Blood and Metal

by Nina Croft

  You’re evil. Suck it up and accept it.

  Damn it. She didn’t want to be evil. In which case, she was screwed.

  Rico said she had to come to terms with what she was. Learn to control it. But she still had a free will. She could choose to resist the bad things eventually, though it would be hard.

  Right now, it seemed impossible.

  Crap.

  Why had Rico changed her?

  Once, he’d told them that he’d sworn never to change anyone again, and having met his last attempt, she could understand why. But he had gone against his beliefs and changed her.

  He should have let her die. Now her life stretched out ahead of her. A constant fight. Alone.

  God, she was a miserable bitch.

  A tear welled up in her eye. She blinked, and it rolled down her cheek. As she swiped it away, crimson stained the back of her hand. Shit, she couldn’t even cry like a normal person anymore.

  She hadn’t actually cried since it happened. No way was she about to start now. She was tougher than that. She scrubbed at her cheek then thumped the wall beside the bed, leaving a crimson smear.

  Damn it.

  She’d needed this thing with Fergal.

  If only she hadn’t tried to eat him.

  It hadn’t even been so much the sex—well, maybe a little bit. She’d just wanted to feel close to someone for a while. To connect on a level not involving food or being obligated or…

  She felt like crap. Her stomach was raw and empty—she’d lost most of the food she’d taken from Devlin—and the occasional spasm tightened the muscles of her gut. She pulled the cover around herself as a shiver ran through her.

  Rico’s silver flask sat on the small table beside the bed, Fergal must have brought it with him. She grabbed it, unscrewed the top, and took a deep swallow. The liquid warmed her from the inside, and she took another gulp.

  Maybe it was bad to lower her inhibitions, but she had an idea that Fergal was safe from her. A shudder ran through her as she remembered the taste of him. Ugh.

  She took another drink, the whiskey easing into her brain.

  Life was unfair. Or should it be death was unfair?

  Whatever.

  She drank some more. Pictured the moment she’d thrown up all over Fergal.

  “Hey, did you know you’ve got blood on your face?” Fergal leaned in the bathroom doorway.

  She shrugged. “I thought about crying. But don’t worry, I changed my mind and decided to have a drink instead.”

  “Your tears are red?”

  “Yeah.”

  He was naked except for a towel wrapped around his hips. And he was stunning. Broad chest, with the smooth swell of muscles, wide shoulders, sculpted arms. She glanced at the right one, the cybernetic limb, but she couldn’t see any difference.

  His clothes were in his hand. “Can I get these cleaned? I’ll need them tomorrow.”

  She nodded to the cleaning unit on the far wall, and he crossed the room and shoved the clothes inside. As he stood with his back to her, she could see pale lines crisscrossing from his shoulders to where the towel wrapped around his hips. Old scars, but from where?

  He turned, casting her a wary glance, before heading over and frowning down at her. “So why were you thinking about crying?”

  She sniffed. “I bet you hate women who cry, don’t you?”

  “Believe it or not, I don’t actually reduce many of them to tears. Wait here.” He disappeared into the bathroom, came back a few seconds later carrying another towel. He sank down on the bed beside her and slipped a finger under her chin, raising her head. After studying her for a moment, he slowly wiped the towel over her face. She held herself very still. His hand curved around the back of her skull, and he held her steady, but she wasn’t going anywhere. His touch felt so good.

  “There, clean,” he said, releasing her and sitting back. “You going to think about crying some more?”

  She shook her head. “No. That’s me finished—monsters don’t cry. How’s your throat?”

  “Hardly hurts at all.” He touched a finger to the wound on his neck. It was already knitting together. He healed faster than the Collective. Must be part of the cyborg thing.

  “Good.”

  He dropped his hand from his throat. “So what happened? Why did you decide to bite me?”

  “It wasn’t actually a conscious decision.” She plucked at the cover still wrapped around her. “I lost it. I think I came face-to-face with the darkness Rico keeps going on about. I never really believed him. Not every day you get to meet your own personal monster.”

  “That what upset you?”

  “Maybe. Maybe I’m just due for a good blub and you’re lucky enough to be here.”

  “Yeah. I’m a lucky guy.” He tossed the towel on the floor. “Budge up.”

  She shifted over on the bed, and he sat down beside her, insinuating one arm around her shoulder. “So, I’m guessing sex is out.”

  She was on a bed with a gorgeous, nearly naked man plastered along her side. Life was so unfair. She exhaled loudly. “You guess right.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Tying me up wouldn’t do any good, but you know what might work?”

  She twisted her head so she could see his face. “No.”

  “Tying you up.”

  She had an image of herself spread-eagle on the bed, her wrists and ankles tied to the corners. Heat flooded her sex, and warmth flushed her face.

  “So you like the idea?” he murmured with a grin. “I can see you’re thinking about it.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, I’m not.”

  “Think. You can go all dark and monsterish, and you won’t be able to touch me.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “I could fuck your brains out and you could do nothing about it.”

  She stared straight ahead.

  “On your back or on your front. Either works for me.” He shifted. “Shit, I’m hard again.”

  She cast him a sideways glance. “You’re a brave man to even think of sex after what just happened.” But the earlier image was replaced by one of her on her belly, tied to the bed, Fergal crouched between her open thighs.

  Fuck.

  She bit back a moan.

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he said. “I want you.”

  God, she wanted him, too, but really, tying her up wasn’t an option right then. “There’s one problem with that plan,” she said.

  “I can’t think of one.”

  “Well, I don’t think you’re thinking with your head right now,” she said, staring at the bulge under the towel wrapped around his hips.

  “Probably not. So this problem…?”

  “I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you. Can you imagine the reaction when I tell them you escaped because I was tied to the bed? I’d never live it down.”

  He pressed his hand to his heart. “You don’t trust me? I’m hurt.”

  His silver eyes gleamed with a mixture of lust and mockery. Did she trust him? Hell, no. Who knew what he was really after? Why had he been undercover in that prison? She doubted he was after a story. So what was he after?

  He leaned in closer, close enough to kiss her, and for a second she swayed toward him.

  Stop right there.

  Swallowing, she forced the words out. “No, I don’t trust you.”

  “Pity.” He sat back and ran a hand through his short, damp hair. “Show me some fang.”

  “What?” She shook her head. “Why?”

  “I need to get this hard-on under control. So show me a fang.”

  “You mean you don’t find my teeth sexy? Now I’m hurt.” But she twisted to face him fully and curled the corner of her upper lip, revealing the tip of one fang. She remembered the feel of the darkness embracing her and felt the humanity bleed from her eyes.

  Fergal swallowed. “Okay, job done. Now let’s get some rest.”

  He tugged her down, one arm still wrapped around her, and
snuggled her against his side. She lay stiff for a minute.

  “Relax,” he murmured. “I won’t bite.”

  A small laugh escaped her. “Neither will I.”

  “Good.”

  Her head rested on his chest, and soon his breathing evened out as he slept. Daisy breathed in the scent of him, warm man with just a hint of metal, and tried to unwind. But when she closed her eyes, an image flashed in her mind. Fergal lay beneath her, blood dripping from his ripped-out throat, and she relived the moment when the darkness had overwhelmed her, taken control.

  More crap.

  Tremors shook her body, and she blinked open her eyes to banish the vision. Fergal’s nipple was right in front of her nose, and the memory of the darkness was ousted by a flashback to how good it had felt before everything had gone to shit. His mouth on her breasts. His clever fingers working between her thighs. She’d been so close.

  Bloody, sodding darkness.

  Why couldn’t it have waited a few more seconds?

  She pulled away gently and rolled over onto her side, pressing her back against him. Staring at the wall, she listened to the steady throb of his heart. Finally the tension seeped out of her limbs, and she relaxed.

  Hours later, her comm unit buzzed.

  “Meeting on the bridge in ten minutes,” Skylar said and switched off. She’d never been one for small talk.

  Daisy lay for a minute longer. A sense of unease nagged at her mind and body. Inside she had a new awareness of the darkness coiled and slumbering, but always present. She didn’t think she would ever be unaware of it again.

  Beside her, Fergal lay motionless, but when she twisted her head to look, his eyes were open, and he was watching her. He stretched his arms above his head. “That’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years. Thank you.”

  “Day’s,” she said. “Day’s sleep. It’s coming up to night. I can feel it.”

  “You can? Even in space?”

  “Only if we’re close to a planet. We’re in stationary orbit right now, and the sun is going out of our range.” She got out of bed, dragging the crimson cover around her. “Come on, meeting in ten.”

  She pulled his cleaned uniform out and tossed it to him, then found herself some clothes. After tugging on black pants, she reached for a black shirt but changed her mind and picked a purple one. Boots and her weapons belt, and she was ready to go.

  She felt jumpy, on edge, hungry—she’d lost most of her last meal—but she forced the feelings down. They had a prison to break into, a friend to rescue, and presumably Fergal to say good-bye to. It was going to be a long night.

  A pang of regret prodded her in the gut at the thought of leaving Fergal at the prison to continue whatever nefarious plots he was involved in. Would he tell her if she asked nicely? Doubtful.

  He didn’t trust her. Or any of them.

  She didn’t trust him, either. But he’d given her what she needed—some human warmth, closeness, a feeling that for however brief a time, she wasn’t alone in the world.

  And she liked him.

  Rico gave her a strange look as they came through the door of the bridge. She tried to keep her eyes blank, but his narrowed, and he sauntered on over.

  Searching her face, he pursed his lips. “What happened?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, let’s just say there’s a change, but it’s not the one I was hoping for.”

  Rico saw everything. She hated that. “I attacked him, bit him, then threw up all over him.”

  Rico’s lips twitched. “Romantic.” He turned to study Fergal, who’d taken a seat away from the others and was watching them both as he ate a bowl of stew they’d picked up on the way down. “So was it his sexual technique or something else?”

  She folded her arms and glared. “Actually, I lost it. Totally.”

  “Tell me.”

  “We were”—she lifted one shoulder—“taking your advice, and it was okay, until…” She closed her eyes and remembered. “The darkness awoke. And it was hungry, not only for blood but for life. It wanted to drain him dry until the life force was mine.”

  “It’s an amazing feeling,” Rico said.

  She bit her lip. “I don’t want to be a killer.”

  “Darling, you already are.”

  “No.” She almost stamped her foot. “I haven’t killed anyone. And I won’t. But it felt so good with Fergal and I relaxed and…it won’t happen again.”

  “Maybe you’re the one who should be tied up.”

  She’d been watching Fergal, now her gaze flashed to Rico’s face to see if he was serious. There was nothing to show otherwise. “Fergal suggested that.”

  “Did he? And you said…?”

  “That I doubted anyone would be happy if I allowed the prisoner I was guarding to tie me up.”

  “Good point. But something to keep in mind for the future. He’s obviously willing, and you might even enjoy it.”

  “Great. I can be a killer or a pervert. What a choice.”

  “Nothing wrong with a few harmless perversions, but do you need to feed again?”

  Actually, she could feel the hunger low down in her belly. But she didn’t want anyone else to have to feed her so soon. She shook her head. “I’m good.” She hoped it was the truth.

  She took the seat beside Fergal. Across from her, Devlin and Saffira sat close together, Saffira’s small white dog, Devil, on her lap. Daisy could scent their blood, almost hear it pounding in their veins, taste it on her tongue.

  I’m hungry!

  Daisy was watching the couple across the room, a dazed, hungry look on her face. As she licked her lips, despite their recent disastrous attempt at sex, blood shot to his groin.

  He reached across and squeezed her knee. She blinked, giving a little shake of her head as she dragged her gaze away and turned to him.

  “You okay?” Fergal asked.

  She gave a quick nod, opened her mouth, but Skylar started speaking and she closed it again.

  “We have two options,” Skylar said. “We go in using Fergal as a hostage, threaten to kill him if they don’t give us Jon, or—”

  “Won’t work,” Fergal interrupted. “They’d let you kill me first.”

  “You sure of that?” Skylar asked.

  “Yup. Zero fucking tolerance. Plus I don’t have any friends down there.”

  “What a surprise,” Rico muttered. “Must be your charming nature.”

  Skylar came to a halt in front of Fergal, hands resting on her hips. “So option two: you go in on your own.”

  Fergal definitely preferred that idea.

  “You say we took you with us as a hostage,” Skylar continued, “but dropped you off when we were safely away, or you escaped…whatever.”

  “I like it so far.”

  “You get into the control room, turn off the alarms. Let us in.”

  From their point of view, the plan should work. He wasn’t so sure it would suit him. “Might work for you. But it will blow my fucking cover wide open.”

  She turned those inhuman violet eyes on him, examining him as though he were some vaguely interesting specimen. “And we care about this why?”

  Fergal gave his best charming smile. “Because you’re caring guys.”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m sure you can work it so you’re left in the clear. You’re a resourceful man or someone would have killed you long ago.” The implication being he was annoying as hell. “If you’re careful, you can wipe the surveillance tapes afterward and we can shoot you so it looks realistic.”

  He was sure there would be plenty of takers for that job. He considered the plan. She was right. It could work. And it wasn’t as though there were a lot of options. “Okay. Then what?”

  “We come in. You get the new codes for the maximum-security section. We get Jon out and leave quietly.”

  The plan sounded fine in theory, but those were the sort that usually went to shit. He searched his mind for alternatives but came up blank. The pla
n might be crap, but it was his best bet. “When do we do this?”

  “Now would be good.”

  He cast a sideways glance at Daisy. His hand was still on her knee. He liked to touch her. If this worked, he wouldn’t see her alone again, wouldn’t get to touch her more than this. His chest tightened, and there was a heaviness in his stomach.

  Liking people made you weak.

  Made you want to keep them safe. Want that over anything else.

  And they left you anyway.

  Like his mother. The old emotion flooded his body. Betrayal. From the one person who was supposed to be on his side. Who’d promised to never leave him.

  Daisy turned her head to look at him. A sweet smile curved her lips, and some emotion he didn’t want to examine kicked him in the gut.

  He snatched back his hand. “Now sounds excellent.”

  Chapter Seven

  Skylar had wired him up so they could listen.

  Fergal didn’t blame her, but it limited his options. If he said something they didn’t like, they would move to plan B, which would involve a full-frontal attack on the prison. And no doubt the first place they would blow was the control room. With him in it.

  The guard on the front gate let him in. Fergal said he needed to report to the governor, but the man didn’t seem concerned. Apparently, everyone had presumed Fergal was dead and the implication was that nobody had been particularly bothered. Well, he’d known he wasn’t popular.

  Instead of going to the governor’s office, he made his way to the main control room on the ground floor. Through the glass window, he could see two men inside, which was normal. So far, so good. He tapped on the door, and one glanced up, then came over and let him in.

  “We thought you were dead.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” he said, strolling into the room.

  “So what happened?”

  “They knocked me out, took me as a hostage, but let me go once they were clear of the prison.”

  “You did good getting the alarm off. We all would have lost our bonuses if they’d succeeded.” The thank-you was grudging. “Do you know who they were after?”

  “No. But the governor has asked me to review the security tapes for clues, jog my memory, see if I can remember anything else.”