The image of her firm flexible nude body danced before his eyes.
God, to see that hair flare red as she groaned with completion. But an angry woman wasn’t agreeable. To run my palms across the taut nubs of her nipples. Time to go and get back to the basics with my dark and dangerous psychic chick.
“You have 3 earth hours before you transmute into a were-assassin, Straightarrow.”
Tick. Tick. Like I couldn’t tell with this hard-on. I’ll probably drown in my own sweat before we reach the planet. Let’s get this damned fiasco over with.
* * * *
Bright lights bore through Kindrist’s eyelids where she laid upon a soft surface as if the annoying light tried to sear her eyes shut like a laser beam.
A dull pain throbbed in her right side.
The familiar sound of air swooshing through the ventilation system whispered a strange promise of peace.
At least, she was on a ship. Hopefully, Goro’s. Peace and pain added up to the infirmary. Why? She tried to rub the annoying light from her eyes.
A presence pushed into her mind. “Red Trekaar?” Goro asked in mindspeak.
The man with answers. “Where am I?”
“You’ve been out a few earth days.”
What of Jake? “What happened?”
“You said your attacker wasn’t Straightarrow at one point when you came to. Is this true?”
Gods, what was he talking about? “I don’t remember. But he wouldn’t risk the safety of his child. Not the man I chose to mate.”
“He left you as much blood as he could.”
Damn the conniving universe. “Left?”
“He’s on mission to Gameddaron. With Paul.”
No. Between Paul and Sevra, Jake would be killed.
“Don’t worry. Sevra is here even though she didn’t want to send Paul on the mission with Straightarrow. Paul doesn’t pose as much of a threat.”
To Jake. Voldon will be hunting Jake’s ass down though. Paul will just end up dead by association. “And how long have I been unconscious?”
“Thirty-eight earth hours.”
Earth, the savior, bobbing in an endless sea of beings, unbeknownst to its peoples, offering the last survivor of a decimated planet hope with a soul mate, precious blessed life-giving planet, please see your offspring is as valiant as I thought him. Why did time feel like it would prove otherwise? To think the thoughts would be disastrous. Yet, every psychic knew the bad came with the good. Voldon’s actions proved that dichotomy. Teasing with promise, Earth was the tormentor. The Cause’s enigma.
“The child is fine, Kindrist,” Goro announced as if he had been probing her mind.
Fate of all fates, earth’s seed offered promise. She rubbed her flat belly. “But what of my soul mate?”
“If you can bring the child to full term, you and your soul mate will live for all eternity among the statuary on every planet in the free-thinking universe. Who could forget your success? Aside from infamy, Paul can’t bring Straightarrow down, Kindrist. Even his blood cycle is hours behind Straightarrow’s. Rest in peace now. I’m on my way to check on you.”
Something about resting in peace sounded like she was dead. Why? Because earth tormented The Seeker’s crew with earth metaphors. Jake had to return. She wanted him whole. Wanted to touch his hard gorgeous body. Wanted to engage in the complete Beast-Tamer ritual. Gods, just to spread my legs and let him ram himself into oblivion. Yes, the time approached where Jake would shift into were-assassin form. He would have the upper hand with Paul. But since Paul was chosen for were-assassin duty for a reason, he wasn’t one to underestimate a person. Especially since he could remote view.
Could Paul spy on Jake even now in transit? More so on Gameddaron? Could he inform Voldon’s forces of her soul mate’s location any moment Paul drew a breath?
And Goro ordered them both go.
After the Mawshwuc disaster, Goro needed a vacation from command to unravel his tangled thoughts. If they needed untangling. Just where was the rational man who taught her so much when life came to survival and revenge? But the ultimate vengeance was giving birth to the child of legend. Yes. Goro’s words were true. Now, Jake needed help.
But I’m supposed to sit tight and gestate.
I’m the person who should be with Jake. To protect him from what is loosely termed the infinite unknown to him. Not pupating.
And people speak of twisted destiny.
Destiny. The braided paths of opportunity leading to one’s demise tangled in one thorny bed. Only meditation could help her through this. And some of her mate’s blood.
* * * *
The blue planet rushed toward Jake until land drove away the water only to be pushed aside by an almost-golden savannah spreading in every direction. Forget endless herds of hoofed animals dispersing haphazardly from a helicopter zooming toward them in this picture. Nothing graced the grassy scene below. Especially Weatherford’s pod fighter. Where was the traitor?
A cramp shot another round of ache into Jake’s right hip.
Aside from my raging hormones, the long flight sucked inside this sarcophagus. My damned left knee hurting was the last straw. He lifted the aching joint.
His knee struck a hard surface.
Some twist of fabric pinched his crotch.
Great. He shoved his ridiculous honeymoon trophy to the left.
Dead in Hell being punished for lust. What a joke. Had Kindrist come around yet? Hopefully, she was uninjured and ready for some rest and relaxation via blood libation. Anything to tend to a damned hard-on.
Sweat beaded upon his forehead.
A wise man would think about something other than resetting the clock through rolling in the hay.
A tree dotted the rolling expanse.
Then another.
Where was this flying morgue planning to deliver The Cause’s zombie?
“We’ll arrive two kilometers from the fortress, Straightarrow. The stronghold lies on the other side of the forest.”
Was the computer psychic too? Probably so given the pod-fighter’s alien technology. And the computer knew all about the terrain. There waited a subject worth serious focus. “What kind of plants and animals will I encounter?”
“This planet has no indigenous carnivorous vegetation. However, the animals have been hunted to extinction.”
“Can we blame nature’s silence on the locals?”
“Voldon exterminated the wildlife.”
Leave it to Voldon to prove he cared for nothing. But what had Paul lied about to make an intuitive psychic’s gut flop? “So, I’ve got to worry about Voldon’s forces and Paul. Are there any sort of monitoring devices I should be concerned about?”
“The wildlife was terminated in an offensive maneuver to eliminate any confusion with mixed signals if something humanoid tripped a detection device.”
So, was Paul tiptoeing through the tulips? “And where’s Paul Weatherford?”
“He landed one kilometer west of the fortress. You’ll need the distance for safety. The odds you both will be detected are extremely low. Even better once you shape shift.”
Setting out in my inner feral skivvies with God knows what kind of measure of self-control wasn’t how a mercenary preferred to attack. Especially with a disgruntled peon and a comrade with questionable loyalties watching my back. The only way to beat Paul was to observe him before the transmutation. Goro’s approval or not. Surely an intuitive preference played a key role in the mission’s success. “Can you conceal my approach from Paul?”
“Pod fighters are capable of blocking their detection by other pod fighters. However, you are too fresh to this world and war. What would the purpose be to hide from your partner, Straightarrow?”
Did the computer just call me naïve with its calm voice? Talk about a voice of reason. Maybe one of those psychics back on The Seeker was controlling this pod fighter, talking to me under the illusion of giving the new sex-stud some freedom.
Cool sweat beaded o
n Jake’s brow.
The computer could stick its recommendations of caution. “All for precautionary means, computer. Please tell me when Paul lands, then block our approach.”
“Paul landed three earth minutes ago,” the computer announced. “I’ve disengaged all communication with the other pod fighter.”
Sweet. Now to find Paul. “What is Paul’s location?”
“One kilometer from the Voldon’s fortress.”
What about other precautionary measures? “If Voldon can’t detect this pod fighter or read my mind, how can he locate my body’s presence?”
“Touch nothing. Wind blows leaves along the ground. So, the devices stud the trees and rock surfaces to eliminate confusion. If you touch anything with your skin, your body heat will register on their equipment. Your boots will save you otherwise.”
I should have gone into ballet. Maybe Paul was the best man for this job. “You don’t happen to have any gloves?”
“No. Prepare for landing. Straightarrow, did you bring your mate’s blood for treatment once you return from your mission?”
“Yes. One syringe treatment. What do I do with it?”
A yellow circle blinked on before his eyes. “Please insert the syringe into the circle you now see.”
Hell, so much for counting on the use of civilized intelligence. A man shouldn’t be asked to put his life on the line without the knowledge of a lifetime secured in his pocket. But clothes would be the first to go once he shifted. And Kindrist was anything but safe. Adios medicine. He shoved the syringe into the provided target.
“Upon your return, I will administer your treatment. All you need do is quickly assume your in-flight position.”
Geesh. Like a wolf man can find invisible buttons. “Well, hopefully I’ll remember how to open this sardine can.”
“My sensors will detect your approach and open the cockpit.”
At long last, something would be easy. If only I can recall enough to blow the crystal to bits. Paul or no Paul, Kindrist would be safe. At least, Paul had seemed aware of what was going on in his wolf form. Time to tiptoe through the tulips in a grand were-wolf ballet.
By the time Jake stepped onto the forest’s crunching grass and leaves of the sparsely-vegetated under story, his gut was twisting.
And he couldn’t blame the sweat beading on his brow. Something wasn’t right beyond his blood lust. He leaned his head back into the pod-fighter’s cabin. “Do you have a reading on Paul?”
“One kilometer to the east. His biostatistics are registering high. He’s engaged in an abnormal activity.”
Great. Now to sneak up on a psychic guy who can astral project to establish my location. Surprise was a ludicrous waste of energy.
“You have two earth hours and three minutes before you shape shift, Straightarrow.”
Talk about wearing dynamite strapped to one’s chest. They could have given me a watch. I guess a timepiece was unnecessary given one’s body groaned with each passing second. He shoved off the ship’s hard metallic hull and turned to the wall of trees.
The sun hovered in behind him.
So the sun rose in the west. Time to find Paul. He took off in search of man.
The hike wasn’t bad since the tree trunks never grew less than a foot apart. The risk of setting off a detection device with a touch was minimal. But trying to hide held another layer of risk. There was nowhere to hide. If only his psychic power were invisibility. Forget ducking behind a tree or diving down to the ground with heat sensors everywhere.
Movement fluttered among the trees along the bowing forest floor.
He froze and scanned the wall of tree trunks.
A bare human arm waved and fell back behind a rise.
Rather pointed at something in the full canopy above what had to be a person. Since the psychic aliens he had met were all of the same physical appearance as humans, who knew what loitered among the gnarled tree trunks? No better time than the present to learn. He stepped carefully toward the spot.
“—coming.” A voice wafted upon the breeze.
Paul’s voice. Talk about an idiot mercenary. Any guard in the woods could hear the pansy’s words. The jerk would definitely sabotage the mission. Jake scanned the surrounding army of trees.
Nothing. Time to shut up Paul. He took a few more careful steps toward the fool.
The side of Paul’s face came into view. And the castle’s solid wall slowly materialized between the tree trunks beyond the man with each of Jake’s quiet footsteps.
The mercenary leaned where he sat against a felled tree trunk in his standard black-leather vest. Tweedle Dee rocked his head from side to side with his eye shut. “No.”
Who was he chatting with? Sevra? Or were they talking? Maybe having wet day dreams. Jake painstakingly took a few careful steps toward Paul to listen.
“Trust me. I can do it,” Paul insisted.
Jake’s gut flopped.
What now? Intuition could try to be a little clearer in times of duress.
Just what was the man discussing while obviously remote viewing? Probably just reassuring his wife, one who knew she’d chosen an imbecile, that he could survive this mission. Then again, did Paul realize he spoke aloud on his psychic adventures? And what if the idiot tripped a sensor while talking with his limbs? Someone had to inform the fool about his waving and chatting. Jake took a step.
Paul raked his fingers through his brown hair, sat upright, and shook his head.
Well, at least the idiot would pay attention to where he laid his palms now. “Paul,” he blurted in a somewhat muted voice.
Paul’s gaze whirled to Jake. “Shh,” he hissed.
Okay, that’s the pot calling the kettle black.
Paul waved him over.
Time to pretend to be an idiot for survival and mission success. He cleared the space in a few steps and knelt beside the scowling Paul. “Any tips on how to handle what first?”
Paul turned toward some massive white walls beyond the distant tree line. “Let’s work with the structure appears topside, surface. I counted five sides before I landed. The glass ceilings sparkled like blinding diamonds. But I spotted the sharp peaks of two crystal transponders. They’ve got to have a subterranean system underlying a decoy surface system.” Paul chuckled. “Leave it to Voldon to set up a compound unit that might trick us into thinking we’ve knocked out the works without checking underground. But we don’t want to bank on my hunch. For now, we’re taking out a surface neural network.”
Whatever. What about time? “How will we know the difference?”
Paul shot Jake a steady gaze. “We’ll have to make certain whatever’s down there is destroyed. No matter how deep Voldon buried or concealed the mechanism.”
Jake’s skin itched like it was about to fall off.
Forget beating the clock in human skin. Maybe Paul had been discussing the unusual fortification features with Sevra? But intuition warned otherwise. “When will you shape shift?”
“Almost three hours.” Paul stretched his arms overhead.
How had they managed to have almost identical blood cycles? “Okay, you’re the seasoned pro with this kind of game. What’s your plan of attack?”
“Wait until we shape shift.”
Predictability obviously shot out the window in waging war beyond earth and attacking nurseries. “And you trust me in a form I’ve never experienced?”
Paul sighed. “You’ve got to believe me when I say you’ll know what’s going on. The free-thinking universe is counting on our element of surprise. And our unnatural were-assassin strength.”
Someone needed to shove his explosive fistful of bullshit up his ass and strike a match. Trusting what one’s gut rats on can’t prove anything but disastrous. Especially when I have no idea what my brain will do in animal mode. “So, what do we do until the big moment?”
“Find the best place to scale the fortress’s walls.”
No ropes. The man probably hints at our use of cla
ws. This should be fun. He scanned the long thick bulwark of the almost adobe-looking psychic castle.
“Here’s the plan,” Paul began. “You go left. I’ll go right. If you find some duct tunneling under or through the wall, follow it into the interior. We might encounter one to two dozen psychics inside. There’s no need for Voldon to man these fortifications beyond that number. And they don’t need guards with the forest bugged. We’ll either find a way in and meet up in time to set the fireworks, or we’ll hook up again somewhere on the backside. Just get in before you shift if you can. Otherwise, it’s one giant leap over the wall and a whole lot of head-ripping once you get inside.” Paul winked.
Decapitating Voldon’s slaves seemed pretty brutal. But leaping over that incredibly high wall was fascinating. “You can leap ten meters?”
Paul grinned. “I find you can do all sorts of crazy stunts when in were-form. Just call it liberation.” Paul winked.
Freeing the inner beast? Talk about a new perspective. Maybe I’ve had a bad one about my induction. Maybe I’m finally free enough to experience life at its fullest? Why am I not buying this rationalization?
Paul rose. “Let’s find an entrance and get off this rock.”
No way am I about to appear to assume command of the mission. Save my ass? Yes. Watch Paul at all times. You betcha gut. He followed Paul down through the trees and veered left as Paul veered right at the wall’s base.
Hi ho. Hi ho. Forget ass-wasting whistling and humming. A breathing body won out over the simple presence of an ash pile any day.
A wave of hunger shook his knees.
He struggled not to puke.
But the wind jangled the leaves on the trees.
Therapeutically. And the warm sunshine reminded him of earth.
Earth. A strange place that always seemed to push him away. Now the planet called to him like a desperate woman, begging him to change her flat tire. Triple A couldn’t resolve earth’s problem. Only Super Straightarrow. And his little peon. How in the Hell did I get dragged into this nightmare?
Skhye Moncrief - [Feral 01] Page 17