by Cynthia Sax
The female chattered about nanocybotics and viruses. Astrid watched for possible threats and noted the route they took. Medic Tifara and Death wouldn’t always be there to lead the way.
They entered a chamber, the doors opening and then closing behind them, and her jaw dropped. The space was massive. There was a shooting range, fighting rings, even virtual battles. Warriors bellowed and grunted, beating each other, throwing kinfolk over their shoulders, flinging battle-axes, swinging swords.
“I never knew a place like this existed.” It was a haven for beings like her. She inhaled. Even the smell, a mixture of blood and projectiles, appealed to her.
“Death and I will give you a tour.” Medic Tifara’s tone was flat, her enthusiasm for the offer low.
“There’s no need for you to do that, Death’s female.” A familiar voice said behind them. “You can return to your precious laboratory. I’ll give Astrid Ragnhild, the Buoir Berserker, the tour.” Truth, Vengeance’s never-serious warrior friend, winked at her.
The medic looked in her direction. “Do you prefer that?”
Medic Tifara clearly preferred that. Astrid smiled. “I prefer that. Truth is on my list of cyborgs to kill.”
“I like this female.” The D Model laughed.
“I like her too.” The medic turned, her small fingers in Death’s big palm. “We’ll see you next planet rotation, Astrid.” The doors closed behind them.
The two huge C Models didn’t leave. They crossed their arms and gazed at Truth with hostility.
“I have escorts.” She shared that obvious fact with the cyborg.
“I’ve observed that.” He grinned. “Your escorts have transmitted the commands they were given. The most notable one being to beat into the floor any male who touches you.”
“Beating other males into the floor won’t be necessary.” She cast a hard glance at them. “I’m a warrior and I can protect myself. Tell your leader that.”
Their eyes, so similar to her male’s, blazed with energy.
“Vengeance is wrong about many things, but he is right to protect you, Astrid Ragnhild, the Buoir Berserker.” Truth’s voice softened. “Many warriors want you for their own, would fight to claim you if you were alone. Not me.” His gaze met hers. “I believe my female is out there, and I must be true to her.” While his tone was breezy and light, she suspected the warrior was deadly serious about his vow. “Or she will attempt to kill me as you attempted to kill your male.”
“Call me Astrid.” There was no need to use her full name. “And I could have succeeded in my attempt. I spared Vengeance’s lifespan at the last moment.”
For that, she would always be grateful.
“We’ve seen his finger.” The warrior’s grin returned. “I look forward to fighting against you in the mock battles.”
The mock battles excited her. “Before I fight, I want to familiarize myself with the weapons.”
She didn’t wish to be at a disadvantage, especially as she would be battling cyborgs on their home terrain.
“We can do that.” Truth walked through the space. She kept pace with him. Her escorts followed them. Other warriors watched them.
Right now, she was a novelty. It was often that way when she joined a new group of warriors. They would soon become accustomed to her, treat her like all the others.
“I understand the weapons don’t cause actual wounds, but the pain feels real.” If she was killed in a mock battle, the experience would resemble her actual death.
“The wounds are superficial.” Truth handed her a dagger. “They’re only skin deep.”
She examined the weapon, spun it in her hand, flipped it. “It’s a normal dagger.” She could dispense deadly damage with it, kill a being.
“The blade folds.” He took the weapon from her and stuck it into the back of his hand, driving it into his flesh up to the hilt. Blood gushed. He turned his hand over. There was no dagger tip, no wound on his palm.
“Does it hurt?” She scanned his face, was unable to detect any emotion. He sported that blank countenance all cyborgs seemed to have mastered.
“It hurts like the real thing.” Truth tugged the dagger out of his flesh. Rivulets of crimson flowed between his fingers. “The projectiles operate the same way—they cause flesh wounds only but inflict real pain. All of the mock battle weapons have been modified.”
“Do the weapons work on humans?” She retrieved the dagger, studying the blade more closely. There were faint lines in the metal, barely detectable fold marks.
“I’m checking the database.” Truth’s forehead furrowed. “Yes, it should work on you.”
“Good.” She’d test it. Now. Before she could talk herself out of that reckless action. She drove the dagger into her upper right thigh.
Pain surged through her. Yes, it felt real, too fuckin’ real. She pressed her lips together, suppressing her screams.
Blood spurted as she yanked the blade out of her leg. There was too much of it. Her head spun. She was human, not cyborg, didn’t have enough nanocybotics to immediately stem the bleeding.
“Gauze.” She pressed her palms against the wound, attempting to stop the flow. “I need gauze.”
A warrior held out a roll. Other males gathered around them, their expressions concerned.
“It’s nothing.” She wrapped the white gauze tightly around her thigh, her hands shaking. “This isn’t my first flesh wound. There’s no need to worry.”
“There’s no need for you to worry.” Truth was no longer smiling. “I allowed you to be damaged. Vengeance is going to tear my limbs off.”
“Vengeance knows I’m a warrior.” She looked at her C Model escorts, communicating they should relay that message. “Warriors are wounded in battle. We often deal with pain. That’s part of who we are.”
The males around them nodded.
Ideally, she’d take a moment to recover, but every warrior in the training chambers was watching her, judging her. These were her cyborg’s kinfolk, his clan.
If she wanted to be accepted, she had to suck up the pain, act as though nothing had happened.
“How do I erect targets?” She summoned a smile as she hobbled toward the throwing area, every step a torment. “I have to practice throwing if I want to inflict the agony I just endured on all of you.”
The warriors laughed.
***
She’d completed twelve throws, becoming more and more accustomed to the daggers, when the air around her changed. Her nipples tightened. Her pussy became wet.
Her cyborg had arrived.
“You’re supposed to be meeting with the council all planet rotation.” She didn’t turn around, didn’t glance at him.
If she looked at him, she wouldn’t be able to control herself. She’d throw herself into his arms and he’d view her as being weak, blame her for the failed test.
“You damaged your upper right thigh.” His voice was gruff. “You require my nanocybotics to repair yourself.”
She required his arms around her, his lips on hers. “I’m healing. Your nanocybotics haven’t yet faded inside me.” She aimed at the target, threw her dagger. It pierced the center, vibrating with a twang.
“You’ll heal faster if I tend to your damage.” He drew nearer to her, all of her senses tingling in anticipation.
“Vengeance.” Her resolve was fading.
“I vowed you wouldn’t be damaged.” His deep, dark tones swirled around her. “That included damage done to yourself.”
“Is that why you’re here—because of your vow?” She frowned.
“You’re under my protection.” He made tending to her sound like another task on his lengthy list, a chore, not a privilege. “You’re mine to safeguard.”
He had rushed to her side because of a vow, not because he was concerned, not because he loved her. His sense of honor was driving his offer, not his heart.
Her disappointment dampened her desire for him.
“I don’t need you to protect me. I
don’t need you to heal me.” She needed him to love her, to pull her against his hard body and profess that his feelings for her were stronger than everything else, stronger than his role on the council, his duty to his kinfolk, his pride. “I’m a warrior. I survived for endless solar cycles before I met you.”
That was all she had been doing—surviving. He had given her happiness, a sense of home, hope for the future.
“If that is why you’re here—to protect me, heal me, you should go. Return to the council chambers and make your important decisions.” She stared at the target, willing him to say he had come for her, because he missed her, cared for her.
An uncomfortable silence stretched, fraught with emotion.
He sighed, that sound pulling at her soul. “Don’t damage yourself again, human.”
Her body screamed a protest as she sensed him walking away from her. Despair swept over her, pulling her down, down, down.
She bowed her head for a moment, her shoulders rounding. This battle had been lost.
But she wasn’t giving up on him or their relationship. She straightened. “You’re an impossibly stubborn male.” She picked up another dagger, aimed, threw it, the placement perfect. “I will conquer you or die trying.”
This would be the fight of her lifespan.
Chapter Thirteen
Two planet rotations later, the yearning for his female had intensified so much, Vengeance questioned the functionality of his processors.
He sat in the council chambers alone, all of the other warriors having left long ago. The illumination in the space had been dimmed, saving resources, the shadows reminding him of rest cycles with his human warrior, the quiet times when she had slept and he had watched over her, awed that she belonged to him.
His need for Astrid was more than physical. He missed the sound of her voice, the sparkle in her eyes, the way she challenged him in every aspect, making activities interesting and different.
Although he realized it would exacerbate his situation, increase his need, he replayed in his processors footage from that planet rotation. His female tested guns in the training chambers, her feet braced apart, her stance strong, powerful, determination on her scarred face.
Too many males gathered around her, yelling advice, teasing her, their gazes too warm for his comfort. His transmissions brimmed with Astrid did this and Astrid said that.
The cyborgs viewed her as one of them, a fellow warrior, a being who had fought in the wars and enjoyed the battles as they had. Even the few female cyborgs remaining had befriended her, sharing tips on how to defeat their male counterparts.
He had tracked all of her interactions, had been unable to stop doing that. That his brethren could interact with her and he couldn’t, irked him. The presence of one warrior in particular turned his vision system red.
Power stood beside Astrid, his body too close to hers. He watched her with a predatory gaze, looking at her as though she was already his.
The E Model would die. Vengeance stood. He’d send the warrior to the Great Battle.
First, he had to devise a strategy to end the stalemate between him and Astrid. He moved across the chamber, out the doors, through the corridors, needing to see her, to reassure himself she was safe, was close, remained his.
The nanocybotics inside her weren’t fading. Death’s female had shared that information with the entire council.
He hadn’t needed to hear it. The connection was there, straining his circuits, pulling him toward his warrior female.
Even if she didn’t host his nanocybotics, there would be a link between them. There had been one since she blew up his ship. He’d been foolish to fight it.
Now, he didn’t know how to surrender. It was no longer about his pride. He would have swallowed his conceit during the first planet rotation of separation if that had been the solution. His place on the council, the esteem of other warriors meant nothing without his female.
The challenge was his female valued strength. She hadn’t admitted defeat. How could he? She’d view him as being weak, unworthy of her.
He entered their private chambers. The sleeping support had been installed, he noted with satisfaction. It had taken resources to locate one. It was a novelty item on the cyborg-dominated planet.
His female lay facedown on its surface, her eyes closed, her body tantalizingly naked. He loomed over her, took a deep breath. She smelled of aroused female and of him, only him. No other male’s scent tainted that delectable mix.
Vengeance removed his boots and his body armor, freeing his rigid cock, rendering himself as bare as she was. He’d been in a permanent state of hardness since they last fucked. His balls threatened to explode.
He surveyed his female’s sleeping form. The wound on her thigh had healed, hadn’t added a scar to her collection. His processors had nearly shut down when he’d viewed that footage. He had to run to her side, needing to determine the damage himself.
Only to be told he wasn’t required. She was a warrior and could survive without him.
She wasn’t surviving very well. His gaze lowered to her waist. She was thinner than she’d been when he’d first met her. He frowned. The separation was taking a toll on her. He’d leave more nourishment bars on the horizontal support.
She shifted on the sleeping support, revealing a hint of black under her neck. Curious, he crouched near her.
“What do you have under your body, my warrior female?” His voice shouldn’t have been detectable by her human hearing.
Yet she rolled onto her back, as though responding to it. “Cyborg,” she murmured, her lips curling upward.
She clasped his favorite sword’s black leather sheath to her chest, the long rigid form pressed between her breasts, cradled between her thighs.
“You’re a clever being.” He gazed at her with pride. She’d found a permissible way to connect with him. There would be no nanocybotics remaining on the object. Touching that item of his wouldn’t affect their test.
“Need.” Her lips parted.
He bent to capture them, yearning to taste her, then stopped when he realized what he was doing. Kissing wasn’t allowed.
And, if he pressed his lips against hers, he doubted that would be the end of their embrace. Kissing would lead to touching. Touching would lead to fucking.
“What do you need, Astrid?” He tortured himself by asking that question, knowing the answer.
She needed him and he needed her. Desperately.
“Need now.” His warrior female growled those two words, clutching her borrowed item tighter to her chest.
He shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other, aroused to the point of discomfort. Astrid, upset with his lack of response, was demanding he tend to her desires. Frag, that turned him on.
“Take.” She backed that word with action, rubbing the sheath over her body, stroking the leather with her fingers up and down, up and down.
He envisioned her hands on his cock, touching him that same way, and a rumble rolled up his chest, his passion for her building.
Her scent filled the chamber, teased his nostrils. Her wetness glistened on her inner thighs. Her body undulated, her soft skin beckoning to him.
The Humanoid Alliance had tortured him and his brethren, subjected them to unspeakable torment. He had survived that, silently, stoically.
He wouldn’t survive his female’s self-satisfaction. That wouldn’t be possible, not without finding some sort of release.
His female was pleasuring herself with an object of his. He could do the same.
Her garments were draped over the back of a chair. He grasped her ass coverings, wrapped that soft leather around his cock.
“Show me how you’d take me, my female.” Talking with her eased the ache in his chest. He missed her companionship, missed her.
She glided the sheath between her breasts, over her mons. He mimicked her action, fucking himself with her ass coverings. The leather warmed, smelled of her.
It wa
s no substitute for his female’s form. Nothing in the universe compared to her. She was everything to him.
“Vengeance.” His name on her lips made his cock bob. She was thinking of him, only him. He was the cyborg she was dreaming of fucking.
And she was the female running through his processors constantly. “Astrid.”
He leaned toward her. Her nipples were taut, tempting him to lick them, to squeeze her breasts around his shaft. She’d offer a token protest if he dared to do that, buck once or twice against him, try to unseat him, his female always pushing back, challenging him.
He loved that, craved it. The past planet rotations had been dull and dreary without her, an endless stretch of uninteresting tasks, predicable conversations. He’d been enduring, not living, counting the moments until the rest cycles, when he could see her again.
How could anything, anyone compare to the vision before him? His female’s long brown hair, loosened from her warrior braids, framed her face. Her lean muscles flexed. She bent her knees, tilting her hips toward the sheath.
“Fuck, yes.” She rubbed against the sword cover harder, branding the leather with her wetness, her scent.
He increased his intensity also, pumping himself faster, his pre-cum slicking the ass coverings, easing the slide. The garments would be cleaned. He always tended to her clothing, polished her boots during her rest cycles. But he’d add back his scent, brush the leather over his skin, before leaving the chamber.
She would smell of him. Every warrior would know she was his.
She belonged to him, only him. He’d kill any being who touched her.
“Fuck. Fuck.” She lifted her hips, ravishing the sheath, her passion invoking his awe, stimulating his processors. “Fuck.”
“Fuck.” He meshed his call with hers, coaxing her onward.
As her desire climbed, his did also. Pressure built at the base of his spine. His balls throbbed, shrieking for release. His pace matched her escalation.
Sweat beaded on his female’s skin, making her sparkle under the lights. She’d taste so fraggin’ good, like salt and arousal.
He curled his lips, baring his teeth, yearning to lave her curves with his tongue, bite her shoulder, mark her form, stamp his ownership all over her.