Chapter Three
Diablo froze mid-stride, clicked on the mobi-light clipped to his helmet, and bent over. The inert form on the deck was small, slender, and definitely female. Sickened by the memory of thudding into her slight body, he held off kicking his own sorry ass in order to examine her. Shiny black hair framed a ghost white face. She didn’t respond to his prodding and her vital signs failed to register. Defeat slumped his shoulders. He’d been too fucking slow.
Human wasn’t his first choice for a bedmate—too fragile. Actually they tied with spiny Anluvians for last place on the fuckable list. But a horny fire demon, living on a remote moon couldn’t be picky. His cock had hardened within two seconds of establishing her gender, casting a strong vote for dispensing with preliminaries.
Pity, she hadn’t taken a breath. Dead pushed even his limits.
He picked her up, careful not to jar her, and cradled her slight weight against his chest. As he reached to kill the light, the thin skin of her eyelids shifted. For a second, he just stared. Willing her to move again, and then her lashes fluttered. Bloody dragons, he hadn’t imagined the movement. Lush lips parted and she gasped.
He worked at full demon speed, encasing her in a spare emergency suit from his pack. The lightweight gear came with a limited air supply and too little protection if they ran into trouble. He prayed to the Fire Goddess that he didn’t injure her further as he hauled ass out of the fighter, slowing only enough to avoid bumping her and to anchor them to the safety line.
On the trip back to the station, he set a new speed record. He steadied her, careful to keep her immobile while unhooking them and waiting for the locks to pressurize and seal. Once the chamber had a breathable atmosphere, he worried stripping her surface gear would jostle her and possibly aggravating any internal injuries. Both of them wouldn’t fit in the transport tube in their bulky bio-hazard wear. She didn’t know the codes, even if she’d been able to work the controls, so traveling alone wasn’t an option. He shed his gear and removed hers quickly, jarring her as little as possible.
A swipe of his fob activated the lift. He settled her inside, joined her, and overrode the speed governor. He caged her limp form firmly against him, holding her tight as the elliptical pod screamed toward the medi-center.
Once there, he brushed aside the medi-droid attempting to assess injuries. “Stay.”
“Excuse me, sir. You might not be aware of your injuries.”
“I’m fine.”
“If you will permit me, sir—,” the bot objected in its ultra-polite mechanical voice, irritating him further.
“No,” Diablo barked. After laying her gently on the exam table, he activated the diagnostic program.
He stepped back, letting the remote probe scan her. He knew for a fact, the holo-imaging procedure took less than three minutes. The time passed so slowly he’d have sworn it was more like three hours before the device retracted.
Thank Safara, Goddess of fire, she kept breathing through the ordeal.
Diablo sighed with relief. His atypical reaction brought him up short. Bloody dragonheads! What in the seven hells is wrong with me? She’s human, and an imperial pilot, outside of spitting on me, nothing could make her more clearly my enemy, why am I trying to save her?
Unable to justify his behavior, he shifted his weight then concentrated on the woman, deciding to figure it out later.
The medi-droid plugged itself into the diagnostic program and began reporting.
“Your female guest has hairline fractures on two ribs, a concussion, smoke inhalation, exhaustion, dehydration, multiple contusions, and abrasions, aside from those injuries she’s a part human female, nineteen years of age, and she appears to be good health other than the anomalies noted. Not of course considering her latent shifter status or her imminent ovulation. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“Part human, you said.”
“Yes sir. If that’s all—.”
“No, it’s not all. What else is she?” Diablo scowled at the robot.
“I beg your pardon sir?”
“Stupid droid,” he muttered. “What else is she besides human?”
“I’m sorry for failing to understand you, sir.”
“Answer the question.” Diablo slapped the mech’s round top.
“Excuse me, sir. I am endeavoring to respond to your inquiry.”
Gritting his teeth, Diablo repeated, “What is she besides human?”
“I recognized a small demon component in her DNA. However, the majority of her genetic material is from a life form I’m not familiar with,” the mech wound down, finishing on an apologetic note.
“So you don’t know what she is, beyond a little human and a dash of demon.”
“Precisely, sir.”
“You could’ve just said you didn’t know,” Diablo grumbled.
“Indeed, sir, I will endeavor to—.”
“Off,” Diablo snapped at the droid.
He grabbed a handheld molecular level cellular growth accelerator and began repairs on the part human, part demon, and mostly something else.
He started with her head, thinking his needed serious help. Except his big head wasn’t the problem. That end of his anatomy understood she was an enemy. His cock didn’t care about her genetic makeup or her politics. Even a small demon component made her much more fuckable.
Still unconscious, she looked impossibly fragile. Exhaustion and dehydration had been part of her diagnosis. At least he could hydrate her. He filled a bottle with water, adding electrolytes and trace minerals.
With one arm supporting her, he held the drinking tube to her lips.
“Come on, babe. Take a sip for me.”
Aside from wetting her distracting mouth, nothing happened.
He stared at her, torn between wanting to fix her, wanting to fuck her, and wanting to walk away while he still had the option.
For a demon dangerously close to mating age, any female contact held hazards. Intimacy, no matter how much he craved it, would only guarantee his personal time bomb ticked faster.
His comlink clicked to life.
“What’s taking so long?” Gunn asked.
“Pilot’s alive.”
“Is he talking?”
Diablo swallowed another sigh of frustration.
“He’s a she.”
For a couple of seconds, his usually talkative brother had nothing to say. The restful silence didn’t last long.
“Have you stripped her weapons?”
“Dragonheads,” Diablo snarled, cursing himself for a horny fool. He’d been too busy thinking about other kinds of stripping to secure her arsenal.
“Search her now.”
“I’m on it.” Diablo killed the link.
A few minutes later, he had a small pile. A phaser with a backup power pack, capsules of poison, and a charged knife—small arms much too sophisticated for a simple fighter pilot. He’d never those models of blaster or charged knife. Both bore the imperial mark. He searched for an explanation other than the obvious. She might’ve been accepted in the Royal Academy of Deadly Arts and failed, or been ejected for rebellion and somehow escaped execution by stealing a prototype. Okay, not probable, but possible.
He studied the favorite tool of every d’skeku assassin with growing dread. Her blade had subtle differences from his. This, more recent, model weighed quilors less, had a sharper curve to the wicked edge, and still packed a lethal charge.
An imperial pilot had been bad enough. The distinctive kekeor made her far more dangerous—a d’skeku—one the emperor’s personal troops.
A beautiful, fuckable woman had dropped onto his landing pad. Figured she happened to be his most dangerous enemy—a classic example of rotten demon luck in action. The situation was so wrong on so many levels he wanted to howl.
Cautiously he loosened her one-piece, and gently worked her left arm free, exposing a pair of twined runes. One stood for an imperial assassin, the other branded her as warrior.
The tattoo confirmed his suspicions. He should’ve been turned off, but his horny body didn’t care who’d sent her or why.
Diablo lived parsecs from the nearest settlement with available females. Aroused was his normal state, which sucked. His always achy dick hardened further and his heavy balls tugged the tender flesh of his sac. Discomfort was nothing new. He’d deal.
His inner demon, whispered she was disarmed and a long ways from home and unconscious.
One of his callused palms stroked her bare arm. Her soft, soft skin pulled him closer. He jerked away from temptation, grinding his molars and locking his hands behind his head. Even a horny fire demon had standards.
She whimpered. The sound was a soft, feminine plea for help, calling to everything that made him male.
Bloody dragonheads! He went right back to cuddling her before considering the possible consequences of getting closer.
An adorable pink tongue darted out, licking lips that would’ve tempted a paragon and fire demons had never been all that big on restraint.
He cursed himself again as he brought the drinking tube to her mouth.
This time she sipped and stirred. One small hand drifted to the neck of her undershirt.
Maybe the fabric bothered her.
He sat down the drink, frowning at the way his hand trembled.
Gently he tugged on her opening tab, loosening the snug under garment. Her smooth skin was damp with perspiration. The warmth heightened her sweet-hot seductive scent. An intoxicating aroma of night blooming jasmine, hunger, and irresistible female invaded his nostrils, making him long for a taste. His fingers shook, too clumsy and rough to touch such perfection.
Where her top parted, red marks curled over her sternum. He peeled the material back, exposing an intricate design and the tantalizing inner curve of pale, perfect breasts.
At first he thought the elaborate figures were another tattoo. Closer scrutiny revealed the stylized knot hadn’t been inked. A birthmark? He squinted, something familiar tugging him nearer. A rash impulse made him trace the pattern. A tingle of power warmed his fingertip. He’d seen markings like those before. Then it hit him. They were more ancient runes. Unfortunately, the signs for a d’skeku were the only ones he knew.
Gunn loved history. He might be able to read the marks.
His fingers continued to burn where they’d touched her strange markings. So she held magic. The compulsion to taste her grew stronger.
He’d never been any good at resisting temptation. He leaned closer, brushing her lips across hers so lightly it barely counted as a kiss. The contact still rocked him from his horns to his cloven feet.
She tasted sweeter than sin and he was an expert on the subject. Reluctantly, he pulled back, aware that how easy the smoking embers between them could become a wildfire. If he played with her, even a fire demon might get burned.
The small female fisted his suit, anchoring him in place. Her eyelids fluttered and lifted, exposing a sliver of ruby irises.
“More,” she croaked.
Talk about asking for trouble. Human and d’skeku had been scary, but a shifter made involvement with her suicidal.
His sanity must’ve burned off under the heat of her touch. Nothing could’ve stopped him from obeying her imperious demand.
***
Gunn strode into the medi-center proper, determined to separate his brother from the threat to all they’d worked to achieve.
A fast evaluation of the situation didn’t give him any good news. The medi-droid had shut down. The exam lights had been lowered. The normally cool, sterile environment swirled with tension, heat, and plenty of lust.
His brother had wrapped around the female and not to subdue her.
Mission impossible, Gunn’s specialty, still he had to try.
Imperial pilot equaled emperor’s tool. The clearly human woman already had her scheming claws deep into his brother. Fear trickled down his spine in the form of cold sweat.
He was in for the fight of his life
“Are you crazy?” Gunn growled, interrupting their kiss. Bloody dragonheads. He swallowed back the automatic curse on the end of his tongue, praying he hadn’t come too late.
Diablo’s head came up and he met Gunn’s eyes. He didn’t let go of the enemy.
Everything they’d worked for depended on him and Diablo keeping it together. Neither one of them could run skynet alone. Even strong demons required some rest.
If the woman pushed his brother into mating mania then the fledgling pan-galactic alliance would crumble into dust before they’d gotten started.
The coalition had been gaining members steadily. They were still the only high-level fire demons—the only ones strong enough to control the meteor showers protecting Ranin Seven from the emperor’s forces. If skynet failed, the imperial troops would seize the duranium mining operation in two nano seconds.
For decades, they’d fought side by side. From the first days when they’d stowed away on a mining transport, through the early years serving deep in the mines as dust devils, then putting together a powerful consortium of allies, until now.
They’d gained control of the moon and its mother lode of the precious metal. Over the past three years, skynet had been perfected. The system was part technology and part magic. The tech-aided defense functioned well—as long as a strong fire demon handled the controls, managing the meteor showers and cosmic dust storms always brewing on volatile outer edge of the galaxy.
Gunn read the tats on her slender upper arm. A fresh wash of cold fear ran down his spine.
A d’skeku assassin was worse than an ordinary imperial warrior. Much worse. The elite troops were soulless, lethal killers, trained in every deadly art.
Scarier than their undisputed expertise, the emperor’s personal guards were conditioned from childhood to serve the evil Prado without question, even at the cost of their own lives. Their conditioning rarely broke.
He had no doubt she was here on orders to kill both of them. Something Prado had been trying to accomplish for more than two decades. They were still breathing and that gave him a silver of hope.
Gunn had to salute Prado. This time he’d found the perfect weapon—an exotically beautiful female with slender curves, fashioned for a male’s pleasure, and doubtless skilled in every manner of death. She’d have to be.
Demons weren’t easy to kill.
Typical rotten demon luck she landed now. Both he and Diablo were too close to mating age for any contact with a female to be safe. This made his brother’s obvious attraction to her all the more dangerous.
If Diablo had already mated with her, then even if Gunn killed her, it wouldn’t matter. His brother would die, either trying to protect her or by his own hand. A bonded demon male, who lost his female always ended his life. Aside from the point of honor, suicide beat the seven hells out of a lingering death from a broken mating bond.
Gunn kept his expression blank. No reason to let the enemy know how much he feared her. Like as not, she didn’t care one way or the other about his brother’s or his opinion. Why would she? Humans hated demonkind.
He had little use for most humans. The males were good for killing. He didn’t care to eat them—their flesh too sweet for his taste. The women were fuckable, just not his first, second, or third choice for bed sport.
Diablo knew all of this as well as he did. Until this part-human entered their lives, his brother shared his revulsion of human women. Now Diablo’s mating instinct called the shots.
She would ruin everything. Without Diablo, when Gunn tired Prado won. Rage washed through him.
The time for playing nice had just run out.
He grabbed his brother’s arm.
Diablo jerked free of his hold, setting the female on the exam table. He backed away, keeping her behind him as he pushed the wheeled bed into a corner. Apparently satisfied he’d made her as safe as possible, he positioned himself between the woman and Gunn. His eyes never left Gunn’s as he pu
lled his kekeor and assumed a defensive stance.
Not good.
Gunn understood the powerful mating urge dictated Diablo’s actions. His brother’s defense of their enemy still hurt. Worse than his bruised feelings, was the pervasive fear he’d arrived too late to save him.
He tamped down the depressing thought. No way would he give up on his brother. Not while he still drew breath.
He stared at Diablo, taking in the fighting crouch and the titanium-strength determination etched on his familiar, hard features.
The very thing that made them an amazing team worked against them now. They were too evenly matched.
Gunn’s mind raced, picking through half a dozen approaches, discarding them as fast as he thought of one. Finally he went with the unadorned truth.
“Get a hold of yourself, she’s Prado’s tool. She’s here to destroy everything we’ve worked our asses off to build.”
Bared teeth and low growl served as Diablo’s response.
Gunn rolled out the heavy blasters. “Did our brothers die for nothing then?”
Slowly, Diablo straightened.
“I can’t resist her.” His voice grated with pain and arousal.
Gunn felt like dragonshit for using their brothers’ death. Yet he’d do it again. A demon did what had to be done or he wasn’t worthy to call himself male. He nudged his brother further away from the enemy. “Fight her. You can do this. I’ll help.”
He drew in a deep breath, inhaling her scent. Night blooming jasmine, need, and sweet-hot female, wrapped around his balls and squeezed tenderly.
He turned toward her without consciously willing it. The thin under garment was halfway undone exposing the plump edge of delicate breasts. Pale skin glowed with heat and life. The pulse of her heart was visible in the tracery of a blue vein. Every cell in his body yearned to possess her. Even the red rune warnings on her sternum struck him as pure erotic seduction.
“She’s a dragon shifter?” he growled, forcing the words past an all consuming need destroying his will and his control.
“Is that what her markings mean?”
Gunn swallowed hard, fighting the mind-stealing lust.
Flight of Dragons Page 68