by Anna Carven
“Where is she? Can I see her?” He’s talking about Zyara, of course. At one point in time, my combat medic was pledged to House Sirian until I broke protocol and insisted she be assigned to the First Division. I do not understand the specifics of her relationship with Zharek, but he seems to have some sort of affinity with her, in the way a brother might fondly regard a favorite sister. After all, he was the one who asked me to rescue her from a life of shame and mediocrity.
“You cannot,” I say, keeping my answer succinct. “She is not on Silence.”
“What have you—”
I hold up a hand, indicating I will tolerate no further discussion on the matter. “She is safe. If you wish to learn more, you will do exactly as I say.”
Zharek blinks, the tariss-fog dissipating from his gaze. All of a sudden, he appears completely lucid. With a groan of effort, he sits up. “You obviously have need of my unique set of skills.” His lip curls in an expression of self-disgust. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t give a vorchek’s ass about me.”
“No,” I agree. I do not involve myself in the clan-affairs of others. Zyara rarely speaks of her former clan-brothers. When she joined us, she accepted a life of duty outside the boundaries of Kythia.
The First Division was a law unto itself, and she knew it. No strings, no attachments, no regrets. But now, everything has changed.
We are no longer without ties.
Zharek regards me with a baleful glare, but the spark of insanity is no longer there. “I won’t have anything to do with Exogenesis. Not now, not ever again.”
Anger wells up inside me, fierce and uncontrollable, like a sudden atmospheric storm. My temper snaps. “You will obey me,” I snarl. I sweep in and wrap my hand around Zharek’s neck. Then I’m hauling him to his feet, pushing him back with great force until his back is against the curved wall of the cell.
I’m filled with battle-rage; with the desire to completely bend this defiant being to my will. If he doesn’t see sense and co-operate, I will beat him into submission.
My hand tightens. I’m this close to losing control. Zharek doesn’t understand how volatile I am right now… or does he? Perhaps the cryptic bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.
He chokes and splutters, but there’s a distinct absence of fear in his eyes. There’s just a strange mixture of resignation and fascination.
My anger spills over. Before I realize what I’ve done, my fist has slammed into the wall beside his head with tremendous force. The tricorium fibers of the solid wall split under the blow, leaving an indent the size and shape of my fist.
The urge to kill him was so strong just now that I almost went through with it. Almost. I’m not quite myself. I’m seething with pent-up frustration. The only thing keeping this rare form of madness in check are thoughts of my mate and our precious child.
Abbey. I need her. Fuck.
Zharek blinks, a look of curious detachment coming over him. “You could have killed me just now,” he says quietly. He’s perfectly still. “On second thoughts, I’m not ready to meet the God of Death just yet, although you’re equally as terrifying. If it’s a choice between two devils, I’ll take the lesser one.” He sighs. “I’ll help you with whatever it is that’s consuming you.”
Just like that, he’s switched. That’s classic Zharek. He’s hot one moment and cold the next. He can change his mind and heart in the blink of an eye.
Unreadable, unpredictable. A difficult bastard to deal with. I don’t like it, but I need his expertise. After all, he was the original creator of the Exogenesis Project. It was his deranged imagination that came up with the concept of monsters like us. As unlikely as it seems, he is responsible for my abomination of a body.
I take a deep breath and slowly withdraw my hand. “You will wash, groom, and make yourself presentable. Then you will be escorted to the med-bay.”
“Sir.” He raises his hand in a mocking half-salute. A black bruise is starting to appear at the base of his neck. “I must admit, I do approve of your particular brand of chaos, General. It’s quite… righteous.” His expression changes to one of wonder. “Righteous chaos… now there’s a thing. If only the Empire had realized what they were unleashing on the Universe.”
I ignore his pointless musings. “Lose the horns,” I snap.
Before Zharek can protest, I pull out my Callidum dagger and hand it to him. “Do it, or I’ll cut them off myself.” I’m half-tempted to do it. It would take the edge off my anger.
But all thoughts of harming Zharek fade away when my comm buzzes. “Tarak, where are you?”
Abbey. She is everything I need most right now, and yet I cannot have her, not in the way that I want.
Goddess, what kind of fucking torture is this?
In my current wound-up state, just the sound of her voice, just her simple question—which is really an understated way of saying I need you—is enough to stir my lust. My erection is back. It’s fucking painful.
Goddess, have mercy.
“I am coming,” I say hoarsely. In truth, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.
I leave Zharek the former medic with a dagger in his hand and conflicting thoughts in his head.
Wait… what?
I stop, turn, and rip the knife from his grasp before he has a chance to react. On second thoughts, it is not a good idea to leave a man alone with a knife in his hand when he has expressed a distinct wish to flirt with death.
Sloppy. Yes, that was unlike me. It’s because of this fucking headache. Both the pain in my head and the raging need to fuck my dear wife until she is completely spent are killing my ability to be rational right now. I shake my head. I will send Torin to deal with this asshole.
As I retrieve the dagger, Zharek manages to look mildly disappointed.
I can’t even guess at what he’s thinking, and I don’t care to find out. The original creator of Exogenesis is damaged in his own way, and that is for him to sort out. All I need from him is the precious knowledge inside that hard head of his. If I could peel back his skull and take it for myself, I would.
Anything to save my mate. I will do anything.
Chapter Twelve
Abbey
He’s back. I didn’t hear him enter, but then again, I never do. I just feel his presence. It’s something I’ve been able to do ever since he shared his blood with me. Maybe it’s just coincidence, but I suspect it’s something more than that.
His aura is like a powerful magnet. It charges the air around us and draws me in, making me want to go and put my arms around him. It’s larger-than-life and all-encompassing. It’s warm and solid and intense, and it vaporizes all of the dark thoughts cluttering my mind.
I open my eyes and see him in all of his silver-dark glory. He’s swapped the nano-armor for comfortable dark-grey robes in the typical Kordolian style. His arms hang loosely by his sides, but tension radiates from every pore. His expression is fierce.
Tarak drinks me in with his crimson gaze, not saying a word. Underlying his fierceness is a brittle kind of tension. It makes the fine hairs on my arms rise. Gooseflesh ripples on my skin.
This tension, this feeling… it’s different, somehow. He’s dangerous. Not to me, but to everyone around us; everyone who would threaten us, everyone who would be stupid enough to stand in his way.
He isn’t his usual self. He’s holding it all together, but only barely.
I just want to…
But first things first. “How is Ami?” I ask, daring to disturb the fragile silence.
“She’s fine.” His voice is a low rumble. “The others are taking good care of her.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Relief courses through me. If Tarak of all people says our daughter’s okay, then she’s okay. I miss her to bits, but I have to be patient and keep it together.
Keep it together? Ha. Not with the Big Bad stalking around here like a predator-in-heat.
Unable to help myself, I raise my hand in a gesture of invitation,
ignoring the fact that there’s a plasma-protein infusion running through me. Thankfully, the machines and monitors have gone silent. Although I’m still sore all over, my condition is stable… for now.
“Come here,” I whisper. “You look like you want to…”
Screw my brains out.
I can’t lie. That’s the look that’s on his face right now. I’ve seen it so many times that I can’t mistake it for anything else. It’s just a whole lot more… intense than I’ve seen it in a long time.
And it’s driving me crazy.
He hesitates. That’s so unlike him. “Maybe I should go.”
“Go?” My squeak of protest comes out louder than I’d intended. “You can’t go.”
Despite the stiffness and aching joints, my body comes to life. My yearning for him is sharp and potent. I need to have him close. I need his arms around me.
“Right now, we can’t…” Indecision wages war across his hard, elegant features. I get the sense he’s holding back on something major; that his famous self-control is on the verge of shattering. There’s a storm bottled up inside him.
“Why not?” I might have a mutant virus raging through my system, but I feel okay right now. The medics have upped the plasma-protein infusion, and they’ve given me an inhaled medicine that’s sealed up all the tiny capillaries in my lungs.
As if in a trance, I rise from the pod and go to him. It’s as if something else is controlling my movements. I can’t stop myself from walking across to him, my bare feet silent on the cold, dark floor. The narrow line of the infusion machine trails behind me.
This is always how it is with him. He has the ability to take my breath away and turn me into a senseless hot mess in the blink of an eye. All rational thought goes out the window.
“Abbey…” His voice cracks. He pulls me into his arms and my legs turn to jelly as I inhale his unique masculine scent. I wrap my arms around his neck, looking up into his blood-colored eyes.
He looks right through me, and the naked desire in his gaze is just too much. If he’s about to crack, then I’m about to shatter.
“Are you sure?” He slides his big hands around my waist. His dark lips are slightly parted, revealing the gleaming points of his fangs.
Desire rips through me like a lightning bolt. His touch is fuel on the fire.
I’m wearing a pair of soft old pajama trousers and a tank top. Tarak slips his fingers under my trousers and hooks his thumbs beneath the band of my panties. “If I go any further than this, I won’t be able to stop.”
“That’s okay,” I murmur. “That’s very okay.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
You won’t hurt me.
No matter how powerful he is, no matter how many enemies he makes or how savagely he dispatches of them, he would never, ever hurt me.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him. “I actually spoke to Joran and asked him what would happen if we were to…” Now that had been an awkward conversation, more for the medic than for me.
What’s even more awkward is the fact that I’m being constantly monitored. Every breath, every beat of my heart, every movement, every twitch. They can see everything, but I’m beyond caring. I need to take a leaf out of Tarak’s book and learn how to be shameless. He doesn’t care one whit, and he isn’t accountable to anyone. His ship, his rules.
“That was very foresighted of you,” Tarak rumbles. There’s a distinct note of approval in my mate’s voice.
“It was on my mind,” I say pointedly. “A lot.”
“Hm.” He buries his nose in my loose hair and inhales deeply. A great shudder courses through him, like an earthquake hitting a mountain. “You have no idea how close I am to losing my sanity over you. I have never had to exercise greater self-control.”
“I have an inkling.” I tremble as he presses his lips to my forehead. His kiss is impossibly tender. It sends a warm shiver down my spine. “You seem a little… stressed.”
“Stressed? I cannot think. My judgement is clouded. I am compromised beyond all hope.” His voice cracks.
He doesn’t have to say any more. His erection strains against my lower belly, telling me all I need to know.
Warmth seeps between my legs. There’s a hollow ache in my core, waiting to be filled. “I need you.” The words are little more than a breath escaping my lips, but I know he can hear me loud-and-clear. Without him, the isolation chamber is deathly silent and oh-so cold. Things like that might not bother a Kordolian, but to a Human like me, this is practically solitary confinement.
He was only gone for a short time, but I missed him desperately.
Not to mention I’ve been craving his touch for so long. It’s been too long. The facts-of-life have momentarily gotten between us; Kythia and the broken empire, raising a child, Tarak’s duties as the commander of Silence.
A few weeks is far too long.
The effect of my little plea is powerful. With a soft growl, he effortlessly lifts me into his arms and carries me across to the pod, being careful not to disrupt the line attached to my arm.
He’s gentle and yet forceful. He holds me carefully, but there’s an urgency to his movements that betrays his impatience.
“You don’t have to be so gentle with—”
“Shh.” He silences me with a kiss. “Don’t speak.”
He lays me in the pod with the greatest of care, pushing the soft sheets aside. We’re bathed in the soft glow of blinking blue lights, thanks to the monitors beside the pod. For a moment, I’m able to forget that it’s medical equipment. The stark reality of my condition is drowned out by Tarak’s overwhelming, all-consuming presence.
I know nothing but him.
His touch, his warmth, his desire.
My need for him.
Absence doesn’t just make the heart grow fonder, it makes us lust for one another like crazy. It makes Tarak sick with mating fever and it makes me sick with yearning.
Suddenly, his lips are on mine. His kiss is hard and savage, and I respond eagerly. He tastes of smoke and spice and bitter sweetness.
The floodgates are opening. His low growl reverberates through my body, and a soft, desperate moan escapes me. His hands are all over me, and I can’t get out of my clothes fast enough.
There’s a tearing sound, and then my tank top is gone. Oops. He’s inhumanly strong. What did I expect?
My pants are off. My panties are off. He’s discarding his robe and then he’s on top of me, as powerful and sinuous as a big hunting cat. I run my hands over his back. Smooth, rippling muscle moves under my fingers. Even with my eyes closed, I know every inch, every contour, and every plane of his magnificent body.
His body was built for war. He’s a perfect specimen from head-to-toe, and he’s practically invincible.
Despite this, I’ve seen him bleed for me. I’ve seen him fall to his knees before me. Somehow, he’s all mine, and I would never, ever take this privilege for granted.
I love my violent, stubborn, overbearing, tender, irresistible General.
He doesn’t mess around. As he consumes me with his kiss, he slides a finger inside my pussy, separating the soft folds of my sex. Holy hell. A jolt of white-hot electricity surges through me. I moan. Every single inch of me is hypersensitive to his touch.
He trails deep, satisfying kisses down my body. I run my fingers over his soft moonlight-colored hair. It’s exactly the same color as Ami’s, and he’s let it grow out a little bit. His cut horns, however, are as flat as ever. I caress the smooth skin-covered bumps, eliciting a low, hungry growl. The base of a Kordolian male’s horns is an extremely sensitive area. I keep hinting to Tarak that he should grow them out, but he keeps them cut for what he calls practical reasons.
Maybe one day, he won’t have to fight anymore.
Tarak grazes my clit with deft fingers, coaxing a whimper out of me. The pleasurable sensation builds, and I rock my hips back and forth as he teases out the beginnings of an orgasm.
Just as the fe
eling begins to spread through my core, taking my breath—and all coherent thought—away, and just as I start to quiver with desperate need, he withdraws his touch from my exquisitely tender nub and thrusts one of his fingers deep inside.
I cry out in pleasure. The pain in my body melts away. Tarak adds another finger and stretches me. He caresses my g-spot.
“You are tight,” he whispers, thrusting deeper. He’s right, of course.
I tremble with anticipation and need. “You’re just a big old dirty tease, General.” Sweet Jupiter, this man is going to be the death of me. He’s the beginning and the middle and the end, and he’s completely undone me, time and time again.
“It was not my intention to tease,” he rumbles. “I can’t hold back, my amina. Not where you’re concerned.”
Something breaks then. It’s as if the last shred of his self-control has fallen away. He slides his fingers out and rakes his hand through my hair, tipping my face back so that I’m looking straight into his eyes. The action is wrapped up in a little bit of tenderness and a whole lot of possessiveness. It’s forceful and insistent.
The look on his face says everything. You are mine.
Heart, body, and soul. Don’t I know it.
Nothing else matters. He demands everything from me. No exceptions, no compromises.
I stare up into his dark, hungry eyes and lose myself in a maelstrom of lust. It’s primal and savage and as deep as the endless darkness of the Universe itself.
He enters me with brutal urgency, stretching my slick, tight passage. He engulfs me with his big, hard body and all the while, he’s watching me with that same tender-dark expression. One of his his hands is against my lower back, pulling me against him. Our bodies meet in a frenzy of heat and desire. My skin is slick with sweat.
My eyes are locked onto his. I can’t tear my gaze away. I’m staring at his face as he fucks me, and this time our lovemaking is brutal. He pounds into me again and again, thrusting deeper and deeper as he grunts with exertion.
I rake my fingers down his back, reveling in this heady mixture of pleasure, pain, heat, and desperate need.