by Calinda B
“You never listened to me before, why should you listen to me now?” He lifts his hand dismissively over his head and stomps through the doorway.
I’ve got to do better in the leadership department. If Daylon’s opinion can be trusted, there’s a serious rift in the team.
Naazira’s in too much of a love-tizzy, and I’m a paranoid basket-case, always looking over my shoulder. I’m convinced anyone could be my dream stalker.
A few hours later, frustrated with everything, I remove the protective clothing, mask, eye-shields, and headdress, and drag myself into the nearby Uni-Cafe Twenty-Three for a quick lunch. Like every place on the Complex, the Uni-Cafe has white walls, gray concrete floors, and white uniformed staff, their heads all covered in white netting. They look more like surgeons than cafe workers. Even their frowns imply serious work. No-one who works here even cracks a smile. We all just eat and then hustle back to work. I’m guessing that’s the point of the “no-fun” policy that must be in place.
Searching for a space to eat, I spy Naazira sitting by herself.
“I thought you were talking to your boyfriend. What are you doing here?” I ask, amid the clatter of silverware, dishes, and diners.
“Waiting for you, what do you think?” She gives me one of her heartwarming smiles. “I’ve got this great idea for the graft. I think this will work.” She sets her silver tray on the gleaming white table across from me. “And, yes, I was talking to Thras,” she says in her new dreamy-eyed demeanor.
“For hours?” I say, lifting my eyebrows.
“He loved my suggestion,” she says, ignoring my comment.
She proceeds to natter on about how we’ve been taking the wrong tissues from SV, how we need to employ a four-flap, or quad-stitch method of grafting. Then she adds more about Thras says this and Thras says that. I barely track what she’s saying.
Finally, all her nonsense bubbles over in me like sugar burning in a hot pan.
I roll my eyes. “Honestly. Give it a rest. He’s not trustworthy.”
Naazira freezes, her mouth agape. She tosses her head like a haughty pony forced to live with a herd of nags.
I take a bit of my sandwich.
“What?” I say, chewing half-heartedly on my tasteless meal.
I sip from my straw at the container of Uni-Nourish, some high-protein manufactured drink that is supposed to contain every ounce of goodness a body could need. It tastes like dog shit smells. I force it down my throat and set the container far away from me. I have another go at my sandwich. It’s filled with Uni-lunchmeats, Uni-grown lettuce, slathered with Uni-condiments. This whole naming of everything Uni makes me want to puke.
I focus on Naazira’s face and cock my head, questioningly.
“Nothing,” she says, chewing happily.
“Come on, tell me.” I drop my sandwich on my plate and push it away from me.
She turns toward me.
“It’s just that…” She shrugs. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.” My face hardens. “The man’s a control freak. An emotionless, controlling man who only wants power over me.”
“Really.” She stretches the word out like brittle taffy. “And you’re so weak you’re his helpless victim.” She says it like it’s a fact. “You want him just like everyone else around here.”
“I don’t want him! I want him to leave me alone!” The words practically vomit from my mouth. This conversation is making me extremely uncomfortable, if my hot face is any indication. I start to push away from the table, but she shushes me.
“Prove it.” She points at me, and then waves gaily. “Because here he comes.”
I turn toward the entrance of the café. He’s striding toward our table.
As he approaches, he nods at everyone, pausing to chat with people, putting on the charm. And then his beautiful, mesmerizing eyes look right at me—and his smile disappears.
Chapter 9
“I’ve been thinking…more like losing sleep, wondering why the grafts aren’t taking,” Thras says to Naazira, sitting across the lunch table. “Your idea of a four-flap graft might work but it’s a complex procedure.”
“It would yield the maximum cambium overlap,” I say, my brain lighting up with knowledge.
“Yes,” Thras says, sparing me a glance. “But Daylon just brought something up. He thinks we need to seduce the tissues into merging with one another.”
My face practically bursts into flame. That was probably the idea Daylon had in the greenhouse. But I’m the stuck-up bitch who didn’t solicit his opinion earlier.
“Ooh, seduction,” Naazira says, all goo-goo eyed. “How would we do that?”
“Well,” Thras says, leaning in conspiratorially. He lowers his voice. “Daylon suggested it could be a problem with energetics.”
“How so?” I frown.
Another glance is cast in my direction, like a crumb flicked from the table. “He thinks we need to get the two plants’ energies to merge. Then, the physical will follow.”
“Explain, please.” My forehead bunches into a knot, trying to comprehend what he said.
“You know how, when two people are attracted to each other they can be miles apart and think the same thoughts…stay connected as if they’re in the same room with one another?” He looks at Naazira.
She looks like she’ll pass out with joy.
“Think about it,” Thras says. “Consider the individual plant procreation. The Snow Hemp prefers warmer climes. And, it populates through seeds. Silbalda Volaticus, on the other hand, propagates via asexual vegetative reproduction in the ice-lands of Wreston. Talk about interspecies interrelations!” His face brightens. “It’s like we’ve been trying to get a Human to mate with an Iceorx from the mountains of Creda.” His strong hands sweep the air. “Completely different cellular structures. I don’t know why none of us thought of it before. When Daylon brought the idea to me, well…” He rakes a hand through his dark hair. “Wow. All my synapses started firing.”
“How do we accomplish the seduction?” I say. “You can’t force copulation, propagation, or even attraction,” I add, unsure of my meaning.
“Exactly,” he says, nodding at Naazira. “It can’t be forced.”
“Right,” she says, smiling broadly.
The conversation continues, speaking in depth about scion and stock keeping their parents, being tricked into conjoining, and so on. The two of them are glued to one another with excitement.
I’m happy to ignore both of them the rest of the day. At night, though, snuggled in my blankets, I drift off into thoughts about my dream stalker—and wondering what Thras’ touch feels like.
I toss and turn, restless, until finally I fall asleep.
In the darkness, the moonlight dances across the pond. The trees whisper with wind. There sits the same man, shrouded in shadows.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says, his back to me, as usual. The sparkling lotus blossom hovers above his head in the air.
“It’s my dream. My sanctuary. Why wouldn’t I come?” I say.
“Is it? Is it merely yours?” he says, making my insides churn. He lifts the stick high and slashes if forward, like a sword. The lotus becomes two. Their petals gently touch, and they float in a lazy circle.
Again, he disappears. Again I wait, every nerve on high alert. And I keep waiting, clutching the trunk of a tree, staring at the symbol as it goes round and round and round.
I’m taut. Tense. And wanting to bed this man, which confuses me. Just as I’m about to give up and wander off, his arm reaches around and pins me to his chest.
“Don’t leave,” he says from behind me. “Give me a chance.”
“I thought you left,” I say, in a whisper. “I thought you wouldn’t return.”
He feels solid. Strong. And so damn sexy I think I might faint.
“I had something to take care of,” he says. “But it’s done now.” His nose nuzzles my neck.
“Oh?” I say. �
��What was it?” I’m tempted to push into him, rub against him like a cat, but I’m afraid to let go into my lust…lust for a Meta.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he says.
The sexual energy he exudes is potent and powerful. It rolls from him in ripples and waves, filling me as if he’s inside me. My body sizzles with the chemistry of him and me.
“What are the symbols? What do they mean?” I say.
“That’s for you to figure out.” He burrows his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, slowly gathering it into his hand. And then he pulls hard. Restraining me. Holding my hair tightly, he sweeps his other arm along my belly toward my hips. “Do you like this?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Will you allow this?” he whispers.
I’m wet with desire for him. “Yes.”
He wriggles his fingers into my waistband. His fingers push into the apex between my legs.
I gasp. “Do you have a name?”
“Yours.” He says this as a statement of fact.
“Mine,” I say, noticing the surge of sexual power that fills me when I say the word.
“Yes. That’s all you need to know,” he growls. “You’re so wet.”
He slides his finger between my folds, working the rosy nub.
My legs part. My hands fall along his thighs, stroking the powerful muscles. His rigid heat presses into my backside. And then I realize something. Nothing is disturbing this moment. No terrifying creature is crashing at me.
“Where’s the beast?” I ask, writhing against him.
“He’s right here,” he growls.
“No, the beast who wakes me night after night,” I say. “The one who’s after me.”
His finger flicks faster.
I moan.
“He’s been handled. You’re safe. Now hush.” He works my clit, rubbing his stiff, hot erection against my ass.
I’m beside myself, about to let go into orgasm, when a monster-like roar rips through the forest.
“Ah, hell,” my dream-stalker snarls. “Gods be damned.”
The symbols shiver in the air, then pop like bubbles.
I freeze.
My dream lover freezes as well. “He’s coming for you. I won’t let him take you from me.”
“Who?” I say, my heartbeat accelerating like a Jetter preparing for take-off.
And then, just like always, I wake, my heart trying to claw right out of my ribcage. I’m also wet with longing. I’ve got to find who this man is in my daily life.
Chapter 10
The next day was long and horrid. The words, “he’s coming for you” hammered against my mind as I worked in the greenhouse, tending to our experiments. Thrilling arousal wound through my terror at times, though, filling me with lusty whirls of sensation. I spent all day in a fog. And then, I had to meet with Paki for reasons known only to him.
Meeting with him is like meeting with the devil himself. Making my way into his office, I tap on the door.
“Enter,” he booms.
I take a tentative step inside, standing as close to the door as I can. When the doors slides closed, I jerk, as if struck. Being in his office makes me physically ill. It smells of sweat and something sweetish. The temperature of the room is cooler than anywhere else.
He sits at his Smuntine escritoire, contemplative. Like the rest of us, his office has no personal adornment, save for some sort of award hanging proudly behind his gleaming desk. Framed in an oval, it provides a backdrop, like an evil moon.
With one fingertip, he smooths his mustache, first to the right, then to the left, over and over. He keeps his lips parted as he does this, like he’s preparing for something delicious to enter.
I start to say something but he interrupts with a single sound—a zip or psst kind of hushing noise. “I talk first. You’re in my space now.”
“So, talk then,” I say, my gaze cast at the concrete floor.
He lets out a low chuckle, sending chills up my spine. “You’re a saucy one, aren’t you?”
He stands and saunters toward me, taking his time. He reeks of some exotic scent I’d smelled on a soldier on Wreston. If I liked that scent before, I hate it now.
He circles me, brushing against me. Each touch sends waves of horrid, toxic energy shooting into my system like stabs with a blunt knife.
I train my eyes on a single spot on the floor, my mouth clamped shut.
“Like it here? Getting on okay?” he says while continuing his slow step, step, step around me. “Everyone treating you okay?”
I hate his voice, emerging all smooth and low.
When I say nothing, he seizes my jaw between his strong fingers and forces my face up. “I asked you a question, Miss Borren. I asked you how you’re getting on here.”
In the dim light of his office, his face appears shadowed and angled.
Looking into his dark eyes is like looking into an abyss to hell. His grip digs into my flesh but I don’t cry. I try my best not to wince.
“Fine,” I say, through gritted teeth.
He brings his nose to my cheek and nuzzles me, in a similar manner as my dream stalker
I suck in my breath. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and neck. I want to vomit, to scream, to rage—anything but stand in terror.
He releases his tight hold on my chin, continuing his slow, wretched stalking around me. “It’s important to me you’re taken care of, my sweet. I only want the best for you.”
My lips work hard to contain all the fear and rage bubbling inside.
“We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other from this point forward,” he says.
I can think of nothing worse.
When his chest-com blips, the spell breaks. He looks at it angrily.
He taps it and says, “What?”
“You’re wanted on level seventeen,” a male voice says.
“Can it wait?” Paki snaps.
“Now,” says the harsh voice.
Paki lets out a huff. “We’ll have to reschedule our time together, Miss Borren. Don’t for a minute think this is the end. You and I are going to get close—very close.” He nods curtly and says, “You’re dismissed.”
I don’t start breathing fully until I reach the Fastrans. And, I don’t let out one tear until I arrived in the safety of my apartment.
Later that evening, I’m livid when Reve shows up for dinner. I slap my palm against the door to open it and whirl back into the living area without sparing a glance at him. The minute he enters my absence-of-color apartment and the doors sigh shut, I begin to vent.
“Do you know what I had to do today?” I say, pacing back and forth in my front room. “I had to meet with our Wacher, Paki. Me, not you. He sat me down and asked me the most stupid questions that had nothing to do with anything!” My hands fly in the air in wild gesticulation. “I’m certain he only wanted to mess with me. Assert his control. He even said that to me earlier—‘I intend to assert my control.’ Have you found out a thing about him? You said you’d make a few inquiries on your com device.”
A charred scent tickles my nose.
“What’s that smell? Is that you, Reve?” My head whips around. “Oh!” Smoke curls from the kitchen in smudged wisps. I race to the cooking device to see our meal dancing with tiny flames. “That’s just great, now I’m burning supper.” I pause in my tirade, realizing Reve hasn’t said a word. I look over at him. “Reve? Are you okay?”
He’s slumped on the sofa, hair disheveled, his eyes glazed over and heavy-lidded.
“I’m fine.” His words come out slurred.
I hurry to his side. “You don’t sound fine. You sound drunk.”
“Ha!” He lets out a short laugh, lifting his head to squint at me. “Drunk. Me? On this shit-hole of a planet?” His head falls back against the couch.
“How in the world could you find anything alcoholic?” I scowl at him. “I thought the whole Complex was dry.”
“Ish,” he says. “It’s dryi
sh.” The ish comes out in a hiss like gas leaking out of a carbonated beverage. “There’s a black m…the black mark…” He waves his hand listlessly. “You can get anything for a price.” He lets out a groan, like speaking proved a huge effort.
I place my hand on his arm, attempting to soothe.
He shoves away my hand. “Don’t. I said I’m fine.”
“Reve,” I say, crouching before him.
“Stop trying to make me feel better,” he says. He leans forward, places his hands around my upper arms, and tries to get me to stand up. He ends up pushing me backward instead—hard.
I fall back on my tail-bone and tears instantly sting my eyes.
“Reve! That hurt!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, the whites of his eyes showing. He attempts to get to his feet but he’s so trashed he stumbles, loses his footing, and nearly lands on top of me. “Shit! Fuck! Goddamn leg!”
Forgetting about my bruised butt, I leap to my feet. “Sit. Get off your leg. Now. I’ll go get a compress.”
He falls back on the sofa, his face as white as the walls. “I can’t do this, sis. We’re only a couple weeks in and I’m…”
He lets out another groan.
“Damn, damn, damn,” I say, racing around my small dwelling. I power off the Uni-flash cooker and hustle into the bathroom for a washcloth. Hurrying back to the kitchen, I press the freeze button and wave the cloth underneath. In seconds, it’s frozen solid, so cold it burns my fingers. I grab a Uni-preserver sheet, meant for storing leftovers, and wrap the frozen bundle inside. “Unbutton your pants, Reve. Peel them off. No resistance. Just do it.”
He shoves his fingers under the waistband of his trousers and wriggles them down his legs. His head falls back and his eyes slam shut.
“Get it over with, whatever you’re going to do. I’m too fucked up to give a shit.” His hands drop limply to the sofa.
Seeing his wound, I bear down on my lip to keep from gasping. “Oh, Reve,” I manage to say without bursting into tears.
“Quit it,” he mumbles, eyes closed. “If you feel sorry for me, I’m going to smack you. I mean it.”