by Jaye McKenna
“It wasn’t an attack.”
“It sure as hell looks like one,” Pat said.
“If Draven wanted Kyn dead, then Kyn would be dead.” Miko raised his eyes to meet Pat’s. “What do you want from me? I can’t stop you from arresting Draven if that’s what you’re going to do.”
Pat shot him a grim look. “No, but you’ll make sure he doesn’t remain in custody for long, won’t you?”
“I won’t have a choice. If Draven is questioned under Veritane, he’ll implicate Cameron.”
Pat dropped down on the couch opposite Miko. “What am I supposed to do? Draven is a criminal. He’s hurt Kyn, and he’s hurt plenty of other people, too. But if I turn Draven in, Cam’s going to end up in just as much trouble.” He glanced up at Miko. “Isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Can you help him? Do for Cam what you did for Draven? Make him disappear?”
“It won’t matter. If you arrest Draven, even if I can get them both free, Cameron won’t be here. Kyn will end up in his place and… there are hard choices coming. Cameron can make those choices without breaking.”
“And Kyn can’t,” Pat said grimly.
Miko shrugged.
Pat leaned forward, elbows on knees, and stared down at the floor. “I don’t want Kyn in charge of the Institute. Not at a time like this. He’s not ready.”
“No. He’s not.”
“So I should let it go.” Pat lifted his head and met Miko’s eyes again. “Ignore what Draven’s done.”
Miko hesitated. Pat had little patience for the Pattern and the things Miko said about it, but Miko thought he must have built up some credit with Pat, or Pat wouldn’t have come to him. “If you don’t let it go… so many threads will break.”
“Is that your way of telling me people will die?”
“I’m not a prophet. I’m just telling you what I’ve seen.”
“What have you seen?” Pat whispered.
Miko held his gaze. “If you cage Draven, Cameron will die.”
Pat closed his eyes, mythe-shadow flickering with the colors of grim resignation. “Even if you set him free.”
“Even then,” Miko agreed.
Pat didn’t say any more. He got slowly to his feet and left Miko’s office. Miko stared after him and wished the pieces of the Pattern would stay still long enough for him to see if what he’d said to Pat would help matters or make them worse.
* * *
Draven became aware of the warm, solid body behind him as he woke. He lay perfectly still, taking quiet, even breaths as he tried to work out how the hell he was waking up in bed with anyone, let alone Cameron fucking Asada.
He lay on his side, Cameron pressed against his back, full length. Warm breath on the back of his neck, solid chest, legs tangled with his own.
His mind shied away from analyzing exactly what had happened last night. All Draven knew was what he felt this morning: like a heavy weight he’d been struggling to carry for far too long had been lifted from him, and he could finally breathe again.
Cameron’s arm lay over his waist. Draven shifted a little, and that arm tightened around him. Soft lips brushed his neck, and morning wood pressed against his ass. His body betrayed him by releasing a contented sigh, and his cock betrayed him further by starting to fill.
“How do you feel?” Cameron whispered.
Draven’s breath caught in his throat. How to answer that? Was shattered an acceptable answer?
What if he said it, and it wasn’t?
Worse, what if it was?
He squeezed his eyes shut and reminded himself to breathe. What the hell was Cameron doing to him?
Whatever it was, Draven didn’t like it.
Except… except maybe he did. Last night… he hadn’t been able to let go like that since he’d been with DeMira, and he’d needed it so very badly.
How had Cameron known what he needed?
Stupid question.
Cameron had pulled it out of his mind along with the rest of his secrets. And Draven had invited him in without a fight.
What the hell was wrong with him?
“Do you feel better?” Cameron asked.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Lighter.”
“Good.” There was a most annoying hint of satisfaction in Cameron’s voice. “I liked you on your knees.”
Draven considered that. He’d liked it too… hadn’t he?
Yes. Yes, he had. Hadn’t had to think or figure, no responsibility, no choices, nothing weighing him down. Just do as he was told, be whatever Cameron wanted him to be, and let go of everything else.
He started to squirm free, but Cameron’s arm tightened around him again. “What’s your hurry? It’s early yet. I don’t have to leave for another couple of hours. Might as well stay in bed and keep warm.”
Draven twisted around and eyed him suspiciously. “Keep warm how?”
Cameron’s grin was decidedly wicked. “Like this.” He ducked his head under the covers, and the next thing Draven knew, his cock was being licked and his balls were being stroked and squeezed and oh, God…
He lifted the covers to look. Cameron stared up at him, dark eyes blazing as his tongue traced its way up Draven’s cock.
No one had ever…
He clenched his teeth and swallowed the whimper of pleasure welling up in his throat.
What the hell was Cameron doing? He wasn’t treating him like a slave. Nobody pleasured a slave.
But Cameron was…
Cameron was treating him like a lover.
Fuck.
Draven wasn’t sure what to think about that, but then Cameron took him all the way to the back of his throat, and Draven couldn’t think about anything.
* * *
When Draven lifted the covers and stared down at him in wide-eyed wonder, Cam used his free hand to yank the blankets away so he could watch. There was something incredibly sexy about seeing the cold, ruthless assassin come undone in bed.
“What… do you want… from me?” Draven managed to gasp out.
“I want you to lie back and enjoy this,” Cam told him. “You don’t have to do anything but feel it, let it happen.”
He swirled his tongue around the head of Draven’s cock and was rewarded with a long, drawn out groan of pleasure. Draven’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed against the pillow, shoulder-length, jet-black hair a stark contrast to the white fabric beneath him. His hands clenched fistfuls of sheet as he writhed and moaned at Cam’s every touch.
“What the… God… fuck…” were the last coherent words Cam got out of him.
It was different from last night.
This wasn’t about power, and the thrill Cam felt had nothing to do with seeing Draven on his knees, head bowed in submission. It had to do with the stifled whimpers and the choked cries of pleasure Draven was still struggling to keep inside. It had to do with watching that cold facade break, seeing the man behind it come apart, and knowing it was his touch that was doing it.
Cam took his time exploring, learning the things that drew soft cries and helpless moans from a man who had maybe never let himself go enough to make sounds like that before. His hands stroked lean muscles under hot olive-gold skin, and his lips and tongue worked their way over every sensitive spot they could find.
When he finished his explorations and took Draven’s cock all the way to the back of his throat, Draven let out a hoarse cry and bucked his hips.
Once Cam set his mind to his task, it didn’t take long to bring Draven off. The climax locked every muscle in Draven’s body, drew another strangled cry from his throat, and left him shaking. Cam drew the covers back over him, leaving him in a stunned daze while he went to take a shower.
The sight of Draven spread out before him, naked and staring at him with that incredulous expression on his face had reached deep inside him, done something to him that he was still trying to figure out. The things he’d taken from Draven’s mind last night suggested that no one had ever touched
him that way before: for his pleasure rather than theirs. The thought that he was the first had been an incredible turn-on. Draven writhing and moaning on the bed, drowning in sensory overload, had been even more of a turn-on.
As he stood under the shower, hot water pounding on his back, Cam’s thoughts turned to what he’d done last night. Was it fair to scrape a man’s mind clean and use what he’d learned to bind that man to him, make him loyal?
Back when he’d worked undercover, the answer would have been an unequivocal yes. Whatever it took to get the job done. An eye for an eye, he’d have said, and thought it fair; Draven had certainly pulled his share of secrets from Cam’s mind back on Alpha, when the tables had been turned.
But what the hell had that blow job been about?
That hadn’t been manipulation, not like fucking him last night had. It had been Cam wanting to see Draven come undone, wanting to give pleasure to a man who had, perhaps, never really experienced it before.
He pressed his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall.
What the hell was he doing?
Pat had asked him that question last night when he’d called to find out just what the hell Draven had done to Kyn. Cam had given Pat the story he’d gotten from Draven, but Pat hadn’t sounded convinced. If Kyn didn’t wake up and corroborate Draven’s account soon, Draven might find himself doped to the eyebrows with Anarin and locked in a holding cell awaiting mind-wiping.
Two weeks ago, that wouldn’t have bothered Cam in the least.
This morning, he was dismayed to find that it bothered him a great deal. Somehow, in the time they’d been together, Draven had managed to work his way under Cam’s skin, and Cam was having a damn hard time getting him back out.
The worst part was, he’d been deep enough in Draven’s mind to be certain that the things he was feeling weren’t coming from any kind of influence Draven was exerting over him. They were entirely his own.
He had to shake those feelings, those twinges of conscience. There was no possible world in which he and Draven could have any kind of relationship other than handler and assassin, and if Draven needed to be mastered in the bedroom in order to function, then that was what Cam needed to focus on. He had no doubt that he was going to need Draven’s skills once the Federation Senate made its will clear. But he didn’t need anything else from Draven.
The fact that Draven needed something from him should have pleased him, but it didn’t. The power balance had shifted heavily in his favor. Last night, he’d used it ruthlessly. Now, in the cold light of day, the way he’d manipulated Draven, with knowledge stolen from his most secret self, left Cam feeling dirty.
Maybe that’s what the blow job had been about.
An apology he could never put into words.
The water was starting to cool by the time he stepped out of the shower. He dressed in the clothing he’d picked up from the bedroom floor and headed downstairs to fortify himself before flying back to the campus.
Eager to be gone before Draven got up, he grabbed a trail bar and started the coffee maker, but didn’t wait for it to finish. Not bothering with a hat or gloves, he hurried to the flyer through the bitterly cold morning air.
“Goodbye frying pan, hello fire,” he muttered to himself as he slammed the flyer door shut and strapped himself in.
* * *
Draven lay in the bed where Cameron had left him, staring up at the ceiling, still too stunned to move. No one had ever touched him that way before, giving him pleasure and asking for nothing in return. At first, he’d thought it was just a warm-up, that any moment, Cameron would flip him over and fuck him hard like he had last night.
But he hadn’t.
Instead, he’d taken his time, touching, stroking, learning the things Draven liked… things he hadn’t even known he liked because no one had ever cared enough to bother finding out.
Cameron hadn’t taken his own pleasure, either. Hadn’t fucked him, hadn’t even demanded a blow job.
He heard the shower start, and debated getting up, but what was the point? If he got up, he’d have to face Cameron. If he stayed here, right where Cameron had left him, they could both pretend he was asleep, even if they both knew better.
When Cameron came out of the bathroom, Draven kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. Cameron headed downstairs without a word. Draven heard him moving around, but remained in bed until he heard the flyer lift off.
Back on Alpha, after he’d been used for sex by anyone other than DeMira, he’d always scrubbed his body clean at the first opportunity. There was a ritual for that, a certain order in which he cleaned himself. It soothed him, gave him the illusion of control.
Now, however, he found himself reluctant to wash all traces of Cameron from his skin. Part of him recognized that for the dangerous lapse it was, but Cameron’s scent — musk and leather and clean sweat — drove all sense from his mind, made him think things he had no business thinking.
He dressed in the clothes he’d found in the closet: a pair of crisp, black jeans that looked new, and a soft black sweater that hung loosely on his spare frame, but was warm and comfortable. Did they belong to Cameron? He and Cameron were nearly the same height, and close to the same size, or would be, if Draven hadn’t lost so much weight to riptide and infection.
Downstairs, he stood in front of the picture window and studied the view. Through the bare trees, the dark water of the lake was choppy, the sky above, dull and heavy. In the New England Metroplex back on Earth, a sky like that meant snow, and the oppressive feel in the air meant a blizzard was on the way.
Here, on Aurora, it probably meant the same thing.
If a storm blew up, would Cameron leave him here to fend for himself?
Anxiety bubbled through his gut as he realized that he was alone for the first time since Cameron had come to his rescue. He found himself compulsively checking the kitchen for food. There were plenty of fresh ingredients, most of which were useless to him. He’d never cooked in his life. Never had to.
Fortunately, there were a few frozen meals, and in the back of one of the kitchen cupboards, he found a box of assorted meal-paks. He almost laughed at the relief he felt upon seeing them.
He might not be eating in style, but at least he wouldn’t starve.
Cameron had made a pot of coffee, and had even left a clean mug out for him. Draven poured himself a cup and sat at the table. The first sip was an unpleasant surprise — this was the same kind of coffee DeMira had always served, dark and rich, with a hint of vanilla. The familiar flavor reminded him of things he’d rather forget, and made him question once more what he’d done last night.
It had taken him over half a lifetime to find the courage to break free of DeMira. Why was he so eager to put himself back under someone else’s control? He’d barely even tasted freedom, and yet here he was, seeking a new master.
The fact that he could so easily end up in exactly the same situation he’d just escaped was sobering. And the fact that part of him actually wanted it was terrifying.
As for what had happened this morning, Draven wasn’t sure what to make of it, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had surprised Cameron almost as much as it had surprised him. In some ways, it had been a relief when Cameron had taken off without a word. In other ways…
He pushed the mug away and stared out the window, trying to convince himself that he didn’t want Cameron to come back and touch him like that again.
* * *
“My office. Now.”
Cam had barely crossed the infirmary’s lobby before Eleni’s voice lashed at him from behind. He knew that tone all too well, didn’t need psi to tell him how angry she was.
He didn’t bother arguing, just headed straight for her office. She followed him in, closed the door quietly behind her, and leaned against it, blocking his escape.
“How’s Kyn?” he asked before she could launch into the tirade brewing behind her hard brown eyes.
“Psi-activ
e, shielded, and unconscious.” Her tone was clipped and frigid, belying the heat of her anger.
“Psi-active? How?”
“I don’t know. Jaana says something shattered the shield that was stopping anyone from sensing him. Something called Draven, was it?” At his nod of affirmation, Eleni’s eyes narrowed. “You lied to me, Cameron Dean. You told me he was in witness protection. I thought I was saving his miserable life so he could testify against somebody worse. Pat tells me that’s not true.”
Cam could think of nothing to say to improve the situation, so he kept his mouth shut.
Eleni’s dark eyes bored into him for a long, uncomfortable time before she closed them briefly and brought her hands up to rub her temples. “You are playing a dangerous game, and I don’t appreciate being dragged into it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough.”
“Lini—”
“Don’t. Pat’s waiting to talk to you. He’s been with Kyn all night.” She didn’t add that she had, too. Didn’t need to; he could see it in the dark circles under her eyes, and the slight tremor in her hands from too much coffee.
“You need to get some sleep, Lini.”
Her brief bark of laughter was followed by another icy glare. “You forfeited the right to tell me what I need a hell of a long time ago. You better go talk to Pat. He’s been prowling around like a caged animal ever since he got here.” She moved aside and opened the door for him.
Her exasperated tone gave him pause. Even though she’d made it very clear to him that she no longer needed his protection, he still tried to shield her from anything that would upset her. He’d failed this time, and he felt bad for the distress it had caused her. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I was trying to keep it quiet, not involve anyone else.”
“I don’t want to hear it right now,” she said. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit for one day. Or night.”