buttons before he stopped her hand. “I’d rather make the discovery myself.”

  Confused, she watched him button up her shirt. “What is it with you? You want me, then you don’t. I’m willing to toss up my pretty dress, but now you don’t want it. You waltz me through this big, huge production tonight, then reject me at my door.”

  “Not at all.” He fastened the last button.

  “You wanted my surrender and then when I give it, you don’t want it. Christ! I guess I need you to draw me a map, because at this point, I’ve got no idea which way is up.”

  “I’m not rejecting you. I’m trying to slow this down.”

  “Why? Oh, wait, I get it. Play me like a donkey after that carrot, right? You think I’ll stick around in the hopes you’ll eventually do me.”

  “That’s vulgar and you’re paranoid. I’m not playing a game with you. I’m trying desperately not to play a game with you.”

  “What do you want from me? You once offered a deal of give out or put out. Information or sex. I’ve told you everything you want to know, and in the same breath, I’m admitting that I want you. So you get both. But now, you don’t want either?” She was so confused she wanted to scream.

  “I want you to want me,” he said gently.

  “I do!”

  “When I take you to my bed, I don’t want any man in your mind but me. I don’t want you thinking of your past lovers, I don’t want you thinking of Overlord.”

  “I swear, I never should have told you about him! Let me make this abundantly clear, Commander. Despite what you’ve heard, I’ve never taken any man into my bed, so you’ll be the first and only!” She couldn’t believe she’d just blurted that out. Mortified, she covered her face and tried to run into her bedroom. She stumbled over her cast and crutches, sprawling on the floor. Embarrassment, humiliation and frustration overwhelmed her. Despite biting the inside of her lip, she burst into tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Stunned, Michael sank to his knees beside her. He had seen her defiantly rage and silently cry, but to see her sprawled on her bedroom floor, crutches cast aside, gasping in tears, broke his heart. Her mortified humiliation smelled like ancient parchment.

  “Mary?”

  “Please leave.” She rolled away from him.

  “No.” He picked her up and carried her to her bed.

  Once there, she buried her face in the pillows. Her back shuddered and heaved as she tried desperately to stop crying. Clenched tight, her fists mashed into her face as she swore in a hissing torrent. She hit twenty languages before he reached out to her. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she winced away.

  “Don’t.”

  He curled up to her back and wrapped his arms around hers. Pulling her hands from her face, he settled his head close to hers on the pillow. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “I’m not hurt. I’m fine. I want to go to sleep.”

  “Fine.” He flung off his jacket, snuggled closer and pulled the covers up, tucking them around their bodies.

  “Not with you here.”

  After the IWOG civilization attempt, she’d begged him to stay. Now she wanted him to leave. He smelled vanilla sugar cookies tainted with citrus and compost.

  “Please don’t send me away.” He’d go if she insisted, but he didn’t want to, not after her startling revelation. No wonder her scent was so baffling. Mary, Mary, quite contrary was a lustful virgin. He felt like a prime bastard for launching full-out seduction attempts on an innocent, then toying with her response. He once again played quite a villain.

  “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know your name.” Rolling to her back, she looked up. “I don’t know mine, either, if you want to get technical.” An edge of defeat laced her voice. “All I know is I want you, whatever your name is.”

  “Michael.”

  “Your name is Michael?” She sounded so dubious he cringed.

  “My first name is Michael.” Via the mirror, he looked right into her eyes.

  “You wouldn’t just be saying that because Overlord’s name happens to be—”

  “Michael Parker.”

  “Yes, I know, that’s his name, and by an amazing coincidence your first name is—”

  “Michael.”

  “You wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “No.” He’d just told her exactly who he was, but he’d done it in such a way he rather didn’t. He wanted to tell her everything, but fear held him back. If he told her the truth of his identity, he didn’t know how she’d react. “I wouldn’t lie to you about my name or yours.”

  “Far as I know, it’s Mary. If that’s not good enough—”

  “Mary.” He nestled her close. “I don’t care what your name is.” But he did. Possessive and fierce, he wanted her name to be Mary Parker. The realization hit him hard. He’d never wanted to bind himself to any woman, let alone give her his name, but Mary wasn’t any woman.

  “You look like a Michael.” She stroked her fingers across his face.

  “Do I?” He’d never thought about it.

  “Yes. You look like…” Her voice faded away.

  “Do I look like the Michael you want?” He feared having to live up to a hero he could never be.

  She shook her head. “I never wanted you to be him. I wanted him to be you.” As if panicked by her honesty, she tried to cover. “I mean, you’re not him, but…”

  “What?” he asked gently, molding his body to hers.

  On a rush of breath and the poignant scent of honesty, she met his gaze in the mirror and whispered, “Please don’t be angry, but you look the way I always imagined Overlord would look.”

  “I’m not angry.” He drew her tighter to comfort her. A surge of protective arousal, a combination he was not familiar with, filled him.

  “Do I look like Kraft?” she asked hesitantly, exuding a tang of fear.

  “No.” He snuggled his face to her neck, breathing in the confusing mixture of her scents: anxiety, desire and curiosity.

  “Not a bit?” Her voice sounded younger than her years, almost childlike in her need for reassurance. He recognized the sce
nt, because he had it too. That need for attraction to be honest and not filled with baggage. Mary did not want to be a stand-in for Kraft. He did not want to be Overlord, yet he was.

  “No. You don’t look like Kraft.” He swept her hair from her face and kissed her tear-streaked cheek.

  “Describe her to me.”

  He paused, thinking back. Kraft was so many things, and he wondered how to convey her without hurting Mary. After a long pause, he pulled Mary tight.

  “Kraft stood tall, big, an Amazon. Thick, black, incredibly long hair to her ankles, but she always kept her hair plaited tight, folded in half and bound in black linen. I never saw her hair unfurled. She could use her braid like a weapon. Hell, her whole body was a weapon. Kraft favored black clothing and wore a long silver blade to her left hip. Kraft was six-three of dark and deadly Walkyrie.”

  “A serious ass-kicker.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not like that,” Mary said with quiet speculation.

  “No. You are so much more deadly because you look bright-eyed innocent, yet you carry an arsenal in your skull.”

  “You sound like you admire that.” She laughed, but her voice sounded a bit unsure.

  “I do.” By reading her scent, he understood at once that she needed both reassurance and overt desire. Pulling her tighter into his embrace, he kissed her ear. “Physical combat is one skill, but you use that skill in conjunction with your brain and your intuition. And that is far more deadly.” He cupped her face and tilted her chin until she looked into his eyes. “You are the most dangerous person I have ever known.”

  Mary blinked as if considering. “I doubt that.”

  “In almost every way imaginable, you’ve turned my world upside down. Trust me, no other soul in the Void could lay claim to that but you.” With one intuitive trick to escape him, she damn near toppled his empire, without even meaning to. He admired her, respected her and deeply desired her.

  “Not even—”