Dark Swan

by Showalter, Gena

  Something else they’d learned? Years ago, the staff at IOT had decided to use Trinity’s beauty and abilities to their advantage by sending her on a dangerous mission. Of course, they’d threatened to kill her sisters if she failed to return. Her objective: Find the king of the Schön and, through any means necessary, obtain a sample of his DNA.

  She’d obtained a sample of his DNA, all right. Inside her veins! She’d absorbed his alien life force—a parasite—and in the ensuing weeks, the infection had spread through both her mind and her body, completely taking over.

  Telepathic conversations with her had ceased, their bond to their eldest sister broken. Sweet, shy Trinity had then seduced her way out of the lab, infecting several doctors and guards. Doctors and guards who’d soon sickened. They were contained, studied, and eventually rotted to death inside their cells.

  Once Lilica and Jade gained their own freedom, they’d left the lab for the first time in their lives, hoping to find and save their sister. But the crowds had been more than Jade could withstand, the onslaught of thoughts and possible futures . . . of evil . . . making her crazed. For Lilica, the stares had been disconcerting. In a world filled with humans and otherworlders of every kind, she and Jade were still freaks. Dejected and ill prepared, they’d returned to the lab.

  Bang! Bang!

  Lilica awoke with a jolt and jerked upright. A flood of dizziness sent her crashing back onto the mattress. A soft mattress, not like her hard cot at the institute, or the cold concrete floor in her new cell.

  The cell . . .

  Memories swamped her, and anger sparked.

  Devyn . . . Dallas. That stupid dart.

  When the dizziness subsided, she sat up slowly, gingerly, and catalogued her surroundings. A spacious room with four white walls and a closed metal door. The only piece of furniture was the mattress she rested upon. A stack of clothes and a basket of toiletries perched at its foot.

  There was no sign of her captors.

  Nausea churned in her stomach as she stood to shaky legs. Deep breath in . . . out . . . Cool air kissed her bare skin. Bare? Heart hammering, she looked down. Her filthy scrubs had been removed, but her plain white bra and panties were still firmly in place.

  Which man had stripped her?

  Did it really matter? When cameras recorded every aspect of your life from birth to adulthood, a panel of men and women watching from the other side of a two-way mirror, you never developed a sense of modesty. Of course, as soon as she’d learned to control her ability to camouflage, no one had been able to watch her do anything. They’d had to track her through a metal wrist cuff she’d been unable to remove until taking over the lab.

  Her balance steadied as she searched the basket. No razor, only soaps and lotions. Great for beautification, useless for defense.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Once again, she jumped. The sound came from beyond the door.

  She ignored the clothes. Countless times, her jumpsuits at the institute had been washed with chemicals meant to alter her state of mind. She quietly padded across the room and tested the doorknob. Unlocked. The Targon and the Arcadian were suspicious bastards; they wouldn’t trust her with a button, much less give her free rein here, wherever here was.

  If they’d wanted the door locked, it would have been locked. Neither was the type to make such a critical mistake. So. This had to be a trap of some sort. She used a stream of power she couldn’t afford to lose to force a thought out of her head and into Jade’s.

  —I’ve been transferred to a new location. Don’t know where I am, or what’s planned, but I’ve found the arctic-eyed man.—

  Unlike every time before, the power fizzled before leaving her, and she frowned. She tried again . . . with the same results. She waited one minute . . . two . . . breathing deeply, hoping for a reply, but only silence greeted her. Her hands curled into fists. What had Dallas and Devyn done to her?

  She couldn’t risk trying again. Already she’d used up the energy needed for cloaking. If she lost any more, she would have no protection against her captors.

  As she sneaked into the hallway, the anger she’d lived with most of her life blazed with new heat. The males planned to kill Trinity. They had to die . . . but not until after they’d helped her find Trinity.

  No. Can’t risk it.

  Never wait to slay. Missed opportunities only led to regrets.

  Her captors needed to die, so they would die.

  The smell of warm syrup and—Lilica sniffed—raspberry jam saturated the air, but there was an even sweeter scent . . . the one she’d encountered in the cell, when Dallas arrived.

  He was here.

  A sense of eagerness and excitement overtook her—angering her further. She moved forward at a brisker pace, noting details along the way. The walls were as bare as the walls in the lab that had been both a hell and a home to her. The only home she’d ever really known. Around the corner was a living room with only two folding chairs, which had been nailed down.

  The banging continued. Pots and pans, she realized. At the entrance of the kitchen, she paused. A tall, muscular man had his back to her. He wore a tight black tee and jeans. His hair was dark and rumpled, his skin bronzed. Arcadian power stroked over her, making the blood in her veins warm . . . catch fire.

  He was here, and he was right in front of her. He was here, and he planned to kill Trinity. There was no better time to strike.

  Should she go with her amph ability or voice voodoo?

  If she made the wrong choice, she would have to rely on her physical strength, punching and kicking like a champ, hopefully getting her hands on a blade.

  He stopped slicing . . . whatever it was, and placed a knife on the counter beside him. Scratch hopefully. Add definitely.

  Without making a sound, she prowled toward him—and leaped on his back, winding one arm around his head, the other around his neck, and her legs around his waist. While applying enough pressure to choke him out, she sent a blast of power through—nope, no power. The blast remained trapped inside her.

  He didn’t judder with surprise or panic but reached over his shoulder, grabbed her by the nape, and flipped her over his head. As she fell, she managed to grab the knife. Impact emptied her lungs, but she ignored the pain to pop to her feet and face him, holding the blade between them.

  Meeting his arctic gaze threw fuel on the already blistering fire in her veins. “You will stay still,” she told him, deciding to give voice voodoo a try, since amphing had failed. “You won’t move.”

  He moved, crossing his arms over his chest. Argh! None of her abilities were working.

  “Well, well. Sleeping Beauty awoke at last.”

  His tone lacked the taunt Devyn always used. Dallas might actually . . . consider her a beauty?

  No, another trick, surely.

  He looked her over, and for a moment, only a moment, she forgot all her troubles, the air between them crackling with hotter heat and sizzling electricity. Goose bumps broke out over her arms, along her spine.

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “Is that any way to greet the Prince Charming who oh, so carefully undressed you?”

  By mentioning her state of undress, he hoped to disconcert her, didn’t he? Well, it would take a lot more than that.

  “No, it’s not,” she said, and finally he juddered, his pupils spilling over his irises. He was turned on? By what? “I should have greeted you like this.” She faked left and stabbed at his right side.

  He managed to block—somewhat. The blade sliced through the center of his palm and came out the other side. Blood dripped, and he hissed. He latched onto her wrist with his uninjured hand and twisted until she released the weapon.

  He clasped the hilt and wrenched out the blade, causing more blood to drip to the floor. The sweet scent of honeyed champagne intensified. Yes! That was what she’d been sme
lling . . . it reminded her of the bottle of bubbly she’d stolen during her trip outside IOT. Her head swam.

  She acted anyway, making a play for the weapon. He spun out of reach, saying casually, “I wondered how hard you’d come at me. Now I know. I’m only surprised you didn’t change colors.”

  So. This had been a test.

  As she stalked around him, he spun with her, his gaze remaining on . . . her puckered nipples peeking through her bra.

  “What did you do to me?” And he had done something. Otherwise he would have bound her.

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Don’t worry, sweetness. You’ll regain full use of your power . . . one day.”

  He’d drugged her with more than a sedative, hadn’t he? Just like the doctors at the lab.

  Well. She just happened to have the antidote to power negation too. “Where are my shoes?”

  “In the trash, where they belong.”

  “I want my boots! They’re my favorite pair.”

  “I’d venture to guess they are your only pair.”

  True. “I want my boots,” she repeated.

  “Why? So that you can kick me in the balls with them?”

  She smiled with saccharine sweetness. “Your friend devoted countless hours to my torture, and I just woke up in a strange place, wearing only a bra and panties. Of course I’m going to continue attacking you. What else am I supposed to do? Thank you?”

  “Yes!” He rubbed his lower back. “You’re heavier than you appear. I injured myself carrying you up a thousand flights of stairs.”

  How dare he! “I’m not heavier than I appear. You are weaker than you appear.”

  For a moment, he looked like he wanted to grin.

  Deep breath in, deep breath out. All right. Anger, sarcasm, and demands had failed. Light flirting? Worth a shot. “If I do kick you, so what? You’re so strong . . . so powerful. Surely you’ll overcome me.”

  “You just called me weak.”

  Argh! She tried a different path. “Think of the perks. If you block my kick, you prove your skill. If you don’t and my boot makes contact, your manhood will swell, and you can finally tell your girlfriends you’re hung like a champ—and mean it!”

  His lips twitched at the corners. “Let’s circle back to the boots and my swelling manhood. First, I want to know if you have a familial connection to Trinity, the queen of the Schön.” He pressed a towel to his wound. She sucked in a breath. He knew about the familial connection. How? Like Devyn, he should have assumed Lilica and Trinity had both been prisoners or employees at IOT.

  “I supposed cousins, but didn’t rule out sisters,” he said. “Now I’m certain. Sisters, it is.”

  “You’re planning to kill her.” An accusation, not a question.

  He answered anyway, not missing a beat. “Yes.”

  How easily he spoke of murder! Her hands once again curled into fists, her nails cutting into her palms, drawing blood. “In that case, my kicks aren’t the only thing you should fear. I’m going to be on you every chance I get.”

  “Is that a threat . . . or an attempt at seduction?”

  She mimicked Malevolent and snapped her teeth at him.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m totally open to seduction.”

  Bastard! “Good luck surviving until one day.”

  He heaved a sigh. “If you’re going to start a Taming of the Shrew role-play, you’ve got to set the scene for me first. Am I so afraid of you that I run away and you give chase so you can capture me and give me the tongue-lashing I so richly deserve? Or am I supposed to put up a well-intentioned but hopeless fight?” He air-quoted the word fight.

  Frustrating bastard. Did nothing faze him?

  And he wasn’t even done. “Also, I should probably have a safe word.” Leaning toward her, he placed a hand at the corner of his mouth and whispered, “It’s ‘Beetlejuice.’ ”

  For a woman who’d only ever dealt with scientists and orderlies who’d viewed her as a commodity—or worse, a thing—being a desirable, sexual object was new . . . and wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Stop talking about sex. We’re enemies.”

  “Please. We’re frenemies at worst, and we’re going to live together in harmony.”

  “Me? Live with you?” She laughed, a sound both husky and purring. “Never.”

  He lost his air of superiority, his eyelids growing heavy. “Your voice . . .”

  The sensuality of his reaction affected her, making her shiver.

  Keeping his gaze hot on hers, he reached toward the stove and picked up a fork already loaded with pancake. “I know you want to find Trinity as badly as I do.”

  “More badly.” Her mouth watered as he chewed and swallowed, and she licked her lips. She didn’t even care that she’d abused the English language.

  He speared another forkful and, his hand trembling slightly—had she weakened him? Or had his desire done the job for her?—offered it to her. She wanted to protest. I’ll accept nothing from you! But her stomach twisted with hunger. Devyn hadn’t fed her much, preferring to keep her feeble.

  Unable to resist the goodness, she snatched the utensil, devoured the bite, then went ahead and snatched the plate to polish off what remained of the pancakes.

  “Was the taste to your satisfaction?” he asked, clearly trying not to grin.

  Irritated with her show of fragility, she forced a casual shrug. “I’ve had better.” In my dreams.

  He laughed . . . and then he began a slow stalk toward her, closing what little distance there’d been between them. For the first time in her existence, she found herself backing away from an opponent, unsure how to proceed but knowing she needed space if she wanted to think clearly.

  All too soon, her back hit the edge of the counter, stopping her retreat. He paused only long enough to pick up the knife she’d dropped.

  She lifted her chin. “Go ahead. Cut me.”

  “Why? Do you crave pain?”

  After everything she’d already endured in her short life? “Never.”

  “Then why would I cut you?”

  “To torture me, of course.” Why else?

  “With you—with us—torture will never be on the table.”

  “There isn’t an us.” She glanced at the only bay window in the kitchen, where a small, round table had been centered. “And there is nothing on the table.”

  He chuckled softly, pricking at her ire. “How about I put you on the table? You ate my breakfast, so you owe me another one.”

  As she gaped at him, he stepped closer to her; his strength enveloped her. His complete lack of fear—well, it did something to her. Amplified her, her blood sizzling, boiling. Bone-deep tingles raced through her before rising to caress her skin and collect within the lines of her tätoveerimine. The glittery green markings she’d had since birth. They stretched over her forehead, around her eyes, and along her sides, also around her waist and down her legs.

  She gasped. This was the first time she’d ever felt them, which was why she’d always thought they were purely decorative. Now she wondered . . . was some alien part of her reacting to the alien part of him?

  “Exquisite,” he rasped, as if entranced.

  Tremors caused her to sway. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Hopefully the same thing you’re doing to me.”

  She wanted so badly to lean against him. To rub against him. Resist!

  “I’m ready to bargain with you, Lilica.”

  Her name on his lips . . . She shivered, heated another thousand degrees, but forced herself to say, “You have nothing I want.” Her sister’s well-being mattered more than anything. Always had, always would.

  His smile bloomed, slow and deliberate. “I may not have something you want, sweetness, but I have something you need.”<
br />
  4

  From the moment Dallas had sensed Lilica in the kitchen, he’d been fighting dark, animal impulses. He’d never desired a woman the way he desired her, so the sensations couldn’t be natural.

  But. Oh, how he hated that stupid word. These few minutes with her, teasing her, had proved more entertaining than . . . absolutely anything. And far more arousing. At one point, the designs in her skin had glowed with inner light and he’d nearly come in his pants then and there, the urge to touch her—to get inside her—nearly irresistible.

  Everything about her screamed SEX. Seductive. Erotic. X-rated. From her voice to her scent to the way she moved, as if she’d been created for pleasure and no other purpose. As if she’d been created for Dallas alone.

  It was a concept his mind wholeheartedly rejected.

  “What do you think I need?” she asked, with a breathless quality added to her already raspy voice.

  Every word fueled the inferno inside him.

  Do not reach down to adjust your newest erection. Do. Not. Her effect on him . . . had to be the power still swirling inside her. Despite the drug Devyn had used on her, waves of electricity rolled beneath the surface of her skin. Dallas should probably give her a second dose, just to be safe. Her intentions toward him were malicious, no doubt about it.

  But so were his intentions toward her.

  He tossed the blade she’d used across the room, the tip embedding in the wall. Then he braced his hands at Lilica’s sides, his fingers curving over the kitchen counter. “I can think of three things you need right off the top of my head,” he said.

  “Well. Let’s hear them.”

  “A spanking, a hug, and a good hard fuck.”

  Her eyes—those endless eyes now changing colors one after the other—widened.

  While she’d slept, he’d decided that the guy who didn’t like to lie would put the bulk of his efforts into convincing her that he would help save Trinity. Lilica would then do one of two things: lead Dallas to Trinity, or convince Trinity to come to him. Either way, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the Schön queen at first sight. His waking vision come to life.