by Shona Husk
Hungry Touch
The Complex
Shona Husk
Contents
Copyright
Back Cover Copy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
About the Author
Excerpt
Other titles by Shona Husk
Copyright © 2016 by Shona Husk
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Back Cover Copy
The Complex Book Series.
A Lone Planet. One Complex.
Unlimited Chaos.
http://www.thecomplex.info
The small population of Incubi in the Complex is clinging to old traditions and shunning contact with other species. Each year, the Incubi fight for the privilege to lead and mate. Only one can win. Kearn Layk never planned on winning, only doing better than last year’s previous dismal result that left him at the bottom of the pack. A year’s worth of secretly training more than paid off. He shocks everyone and wins. In the process, he makes an enemy of the man who was leader. Now filled with the burning desire to find a mate, he goes in search of a woman.
Phoebe Evans came to the Complex to reinvent herself. Being surrounded by the Metas is as strange as it is fascinating, but she hasn’t had the courage to date one yet. Then she meets Kearn. He’s smart and interesting and most definitely not Human.
Incubi traditions and Humans desires clash, and as new ideas are tested, old enemies rise up and threaten lives. Not everyone wants to see the Complex succeed.
1
Kearn’s ley lines were glowing. They swept over his gray skin in brilliant blue smears. Most of the Incubi were illuminated, hyped up for the fighting. Those who had been injured in the earlier rounds were dull with disappointment, the blue fading into gray. He knew that feeling too well. This year, the energy of the crowd was making him stronger. He had people cheering him on, wanting him to win. The excitement of reaching the final round hummed in his blood. He’d been training for a year, but he hadn’t expected to get this far in the fight for breeding rights—he’d just wanted to avoid the embarrassment of being knocked out in the first round again.
He did not want another year of low status.
Or of putting up with Tavor as leader. As Kearn watched Tavor have a drink and get ready, Kearn was wondering if it was possible to beat him. No one had beat Tavor in six years. For six years, Tavor had won the breeding rights. With it came the right to be leader. This clan had followed Tavor into the Complex and had obeyed his will, even though not all agreed that they should be keeping themselves separate. The Complex was a big experiment, and they weren’t joining in and mixing with the other Metas and the Humans. It was a waste of an opportunity.
Tavor loved the old traditions. Referenced them all the time and used them to his full advantage. Kearn, on the other hand, didn’t hide away, only venturing out to feed. He liked to look around the Complex and meet the other Metas. There were aliens here he’d never seen before. But he had to be careful. If Tavor knew he was socializing, there would be trouble.
He rolled his shoulders and watched Tavor a little more closely. He was favoring his left arm and had injured his right ankle. Kearn wasn’t injury free either, but he was doing a better job of hiding it. He was sure a rib was cracked, because if he breathed too deep fire spread through his chest. His knuckles were raw, gray skin rubbed blue from all the fights.
Despite the training he’d done in secret, he didn’t think he’d get this far. He tried to keep the look of pride off his face even though he couldn’t keep the thrill from making his ley lines bright. There was so much energy in the room to feed on. He was sure he wouldn’t sleep for a week.
This ritual only happened on the shortest day of the year—while there was no shortest day in the Complex, only twelve hours of night and twelve hours of day, every day, someone kept count of the days so they would know when—and any Incubus over the age of twenty could compete. Not all did, some didn’t want to risk losing status. Scanning the crowd, it was easy to pick the higher status members, they were more muscular—a side effect from the hormones released during the fights. Tavor was the biggest.
Last year he’d been keen to prove himself and he’d failed. The muscle he’d put on had been through hard work, but he was still wiry, not built. That would change. His body was already changing, he was sure he could feel the surge in his muscles and lower in his pants. He was sure his phallus was already lengthening in case he got to breed.
This year the fighting was about proving he shouldn’t be on the bottom. No matter what happened next, he wouldn’t be on the bottom of the social pile.
He’d won all his fights to stand here. Beneath the energy of the watchers—everyone wanted to know who their leader for the next year would be—there was nerves. Tavor was known and familiar, but also an asshole. However, Kearn was new blood. Would he make a good leader?
He had no idea.
His plan hadn’t extended that far. Those who’d lost their first round fight were the lowest of the low, lower than those who had chosen not to fight, and Tavor made sure that everyone knew, and the losers weren’t allowed to forget it. Menial jobs for the leader, and the worst of everything. After a year of servitude to Tavor, now Kearn was facing the prospect of being the second in charge…or even leader with Tavor as his second. Neither was a great option.
Even from across the floor, Kearn could see the hate gleaming in Tavor’s eyes. He didn’t like that a lowly one had suddenly risen. Tradition was biting Tavor on the ass. Anyone could fight and change their status. How long until Tavor started losing, or would he stop fighting and go gracefully? Choosing not to fight was strategic, which was why those who’d lost their first round fight had lower status than those who didn’t raise a fist.
Whatever the outcome of this fight, Kearn was no longer at the bottom, which was a huge relief. He’d succeeded. He grinned and glanced at his friends. They gave a howl for him and slapped their hands on their bare chests. Even those not fighting were stripped down to just pants. He slapped his chest and grinned as fiercely as he could. With every fight he’d won, his body had been flooded with new hormones giving him extra strength and stamina, making changes.
Now that he was here, getting ready to fight for the leadership and right to breed, he wasn’t sure he wanted to breed…or lead. This was one of those things that had gone too far and now he was in too deep. Like when he’d gone to the night club to feed off the dancers and had accidentally started an orgy. He had been glowing for days after—and had been severely punished by Tavor.
They were supposed to slink, not be a spectacle. Like the old ways.
The Complex wasn’t one population where they could slip in and hide among the others, feeding off their emotions. Metas saw what they wanted to see when they looked at an Incubi. But the Complex was a mix of Metas and Humans, to see if they could all live together after years of devastating wars and too many deaths on both sides. By being reclusive, the Incubi weren’t participating properly.
The wristband warning everyone Incubi were parasitic didn’t help their social stand
ing in the Complex. Manipulating and feeding off emotions scared some people.
The bell rang. The official break was over. Tavor would make sure that was all that was allowed. Kearn took one last drink of water and stepped up to the edge of the circle that had been market on the floor.
An old Incubi spoke. “The final round of the fight for breeding rights. Tavor Varad versus Kearn Layk. Let the strongest win.”
The bell chimed again.
All Kearn could think about was winning. Not because he wanted to lead, but because he wanted Tavor not to have it. While he could feel every rise and fall of emotion, to feed he needed to touch. And so did Tavor. Neither of them had fed since starting to fight, and they were both depleted. Kearn was feeling the hunger, even though he was glowing.
He’d watched enough of Tavor’s fights to know that he liked to come in hard and low and get his opponent out of the ring. Some threw punch after punch. Kearn had gone to a gym and learned how to fight, and more importantly, how to study his opponent. He’d trained every spare moment he’d had—but at the same time, he hadn’t wanted anyone to know what he was doing. Tavor would accuse him of spending too much time with Metas. There had been the risk of being banished. Never able to compete, never able to be with his kind.
Some days, the fear had gotten to him and he hadn’t gone to the gym.
There was no fear today.
He wasn’t weak. And he wasn’t overconfident like Tavor, who tried his usual move in the opening seconds of the fight. Tavor went low and Kearn leaped over him, hooking an arm around his neck. He’d done it on instinct. He toppled back to the mat, taking Tavor with him, but didn’t let go. Choke hold—he hadn’t meant to pull this move. A punch to the face or an elbow to the back of the neck would have been better. Now he had to hold it on until he was declared winner. If he let go, Tavor would make sure Kearn needed urgent medical care before the fight was over.
Tavor struggled against him. Their bodies were slick with sweat, but Kearn fought to keep hold. He was not losing to Tavor.
The crowd became hushed.
Kearn’s blood pounded. It was more than the thrill of the fight. It was a primal response to the fighting. To winning. He applied extra pressure and Tavor’s struggles ceased.
He’d won!
A surge of heat flooded through him. It was a drug he’d never experienced before, and for a moment he sank into its warm embrace. Nothing hurt and he felt as though he could go another ten rounds if he had to.
The bell chimed.
He howled his win as he released the unconscious Tavor. People were talking, helping Tavor up and waking him up. Someone pulled him to his feet, then lifted him up. They were declaring him their leader.
The euphoria faded as reality throat punched him. He’d defeated Tavor. Tavor was going to be furious. But that wasn’t all.
He was their leader for the next year. And he had no idea what he was doing.
Worse, he had to breed…he’d never had sex, never wanted to, and while he knew what it was about, he had no idea what he was doing. As much as the Incubi liked to feed off sexual energy, they didn’t have sex for fun like other species. Only the one who’d won breeding rights had sex, and that was just to deposit the genetic material in the host.
He forced a smile as he was congratulated.
He wished he’d paid more attention to what people had been doing in the accidental orgy instead of feeding off all that glorious energy. That was when the hunger hit him, clawing through his body. His skin ached with the need to touch and feed.
While he could eat food if he had to, it wasn’t the same, and didn’t nourish him the way pure emotion did.
Tonight there would be a party in his honor, then he would go out and meet the host. What kind of Meta would he ask? While the child would be an Incubus, it would take in some of the mother’s DNA. That small absorption from the host kept the Incubi from being genetically weak clones. All the theory and science that he’d learned were becoming very real, and he wanted to dive into the experiment.
It wasn’t just hunger in his blood. There was something else. A desire that went beyond feeding. It took him a moment to realize that it was lust. It wasn’t just his body that was changing, it was something deeper.
A towel was wrapped around his shoulders. He was still being congratulated even as he left the area to shower and get ready to go out. Gradually, it was just him and an elder standing in Kearn’s room. He had no idea where Tavor had been taken. Is this where Kearn was told to step down and let Tavor lead?
Had that ever happened?
Winning hadn’t ever been part of his plan. Could he step down? Did he want to?
Kearn lifted his gaze and stared into the dark gray eyes of the elder.
No, he wouldn’t stand down. He wanted to lead. He wanted the Incubi to embrace the experiment that was the Complex and to explore other ways of living. He didn’t want to be chained by the old ways.
“Congratulations on your win, Leader Kearn.” The elder, Alroi, gave a slight bow of his head. “I will be your mentor for the next year.”
Alroi had been a leader once. He’d clearly volunteered to be Kearn’s mentor. With Tavor as his second, he was going to need help, and Alroi had been no fan of Tavor’s, though he had never gone against Tavor’s edicts.
Kearn nodded, but didn’t trust himself to speak.
“You have an interesting fighting style…different from last year,” Alroi said.
“I learned.” Incubi encouraged learning to fit in. To blend with the culture they were feeding off. Learning to fight was very borderline.
Before they’d moved to the Complex, Kearn had never seen a Human before. They weren’t what he’d expected. They looked like prey and had no powers. They were protected from the Metas’ powers by a device behind their ears, which meant that he couldn’t fool them into thinking he was one of them—an Incubus’s best defense. Nor could he manipulate their emotions. But he could still feed off their emotions if he was touching them.
The Human men at the gym had seen him as he was, and known what he was, which of course had led to the Metas in the gym no longer being fooled. But after training together for the last year, the men had a better understanding of what he was, and what he could and couldn’t do. They had stopped fearing him. For Kearn, that was as important as learning to fight.
He’d discovered that he liked being seen.
Alroi nodded. “It was time for a change. We came here for a reason, and Tavor has ignored that directive and tried to keep us separate.”
Tavor was afraid that if people knew too much about them, then there would be more fear and they’d be hunted down. Yes, villages had hunted them down in the past, the distant past. These days, though, they were just scorned for feeding and breeding parasitically. He really didn’t like being called a leech. The metal bracelet around his wrist was cold and heavy. His skin ached, his muscles burned, and something was most definitely changing lower down. There was a heaviness that hadn’t been there before. His body knew he was the winner.
In that heartbeat, he didn’t want to breed, even though this strange lust was slowly uncoiling through his body. Soon it would consume his thoughts until it was done. He was going to have to pick a female and have sex. She’d then carry the baby for six months. When it was born, it would be surrendered to the Incubi and a gift left for the host. Babies couldn’t fool their hosts, and no mother wanted a gray-skinned baby that looked nothing like them.
More recently, before coming to the Complex, there had been a registry set up where women could list their names, and the local Incubus with breeding rights would pay her to be a surrogate. It was all very civilized. But all Incubi knew their history. Wars had been fought when people had refused to allow any woman to host a baby. It is hard to fight an enemy that you see as one of you. While Incubi didn’t usually kill when they fed—there was no point when emotion was endlessly renewable—they could. Any village that had resisted had lost.
“When do I get to see the surrogate registry?”
“There is no registry in the Complex. That was an oversight our previous leader made. Have a shower, then I will tend your injuries.”
“Then how did Tavor find his hosts?”
“I don’t know, but we still have a surrogate payment fund and he has paid them. You will have to find a willing woman.” Alroi smiled. “No one can help you with that.”
Why had Tavor failed to set up a registry? Had the developers of the Complex not asked him?
Kearn stripped off, while Alroi laid out clean clothes for him. In the shower, Kearn inspected the changes that were already happening to his body. He was sure that his arm muscles were more pronounced. His chest too.
His phallus also seemed enlarged, the base thicker in preparation for breeding. His body was already making the blastocyst ready for implanting. He ran his hand over his phallus and a tremor of pleasure traced through his body.
He’d only have forty-eight hours to find a mate.
If he failed, there would be no child to carry on his line. Not all leaders managed to have a child. Those who didn’t never fought or lead again. Too many of the tribe’s children were of Tavor’s line. It was time for a change. And he was that change.
He smiled. For the first time since winning, he was glad that he had.
All he had to do now was work out how he was going to ask a woman if she’d like to be the host for his baby. That didn’t seem like the kind of thing that was brought up straight after meeting.
Phoebe poured the drink and handed it to the Meta she thought might be a Vampire. One of her staff had called in sick and now she was filling in and serving drinks. She didn’t work behind the bar very often. She managed the Uni Sip Three. That was the job assigned to her, based on her skills, in this giant experiment.