TALON (RIBUS 7 Book 4)

by Shae Mills

  She furrowed her brow. She would have to consult Lakit at some point. It wasn’t that she wanted to be an emotional mess, but considering the magnitude of her loss, something was definitely amiss.

  Wandering into the workout area, she crouched down at the pool and stared at it for a long time. Finally, she stripped off her gown and eased herself in. She looked at the far end and set out to conquer it. She slipped through the blue easily, and when she touched the far wall, she stopped. Once again, she took a moment to thoroughly appreciate the Iceanean men’s strength. All of them had traversed the enormous pool as easily as she could a backyard pond. All of them had been able to submerge themselves at one end and effortlessly swim the entire length without further air, a feat she could never hope to accomplish.

  She smiled to herself. She could still use the pool to hone her own aerobic capabilities to a pinnacle, and for now, that was what she sought to do. She pushed off from the edge at a moderate speed, pacing herself lap after lap. She would continue until she was exhausted, today’s training goal.

  Talon removed his shroud and weapons and then sat at the pool’s edge, watching the pale-skinned beauty skim through the cerulean expanse.

  Unaware of his presence, she curled under the edge and kicked off to begin her next lap. Time passed, and her tempo began to slow. As she approached once again, her chest was heaving from the exertion. She reached for the edge and rested her head on her folded arms.

  “You did beautifully, little one,” came the soft, resonant voice.

  Chelan’s head popped up, and she looked directly into Talon’s eyes. “Jesus, you startled me.”

  He smiled warmly. “Sorry.”

  Chelan labored to soothe her banging heart while she studied him. It was his damn Imperial uniform that had rendered him nearly formless, its black-on-black material melding him into the shadows. He had allowed his long hair to fall freely, its pitch darkness partially concealing his bronze face. Chelan shuddered at the thought of being stalked by such a predator, but then, at one time, she had been. “How long have you been here?” she queried.

  Talon moved as if to stretch weary muscles. “Let us see… about seven laps, I believe.”

  “I am surprised you did not join me.”

  Talon looked down momentarily, and then his luminescent eyes lit on her. “I would have liked to, little one, but I will not ruin your swims anymore.”

  Chelan fell quiet, his words of contrition striking an unfamiliar chord in her. But she was jarred out of her thoughts as he stood suddenly and began walking away. “Hey,” she called to his back.

  Talon faced her. Chelan bit at her lip. “Where are you going?”

  “To work,” he said, and he turned away again.

  Uncharacteristic brazenness spilled forth from her before she could contain it. “Hey! I don’t mind if you join me.”

  Talon stopped in his tracks. He turned to her again, disbelief written plainly over his handsome features. Chelan felt excited and terrified at the same time. “I mean,” she said, “if you come for a swim, I don’t mind… just as long as you don’t touch me.”

  Talon stepped toward her slowly, his face now unreadable. When he was directly above her, he squatted down and studied her. Finally, Chelan could no longer stand the silence that accompanied his scrutiny. She looked away but was unwilling to leave the shelter of the ledge. Then she peered back up into his azure eyes. “Well?” she prodded.

  Talon’s expression warmed slightly. “Your invitation is appreciated, little one.”

  Chelan waited expectantly. “Yes, but…?”

  Talon stared out across the vastness of the pool, his mind toiling over his response. Finally, he looked back down at her. “It is best that I do not.” And he began to stand.

  Chelan’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm, her move shocking both of them. She looked at her white fingers clutching his ebony-clad wrist. Then he crouched back down, and Chelan retracted her grasp. “Why is it best that you do not?” she asked.

  Talon took a moment as he searched every part of her beautiful face. “It simply is,” he whispered, and he stood once again and headed for the Command Center.

  Chelan was perplexed, to say the least, but her all-consuming curiosity reigned over all else. She hiked herself out of the pool, grabbed her gown and then scurried to the shower room, berating herself the whole way for not having had the foresight to bring a towel. She quickly rubbed down her frigid flesh and dried her tangled hair. Then, slipping into her gown, she padded quickly into the Command Center. There she halted and watched as Talon stood before the now active main panels. His fingers tapped intermittently as he studied the 3-D displays before him.

  Chelan crept over to the stairs and sat down, her body still shivering from the cold. Once again, she found herself studying the massive man, a near carbon copy of her long-deceased mate. Then the interaction at the pool began to play through her mind, and she cocked her head. Maybe he was civilized after all. Maybe he could be sensitive and attentive. Maybe Lethiason was right. In a nutshell, no matter what path she took, maybe it was best that, on some level, she accept Talon.

  Then she shuddered, a sliver of revulsion stabbing into her. Instantly, she tried to shove away the preposterous thought, the very idea contaminating her mind.

  She took a deep and uneasy breath. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Talon continued to examine the display. “Putting the finishing touches on a perimeter check.”

  Chelan felt an unwelcome chill overtake her. Korba had been doing a perimeter check the morning after they shared their last love. Then he had been whisked away by his mission, their minds and bodies never to meet again. Her eyes narrowed. Korba should have been standing there doing the checks, not his barbaric brother, and her blood thickened.

  Talon glanced at her and smiled. But then his smile waned. He smirked at her. “What is wrong, little one?”

  Despite all the logic Lethiason had declaimed to her, Talon, she concluded, was still a loathsome creature, and she stared back at him, her jaw set.

  Talon shook his head at her and then looked back to the display. “Hurt that I did not respond to your offer?” he asked sarcastically.

  Chelan shivered, realizing that his mood could change as quickly as hers. “Where is Lethiason?” she asked sternly.

  Talon glanced at her. “Away. Indefinitely.”

  Chelan stood. “Where did you send him?”

  Talon scowled at her. “That is none of your affair, little one. Let us just say that a little tour of duty will give your raging hormones time to die down.” And he turned back to his work.

  Chelan was incensed. Earlier, she had almost liked him; now she despised him more than ever. Her fists were white with tension, her chest puffed with poorly controlled contempt. “Hormones? Is that what you think?”

  She waited for a rebuttal but none seemed forthcoming. “I want him back,” she asserted.

  Talon threw her a glance and then shut down the display. “For what purpose?”

  “For some stimulating company, plain and simple.”

  Talon shook his head almost wearily. “You have me for company, little one, stimulating or otherwise.”

  Chelan floated down the stairs and moved to face him directly. She needed to figure out the dynamics between them, once and for all. She needed to test his boundaries, no matter how dangerous the process. “But I do not want your company,” she stated.

  Talon smiled deviously. “You will.”

  Chelan went to speak, but he turned from her and started up the stairs toward the hidden chambers, her private chambers… Korba’s chambers. “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  Talon did not stop. “To have a long soak in the tub.”

  Chelan was momentarily taken aback. Her private room was her sanctuary from everything Talon represented. It was her last link to the past, uncontaminated by the present. It was her sanity. “You stay out of there!” she called out.

  Talon
ignored her and continued on, undeterred.

  Chelan’s mind clouded with enmity, and before she knew it, she had skirted back to the hidden panel. In a fraction of a second, it opened to her practiced touch. Chelan grabbed the two knives. With her right hand, she aimed and let fly. The knife sailed through the air, directed with pinpoint accuracy acquired through years of precision training.

  Talon began to turn, his unsuspecting move saving his life. But the knife still hit its target, sinking deep within his left bicep. Chelan deftly shifted her second blade to her right hand, unwilling to chance a throw with her left. She drew back her arm but then hesitated. She caught the surprise and horror that registered on Talon’s face, and she froze.

  Talon looked from the deadly woman to the knife whose blade had sunk into his hard muscle, the shock of the injury staggering him momentarily. Then he looked back at the little alien, her body poised with lethal intent.

  Chelan stared at the motionless man before her. His eyes studied her, but his features were now unreadable. His chest began to rise and fall in slow, deep breaths as he peered back down at the blade in his arm. Slowly, with one hand, he undid his jacket. He pulled his good arm out of the sleeve and let the jacket hang from his left shoulder. Carefully, he slid it down his injured arm as far as it would go. Then, pulling it forcefully over the knife handle, he let the jacket fall to the floor.

  Chelan watched with alarm as he grasped the knife handle, his muscles straining in testament to the strength that it took to pull the blade from his bicep. Brilliant, red blood surged forth, coating his arm and hand. Then he looked back at her, his eyes aflame, and her heart stopped.

  “Go ahead, little one,” he growled. “Mark your target. Finish the job.”

  Chelan felt her stomach turn. Then her mouth dried as he straightened and took a step closer. He raised the bloody knife to her. “Come on, little one,” he taunted. “You have wanted my death since the day we met. I hereby grant you your opportunity, my body exposed for your ease.”

  Chelan felt sick. She looked at his wound, his life’s blood spilling at a terrifying rate. The pool of red at his feet seemed to spread right before her eyes. But now was her chance. This was not the time to fold. Slowly, like a cat coiled to spring, she circled him. Yet still, he did not move.

  Finally, she came around behind him, her confusion mounting. She knew she could not strike him again from the front—she had seen Dar and Korba snatch knives from the air. But from behind, she had a chance, and he was offering it to her.

  Chelan’s heart was pounding in her chest. She stared at his back and then watched as the blood dripped off his fingertips. Suddenly, she jumped at the sound of his voice, his timbre now soft.

  “Come on, little one. Do it. Or would you prefer that I stand here and bleed to death?”

  Chelan’s hands began to shake.

  “Come on, little alien. I grant you the choice. I will even direct you. I know you cannot kill me from the front. You could not bear to look into my eyes as you strike the fatal blow. But from behind, you could succeed. Drive deep into either kidney. If the blade does not kill, the shock will.”

  Chelan suddenly had to swallow to keep her stomach contents down. Never in her life had she struck out so viciously or so violently. Indeed, she had never been sure she could, not even against Talon. Now the shock and the horror of what had just occurred slammed into her and made her dizzy.

  She lowered her arm and stumbled back through the doors to her chamber and into the en suite. With hazy vision, she gathered towels and cut them in strips with her knife. Then she dropped the knife and steadied herself on the vanity. She tried to calm herself, sure that she would meet her own blade when she returned to the Center. She heard herself sob, and then she straightened.

  Gathering the strips and draping them over her arm, she walked out on unsteady feet to the bedroom and gasped. There he stood, his eyes ablaze, his body motionless, the bloody knife still held in his hand. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to get her bearings. Then she began shuffling toward him. She concentrated on his bronze chest, unwilling to look at the knife that could strike her dead at any moment. But he remained unmoving, allowing her to approach him unhindered.

  Chelan was nearly blinded by her acrid tears. She reached out tentatively, with trembling fingers to his chest and steadied herself against him. Then she stared at his wound. Her hands shook so badly that she dropped the first cloth that she attempted to grasp. Clinging to a second, she pressed it hard onto his wound, nearly collapsing into him. She closed her eyes again and tried to catch her breath, but it came in inadequate spasms.

  Finally, she looked at the material, her fingers just as white, and her heart faltered. She watched the red stain grow along with her panic. She reached for another piece of fabric and pressed it on top of the first. She partially encircled his arm with both her hands and squeezed as hard as she could, praying that the bleeding would stop. She stared at his dark flesh, his body only centimeters from her face as she panted for air. Then she watched as his tips of long hair lowered past his pectorals, and she knew he was looking down at her. She shied her head from him, waiting for him to levy the fatal blow.

  Talon could smell her fear, and he watched her tiny body shiver with tremors so violent he wondered how she remained standing. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision and his senses. Never in his life had he been wounded thus. No adversary had even come close. He had vastly underestimated the deadly potency of the little alien, the speed and accuracy of her well-trained throw stunning him.

  He looked down over the top of her head, taking the time to register the other scents that permeated her flesh, her fear mingled with sweetness, terror entwined with a distinctly feminine smell that was uniquely hers. Suddenly, he admired her—her guts, her fortitude, her determination, and, most of all, her lethalness. Then he sucked in a deep breath, succumbing to the truth he had kept so deeply hidden: he desired her, not just out of lust, but for herself.

  Chelan watched the second cloth with trepidation, but it remained white. Quickly, she grabbed a longer length of towel and began to bind his arm. As tightly as she could, she cinched it up and knotted it to hold the fabric fast to the wound.

  Then she flinched, the sound of the blade as he let it drop to the floor scaring her nearly beyond her ability to cope. She closed her eyes, her fingers but trembling whispers on his flesh. Then she felt his hand burrow in under her hair and around the nape of her neck. She took a deep breath and held it, his vise-like grip causing her to wince.

  “Look at me, little one,” he rasped.

  Chelan exhaled sharply, waiting for him to snap her neck. Then she glanced up through her tears and into his azure eyes. But they were not alight with fury as she had expected. Suddenly, she knew, despite her bleak situation, that above all else, she wanted to live. “Forgive me, my Lord,” she whispered.

  Talon stared down into her terrified eyes. Then he leaned forward and kissed her gently, his tender caress of her lips forcing her to stillness. He parted from her and then grimaced as he raised his wounded arm, his fingers tracing the scar on her neck and shoulder. His fingers feathered down and stopped in the middle of her pretty cleavage.

  Chelan looked down, her eyes suddenly filling again at the sight of his blood-drenched hand. Her trembling began anew. “Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded softly.

  Talon’s hand traced back up her flesh, and finally, he took a firm hold of her jaw. His lips found hers once again, his touch so soft. Chelan felt herself shiver, this time not so much out of fear as relief.

  She squeezed her eyes tight against all the chaos, the whole ordeal crippling her ability to sort through everything that was happening.

  Talon took his time, savoring every bit of her honeyed mouth. Finally, he withdrew. He looked down into her wide eyes, his bloody fingers still holding her firmly. “I leave you to your knives, little one.” His voice was deep and low. “Use them wisely.” He hesitated, his slippery
fingers once again running down her slender neck. “But do not use them on me again, or next time I will not be so forgiving.”

  Chelan suddenly felt weak, and her body caved in upon itself. Then his powerful arms surrounded her, hugging her tight and supporting her. She felt his breath on her neck, the palms of his hands pressing into her flesh. She closed her eyes and inhaled his heavy male scent, an intoxicating elixir that caused her to senses to heighten and to sharpen. Suddenly, her new path was clear. She needed to live; her Warlords would have wanted her to. And she needed to live her life with purpose. It was obvious that this man was not going to grant her her absolute freedom. This was her new reality, and she had to make the best of it. To do that, she had to accept the warrior before her in some capacity. From him, somehow, she would extract her life’s purpose.

  Talon held her for a long time and then pulled away. He nodded to her once and simply left.

  Chelan watched the doors close. Then she looked down at the blood-spattered knife and the trail of red behind it. She held her hands at her chest and wept freely, once again thankful that he had spared her life.

  With tears finally spent, she set about cleaning up the blood until not a single drop remained. She took the blade she had used on him into the washroom and ran it under the water, mesmerized by the red liquid as it swirled down the drain. Then she eased out of her gown and set it in a sink to soak. Finally, she scrubbed it with every ounce of strength she had in her. When it seemed clean, she hung it to dry.

  Then she tended to herself, standing in the shower and allowing all Talon’s life’s fluid to wash off her body and from her tortured soul. Stepping from the water, she dried herself methodically.