Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor 2 New Concepts Publishing www.newconceptspublishing.com Copyright ©2007 by Kaitlyn O'Connor NOTICE: This eBook is li...
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Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor
New Concepts Publishing www.newconceptspublishing.com
Copyright ©2007 by Kaitlyn O'Connor
NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.
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Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor
Cyborg Nation By Kaitlyn O'Connor © copyright March 2007, Kaitlyn O'Connor Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright March 2007 New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
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Chapter One Bronte Nichols' thoughts were focused inwardly, as they so often were, as the lift settled and the doors opened. There a was man standing in the cubicle, which was so unexpected it actually pierced Bronte's abstraction. She stared at him blankly, partly because she was surprised to see anyone at all so early in the morning and partly because, for some unfathomable reason, she discovered he was not completely in focus. Prompted by the instinctive urge to keep from being left behind, she leapt inside just as the doors began to close again. Uneasiness washed over her even as she yielded to the impulse, effectively trapping herself inside with the stranger. It wasn't just that he was big—really big—a stranger, or even the fact that she so rarely met up with anyone at all when she arrived at work so early. His stance seemed relaxed, unthreatening, and yet Bronte sensed that he had tensed when he'd seen her just as she had when she'd spotted him and there was something about that that set off alarm bells in her head. After staring at him owl eyed for a moment, she finally remembered her manners, nodded politely in greeting, and turned to stare at the doors instead, or rather the level indicator. She didn't exactly see the screen displaying the levels the lift was passing. In her mind's eye, she was shifting through the vague impressions her eyes had recorded of the stranger. 4
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She was certain he was a stranger to her. In the first place, she never spoke to anyone aside from her staff members and the parents of her patients ... and of course her patients. In the second, as distracted as she generally was with her own thoughts, she still thought she would have noticed a man as large as the one behind her if she'd run across him in the medical center before. He wasn't just tall, he was big, muscular if the form fitting, one piece suit he was wearing was any indication, and she thought it probably was. It looked like the uniform of the med center's security guards, but there was something about him that, somehow, just didn't seem to go with the uniform. Not that she'd actually been able to make out much more than that about him—big, very tall, and dark hair. His features had seemed pleasingly regular—but blurred so she wasn't so certain she could trust that impression. She was certain he had dark hair though it seemed it had been slicked tightly against his skull in a very odd sort of hair style—not the way the security guards generally wore their hair at all. In fact mostly they just shaved their heads so that there was little more than stubble sprouting from their scalps and sometimes not even that. Which brought her mind back to the subject that had engrossed her before the doors of the lift had opened. "My glasses," she muttered under her breath. "Now what did I do with them? I'm sure I had them when I left the apartment. I distinctly recall that I had them." "On your head." 5
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The deep, resonant voice behind her startled her. Not only had she not realized she'd been muttering aloud, but she'd become so engrossed with her conversation with herself she'd momentarily forgotten she was sharing the elevator. Her lips parting with surprise, she whipped her head around at the sound of his voice, lifting a hand absently to her head as she did so. Her fingers connected with something in her hair, dislodging whatever it was. As it fell, she and the stranger both bent instinctively to catch it ... and butted heads. The blow made Bronte's knees buckle and she sat on the floor of the lift, one hand flying upward to massage the throbbing knot where their heads had connected. "Oh! I do beg your pardon! Are you alright?" His face came into focus as he leaned down, wrapped the fingers of one hand around her left upper arm, hauled her to her feet, and then shoved the glasses he'd managed to rescue onto her nose. Briefly, his face came into sharp focus before blurring again when he moved too close for her eyes to focus with the aid of the glasses. Bronte felt her face reddening as she gaped up at him and it sank slowly into her mind that he was quite the most handsome man she'd ever run in to, either literally or figuratively. Not that she made a habit of running into strange men! She had had a few accidents, however, and she grew an even brighter red until her skin was no doubt rivaling her dark auburn hair as she recalled her last embarrassing encounter with a man. She'd rather liked Dr. Pool, too, or at least thought she might be interested in the man on a purely feminine level, but 6
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he'd been far more embarrassed by the collision than she was. He had made it a point to give her a wide berth after she'd mowed him down at the corner of the connecting corridors where they had their respective offices and she was fairly certain she'd blown yet another, rare, opportunity to find a soul mate ... or at least a fuck buddy. She became aware suddenly that the man, the stranger, was still gripping her arm, his gaze wandering over her speculatively. "Do I know you?" she asked politely, certain that she couldn't possibly have met him before. But then, he was being very familiar, really, for someone who didn't know her. "Dr. Nichols?" Bronte blinked. Apparently he did know her. "Yes?" His frown deepened instead of clearing. "B. A. Nichols?" Understanding dawned. Bronte chuckled, but she felt her blush rising again. "My father was Bryan Alexander Nichols. I'm Dr. Bronte Alexandra Nichols." She hesitated uncomfortably. The plan had been that she would join her father in his practice once she'd completed her residency. She had so been looking forward to it, too, getting to work beside a man of his reputation, getting the chance to actually get to know her father at last. She certainly hadn't had the opportunity when she was growing up. After her mother had died when she'd been little more than an infant, her father had settled her with his sister and her brood, and she'd only gotten a handful of visits from her godlike father over the years. "Uh ... my father's dead," she added baldly. "But I've taken over his practice. Were you looking for a pediatrician?" 7
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Her stomach seemed to drop at the realization that that must, indeed, be why he was in the medical center, though it seemed an odd time to be doing so. Her first appointment wasn't for hours yet. Tamping her disappointment at the discovery that he was a potential patient, or at least must have one—a child—and therefore must be married, or at least involved with someone, Bronte glanced down at the hand that still gripped her arm and then noticed she'd attached her badge upside down when she'd put it on that morning. No wonder he'd had trouble reading it! She tugged at her arm as she reached to adjust the name badge. Almost reluctantly, it seemed to her, he released his hold on her then reached past her and tapped the panel used to select levels. The lift braked, stopped, and began to descend as rapidly as it had been rising. The action reminded Bronte belatedly that she'd forgotten to key in the level she wanted. She discovered when she turned to look at the panel, though, that the lift had already shot past her level. Her lips flattened in irritation as she reached to press her level. She hadn't just come early because she never slept well and was too restless to remain in her apartment any longer. She'd intended to catch up on some of her paperwork—which was why she'd been so distracted to begin with. Dread always filled her when she had to tackle the mounds of paperwork she allowed to build up while she attended the part of her job she actually enjoyed ... interacting with her patients. And then, too, she'd been worried that she'd misplaced her glasses ... again. 8
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She really ought to have her eyes fixed, ought to have done it already, but there never seemed to be time. And actually, the prospect unnerved her, though she wouldn't have admitted it under torture. She was a physician herself, for god's sake! It didn't look good that she was such a coward about facing medical procedures herself! The lift settled and the doors opened. A man, dressed much as the one behind her, stepped into the lift. Bronte tried not to stare, but he was much like the man behind her—very tall, built like a tank, and dressed in the skin tight uniform that left very little to the imagination and made it impossible for her not to notice as her gaze flickered over the broad chest and shoulders, bulging arms and well developed legs ... and the almost obscene bulge at the apex of his thighs. She shuffled over to give him room and then looked up as the sense of being loomed over swamped her, discovering that both men were looming over her because she was sandwiched between them and they were looking down at her. "This is Dr. Nichols," the first man said to the second, drawing Bronte's gaze for a moment before she glanced at the man he was speaking to. After trying to adjust her glasses and discovering that both men were too close to bring into focus, Bronte shoved her glasses onto the top of her head. She was a bit stunned to discover when she had that the second man was as unusually attractive as the first, though they looked nothing alike beyond the fact that both were dark. The new arrival, though, 9
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was not quite as dark. Whereas the first man's hair was as black as night, his eyebrows a thick, straight line above eyes a steel, almost eerie blue, the second man had hair of a slightly warmer shade, though still very nearly black. She might have thought it black if not compared to the first man's hair. His brows were also dark and thick, but arched. At the moment, one was lifted upward while the other had descended in a look she could only think was displeasure, even if not for the cool assessment in his emerald green eyes. "B. A. Nichols?" the second man asked, obviously no more pleased than the first man had been. Bronte tried not to feel slighted, but she couldn't prevent the resentment that swelled in her chest. It was completely unfair to compare her unfavorably to her father. He had had many years to build his reputation, after all! Given time, she fully intended to live up to his name ... but there was the rub. It was a hard act to follow, and she'd been viewed under a microscope and compared unfavorably almost from the time she'd arrived in medical school. "I am imminently qualified, I assure you!" she responded somewhat defensively. "Although I have not had the years to build my reputation as my father did, I graduated at the top of my class and I have been practicing for several years now." She couldn't help but notice they looked unconvinced. "And, of course, I have the added advantage of having worked with a man of vast experience in the field." She felt a little uncomfortable about that claim, but it wasn't exactly a lie ... just a slight prevarication. She had worked along side experienced physicians while she was 10
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doing her residency and she had her father's case studies, after all. The two men exchanged a long, speaking look above her head and seemed to come to a decision. After a moment, they shifted slightly away from her, still crowding her personal space uncomfortably, but not quite as uncomfortably as before. She dragged in a shaky breath, not realizing until that moment just how unnerved she'd been. Not that she wasn't still more than a little unnerved. She felt overly warm, too. Actually, now that she thought about it, she felt almost ... dizzy, definitely jittery. Distracted by that realization, she fell to analyzing her reaction. It dawned on her after a very few moments that her chaotic response was on a purely feminine level and had very little, if anything, to do with any primal sense of threat. Pheromones, she realized dimly as she inhaled and felt her body react to the chemical even though she wasn't actually aware of the scent. The combined testosterone of the two overpoweringly male strangers was enough to bring any self-respecting, red blooded female instantly into heat. Rather pleased by the discovery that, despite her preoccupation with the sciences, she could indeed react like any other woman, Bronte flicked a tentative smile at the newcomer, who glanced down at her as the lift, at last, stopped at her level and the doors began to open. She'd already tensed to step off when the opening doors revealed yet another man, dressed as the first two. 11
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This one, however, was fair ... and carrying a rather large piece of equipment that was heavy enough it made every considerable muscle in his upper body and arms bulge with effort. Bronte was so mesmerized by the powerful display that she wasn't aware that the man had crowded her into the back corner as he stepped into the lift with his load until she stepped on the feet of the man behind her and fell against him. An arm came around her waist, molding her to every deliciously hard, sculpted inch of his body. Embarrassed at her clumsiness but grateful that he hadn't allowed her to fall when she'd lost her balance and fell against him, Bronte tipped her head back to smile at him apologetically. "I am so sorry! Excuse me!" He met her gaze, his arm tightening around her. A shiver chased down her spine, but she wasn't certain if it was because the icy color of his eyes made him appear so cool and detached, or if there really was no warmth in his gaze. Something long and hard rose against her buttocks, however, that completely disordered her mind. "No problem," he responded after a long moment of hesitation, his voice as cool and as lacking in inflection as his gaze. He didn't let go of her at once. In fact, he didn't let go of her at all. Bronte looked down at the arm clamped around her waist and then toward the doors of the lift just as they closed. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "This was my floor!" The blond man, she discovered, was looking her over with the same detached interest the other two men had. Groping for the glasses she'd shoved on top of her head, she winced as strands of her hair, tangled in the piece, parted company 12
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with her scalp as she dragged the glasses down to help her see him more clearly. The face that came into view sent a jolt through her. It was hard and angular, purely masculine and yet so classically formed and appealing 'beautiful' was the first thought that popped in her mind. Framed by long, beautiful blond hair that hung loosely well past his shoulders, ending just past the hard male breasts that still bulged from the thing he held, she was dimly aware that hair that luxuriant should have looked completely out of place on a man who looked so very, very ... male, and yet it didn't. The glossy, wavy hair only seemed to emphasize his masculinity, to set off his god-like perfection to greatest advantage. What were the odds, she thought distractedly, of finding herself in a lift with three such exceptional specimens? Astronomical, she decided, even though she couldn't seem to focus her mind on running the calculations, because she hadn't seen a single man in all her years that came close to even one of them. "This is Dr. Nichols," said the man behind her at just about the time Bronte managed to free her gaze from the sapphireeyed blond god before her and glanced down at what he held. She frowned as she stared at the filing unit he held and a flicker of recognition dawned. Instantly diverted, she looked the piece over more carefully. It didn't just look familiar. It was familiar! It was hers! Doubt instantly swept over her, though, as it occurred to her to wonder why in the world anyone would take her files from her office—the whole filing unit! She frowned, wondering 13
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if she'd forgotten to pay her office rent and was being evicted ... or if they'd simply decided to move her. Indignation filled her at that thought. "This is B. A. Nichols?" the blond man questioned, tilting his head to study her curiously. "The data banks listed a male." "Obviously not current," the black haired man holding her commented. He almost seemed to shrug. "They are ... inefficient." Bronte craned her neck to look up at the man. "They?" she echoed, feeling the sting as a personal insult even though she had nothing to do with updating the data bank herself. He caught her face in the crook between his thumb and forefinger before she could look away, studying her face with that same unnerving intensity of before. "She is obviously qualified, however, in her field else she would not be practicing medicine." Bronte stared up at him, fighting the mesmerizing effect he had upon her, realizing dimly that although his words seemed no more than a dispassionate appraisal of her skills as a physician, the look in his eyes, to say nothing of the brick hard erection digging into her backside, seemed to indicate his thoughts were not entirely on her credentials. "What's going on here?" she managed to ask as it finally dawned on her that there were undercurrents besides those heated waves eddying through her at the nearness and rapt attention she held of all three men. Instead of answering her question, the man released his hold on her. She stared up at him a moment longer and 14
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turned to look at the other two men. She hadn't imagined she held center stage. The other two men were studying her with the same intensity. Without any indication of discomfort at all, they held her gaze for several moments and then the three men exchanged a look very like the one the first two had exchanged before when the second man had gotten on the lift. "She is young. Should we look for someone with more experience?" Bronte frowned indignantly at the man with the dark, brown hair, torn between a feminine desire to maintain her youth and a professional desire to defend her experience. "I am young," she snapped. "I was not only at the top of my class. I was the youngest in my graduating class! And I took over my father's practice nearly a year ago ... besides my years in residence! I am fully qualified!" None of them looked as impressed as she felt like they should have, but then again it struck her that, of the three, she'd never seen anyone any better at hiding their thoughts behind such expressionless masks. Aside from the faint frowns that flickered across their faces, that looked like a mixture of speculation and puzzlement, they gave nothing else away. They seemed to come to some sort of tacit agreement, though, as the lift halted once more and the doors opened. Bronte's gaze was drawn by the movement. Surprise filled her when she discovered they were on the roof. In the distance, the sky was just beginning to lighten with the promise that the sun would soon crest the horizon. 15
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Closer to hand, though, blocking most of the view, sat a sleek black star cruiser, its hatch open and gangway extended like a tongue. She'd barely registered the ship, which had no business at all on the roof of the med center since it was clearly not an ambulance, when a blast of light erupted, slamming into the roof inches from the lift opening. The concussion of the blast stunned her, seemed to knock the breath from her lungs. It didn't have the same effect, or even nearly that effect, on the three men. The man still holding her yanked her off her feet and charged off the lift directly behind the other two. Contrary to what she might have expected if she'd had her wits about her, the blond did not toss his burden aside. Instead, he ran full tilt toward the gangway as if the thing weighed no more than a feather. The brunette dragged a laser pistol from the holster strapped to his leg and returned fire as the man holding her charged past, also firing with his free hand as he raced toward the cruiser with her under one arm as if she was no more than a feather. He wasn't even winded when he'd raced up the gangway and deposited her none too gently into a seat. Stunned, expecting any moment to feel her body disintegrate along with the ship around her, Bronte's gaze followed instinctively as the man raced to the control console, working the controls so quickly his hands were little more than a blur of movement even before he dropped into the seat beside the blond. An explosion rocked the ship, effectively diverting Bronte. Gripping the arms of the chair she'd been dropped into, her head swiveled of its own accord 16
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toward the deafening sound and the metallic pinging of flying metal. She was just in time to see the brunette land flatfooted on the deck, slamming a hand against the control that lifted the gangway and sealed the hatch. Without comprehension, she stared at the now ragged uniform he wore, taking in the gashes along his arm and leg and the blackened, gaping flesh where lasers had torn into him. There was little blood. Lasers tended to seal the flesh and veins even as they burned through them. What caught her attention and held it, though, was the gleaming metal, not bone, exposed by the wounds. She was still staring at the metal, trying to wrap her mind around everything that had happened and the implications of seeing metal rather than charred bone, when the man stalked up to her, grasped the restraints she hadn't had the wit to fasten and quickly fastened her in. He'd barely done so when the craft shot from the roof like a launched missile, plastering her to the back of her seat. The man grabbed her seat back to keep from being pitched toward the rear of the ship. The metal groaned, as if it was about to be ripped loose from its mooring, but, thankfully, held as he launched himself across the aisle and managed to land in the seat apparently reserved for him. That feat shocked her almost as much as everything that had gone before. She couldn't begin to guess how many G's the ship was pulling in its almost vertical climb, but she knew it would take superhuman strength to combat it.
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Any man, no matter if he was built like a tank, as this one was, would have been plastered against the bulkhead at the rear of the cockpit. The truth, despite the implications, was slow in coming simply because of the shock and her absolute unwillingness to accept what her senses told her. No wonder, she thought, feeling faint and cold with sudden terror, these men were such marvels of perfection, so perfectly wonderful and beautiful if every way. They weren't men at all! They were rogue cyborgs ... and she'd just spent the last fifteen minutes convincing them that they should kidnap her instead of looking for a doctor that was more experienced!
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Chapter Two Two concussions rocked the ship in rapid succession. Bronte squeezed her eyes closed, praying the shields would hold, bartering with fate for all she worth. Abruptly, the pull against her ceased. For a handful of seconds, she felt weightless and then the artificial gravity kicked in sluggishly, either because the two men ... cyborgs ... manning the controls were too preoccupied with trying to outmaneuver the ship or ships trailing them and trying their best to blast them out of the sky, or because one of the military cruisers had managed to damage some of the controls. She knew that had to be who was firing on them ... the military ... or maybe the police ... someone who was actually supposed to be on her side. She couldn't bring herself to root for them, however, not when she was going to be a piece of the debris if they succeeded in bringing down the cyborg craft. The stars visible in the forward facing screens above the pilots blurred. Freed from the pull of the Earth's gravity, Bronte groped for the glasses she habitually perched on top of her head when she wasn't using them. She found them dangling by one arm on the side of her head, tangled in her hair, which was the only reason, she realized, that she still had them. She discovered, though, when she'd managed to disentangle the glasses from her hair and perch them on her nose that the stars were still blurred. She couldn't feel the pull she would have felt if she'd still been caught in the pull of 19
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Earth's gravity, but she realized they'd jumped into hyperdrive. It boggled her mind. It probably boggled the minds of those trailing them, as well. This craft shouldn't have had that capability. No human craft would have. She wasn't on a craft designed and built by humans, though. If she hadn't already guessed as much, the technology was enough to clinch the matter. And it still stunned her. How, she wondered, could manmade machines develop technology beyond the capabilities of their creators? But it had to have been them, unless they'd discovered alien technology. The blurring of the stars lessened after a short time, the streaks shortening and finally disappearing altogether. When it did, though, she saw that the millions of bright lights had dwindled to no more than a sprinkling of pinpoints of light and a vast amount of velvety darkness. The black haired giant tossed off his harness and stood. As he turned in her direction she saw that he, too, had been wounded in the attempt. A foot long gash crossed his chest from the upper slope of one pec almost to the point near his opposite hip where her head had been when he'd dashed to the ship with her. Her belly clenched when she realized how closely she'd come to having her brains splattered all over him. Then, too, despite her certainty that he had to be a machine, the wound looked so painful she couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathetic pain in her belly. 20
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His face, she saw when she looked up at him as he approached her, was taut—not creased with pain, but the very fact that it was rigid seemed to indicate an inner struggle with pain. He didn't look at her. Instead, he looked the man beside her over and nodded toward the back of the ship. The wounds were really beyond her experience—she was no surgeon and besides that knew nothing about cyborgs beyond the fact that they were machines 'clothed' in human tissue. Beyond that, they had kidnapped her and she had no idea what their intentions were toward her. Still, her healer's instincts rose to the forefront. "I should attend your wounds," she said a little shakily. Both men turned to look at her and she found herself pinned by a pair of piercing, pale blue eyes and an equally penetrating pair of emerald green eyes. In fact, she sensed the blond, still at the control of the vessel, had also turned at the sound of her voice. The one with black hair tilted his head at her, almost curiously, though she could not see it in his expression. After a moment, he slid a look at the man still seated. "It should be obvious to you now that our experience with the 'tender mercies' of humans have given us no reason to trust them." Bronte flinched inwardly. As caught up as she was in her own life, as little as she noticed about the world outside her personal sphere, she knew very well that the cyborgs had gone rogue and the company that had manufactured them had recalled them for destruction ... or at least attempted to. It wasn't general knowledge, though, because it was 21
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something the company had tried very hard to keep from the public. The only reason she knew anything at all about it was because she had a colleague, a former classmate that she had maintained some friendly relations with, that had inadvertently let just enough classified information slip that she'd pieced the story together from the occasional news vids she managed to catch. She was, in fact, distressed that he had so blatantly pointed out that he was a cyborg. She would have far preferred it if he'd maintained the illusion, or tried to, that she had been kidnapped by humans. If he wasn't worried about her having the knowledge it did not bode well for her. She felt the blood flee from her face in a rush that made her dizzy. Swallowing with an effort against the knot of uneasiness that formed in her throat, she struggled to find her voice. "You must have some use for me," she managed to say, "if you risked ... capture to take me." His gaze flickered over her face. "But then, again, we are only machines, incapable of fear, pain ... anxiety.... "He paused for a long, long moment. "Desire." A tide of warmth flooded through her at the single word, made significant both by the pause that went before and the deep, almost husky inflection of his voice. Dismayed by her body's instinctive reaction, Bronte said no more as he moved past her at last and the other cyborg removed his harnesses, rose, and followed him. When Bronte glanced toward the man at the controls of the ship, she saw that he was still studying her. He met her gaze for a long moment and finally turned away. 22
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Released, Bronte drew a shuddering breath into her burning lungs, unconscious of the fact, until that moment, that she'd been holding her breath. She'd been dismissed, very coolly at that. She sat staring at the view beyond the ship for some time, trying to marshal her scattered wits. Why, she wondered, had they taken her when they appeared not only to have no use of her services, but no trust or liking for humans in general? She frowned at that. Liking, or disliking, were emotions. He'd pointed out the obvious, that they were machines and had no ability to feel as their creators did. And yet she wasn't entirely comfortable with that conclusion. Maybe it was just that they seemed so human-like that she expected them to behave like humans? Then again, they had been designed to blend with humanity, to interact with them, because humans weren't comfortable being around great, hulking, powerful machines that utilized artificial intelligence. Some of the older models, which had merely been humanoid in design, had been just plain scary. The manufactures had discovered they were never going to fill every household with two or three if they looked so 'threatening', which was why they'd really gone overboard changing the whole look of the robot, not only making them appear so human-like that they blended seamlessly with the population, but making them feel human, as well, so that they'd found a whole new market for them as sex toys. As that thought congealed in her mind, Bronte wondered abruptly if these had been designed specifically as human sexual companions. She couldn't prevent either the blush or 23
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the heat that rose inside of her as it dawned on her that she was already well aware that they were anatomically correct ... which seemed to support that theory. And yet, if that was the case, why had they been built like ... soldiers? Maybe they— the company—had merely figured one design would do, at least in the sense of making them multi-purpose so that the model worked equally well for either job? That seemed likely. Why go to the expense of building a dozen different models for different jobs when they could build one to do any job the customer might want? Could they all be the same model, though, when they looked as distinctly different as three different, unrelated humans would look? Why did that matter, she thought abruptly? It didn't because it had no bearing on her situation that she could see. They had a use for her. They must. There was no reason in the world for them to seek her out, and they obviously had, unless they did have some use for her. She could understand a drive in them to destroy the people they knew were hell bent on destroying them. They didn't actually need anything more than a will to exist—and obviously they did have that— and a firm grasp on logic to realize that they must eliminate the threat to their existence in order to continue. But she was no threat to them. She was a doctor. She had never worked for the company in any way, shape, or form. Besides, it would have been easy to kill her if that had been the objective. They'd caught her completely by surprise. 24
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One of them could have snapped her like a twig before she could have even gotten out a cry for help. Without consciously coming to a decision, Bronte unfastened her safety harness and rose a little unsteadily. The blond cyborg turned to look at her, but he neither said anything nor made any attempt to stop her as she headed from the cockpit in search of the injured cyborgs. It wasn't hard to find them. The ship was designed as a short range 'hopper', or at least in the vein of those crafts that had no need for a good deal of space. Beyond the main cabin/cockpit area, there was a small food preparation/eating area, a bathroom, or 'head', and beyond that only a single cabin. Bronte froze in the doorway once the hatch/door had opened. Both men were stark naked and she'd never in her life seen that much naked male flesh. Prod her mind though she would to accept 'cyborg', her brain refused to give the lie to what her eyes saw. The one with black hair turned to stare at her. The other one glanced at her, but he was intent on cutting the charred flesh from the other man's wound. Blood dripped from his hands, effectively distracting Bronte. Her belly clenched. "What are you doing?" she gasped, surging forward. "The laser cauterizes as it cuts," the patient, or 'victim' said through clenched teeth. "The flesh can not mend together as is." Bronte didn't realize she'd grabbed the hand of the cyborg cutting until his hand stilled beneath hers. "You can't just ... filet his entire chest and torso! He'll lose too much blood ... especially at the rate you're going. To say nothing of the fact 25
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that it'll leave a horrible scar! What did you use to deaden it? What do you have to close the wound with? "You," she said to the brunette, "move. You," she added, grasping the other man's hand, "sit down before you fall down and break something." Neither man moved and Bronte quickly discovered she couldn't budge either one so much as a hair. Finally, the dark man nodded. He sank heavily onto the bunk when the brunette moved away, placing the scalpel he held in Bronte's outstretched, demanding, hand. "I need antiseptic, something to deaden the area, something to close the wound, and sterile gauze," she said absently. The brunette got up. Her conscience smote her. He was wounded, too, but then she didn't know where anything was and she needed to close the chest wound as quickly as possible to stop the bleeding. The brunette returned after a few moments, settling her bag of medical instruments—her bag—on the bunk beside them. Her files and now her bag, too? Had they taken everything from her office? She flicked a censorious glance at him, but she was relieved, too. She knew she would find everything she needed inside. "You need only to cut the dead flesh and close the wound," the man she was working on said, his voice harsh. She didn't doubt pain had a lot to do with the roughness. She flicked a glance at him as she moved between his thighs and bent over to examine the upper area of the wound. "Maybe you actually like pain, but I don't like inflicting it. I'll feel better if I deaden the area, and I'll certainly feel better making sure it isn't 26
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likely to get infected," she added as she disinfected her hands with the solution she unearthed from her bag. To her surprise, his lips curled in the faintest of smiles. Amusement gleamed in his eyes. It disappeared so quickly, though, she wondered if she'd only imagined it. "I am a machine," he growled. "Meaning you feel no pain?" He neither denied it nor admitted it. "Liar," she said softly and then felt a chilling rush at her unthinking remark, wondering if it would anger him. "What's your name?" she added quickly to change the direction of his thoughts. "Why would you think a machine would have a name ... beyond its function ... cyborg?" Bronte sucked her lower lip into her mouth uneasily, but she felt a pang of empathy, too. She had gone into medicine as much because she felt a need to soothe the hurt and heal the sick as to impress the father she had admired so much, but there were times when she thought it was a mistake, that she was not cut out for this business of trying to heal. She felt the pain of others too deeply, and her instincts told her, whatever he had begun life as, he hurt, deeply, because his existence as a living, breathing, thinking being had been denied by his creators. Her hand was shaking as she finished trimming and cleansing the wound along his breast. Lifting a hand, she brushed the beads of sweat from her brow and the hair that had clung to the dampness. After trying unsuccessfully to hold the wound closed and use the instrument to seal the 27
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flesh together, she reached down to catch his hands and had him press the wound closed. "I'm not your enemy," she said quietly. "You are human," he pointed out. She paused, staring at him in dismay. "So I can not be anything else?" His gaze flickered over her as she stood between his thighs, leaning over him. His gaze lingered on her breasts for a long moment. The faint smile curled his lips again. "I am a superior model ... designed to kill quickly and efficiently. But I was programmed to be a pleasure bot, as well. If you have a need...?" Hot color flashed in Bronte's cheeks. A chaotic flood of anger, fear, and—loath though she was to admit it—desire went through her. She dragged her gaze from his. Her back had begun to burn from bending over to reach his wound. Pointedly ignoring the evidence that he had certainly not lied about being well equipped to function as a sex droid, she dropped to her knees and focused on the wound slashing across his torso. It was a shame to see such perfection marred by such a vicious wound. It was bound to make a terrible scar no matter how carefully she closed it. "It will not make an unsightly scar. The nanos will mend it well enough." Bronte bit her lip, realizing she'd spoken her thoughts aloud. It was a very bad habit she'd developed—talking to herself. 28
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"I am called Gabriel," he murmured as she finished trimming the last of the scorched flesh away and used the gauze to carefully wipe as much of the blood from his belly as she could, trying not to notice the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers or the way he tensed infinitesimally at her touch. She glanced up at him in surprise. A faint frown drew her brows together as she pondered the familiarity of the name. Finally, she smiled. "From the ancient mythology of demons and angels. They were ... heavenly beings of such beauty mankind was stuck with awe to look upon them. It suits you." He did something then that stunned her. He blushed. He rose so abruptly when she'd finished sealing the wound he nearly bowled her over. She caught herself, watching as he strode across the room and touched a panel. A door slid open and she glimpsed the fixtures of a bathroom before the door closed behind him. Dragging her gaze back to the man who still needed attending, she rose to her feet, pressing her hand to the small of her back to relieve the strain. "If you could just lie down?" He complied, stretching out full length on the bunk. Oddly enough, he looked bigger lying down than he had before, far more imposing, possibly because he seemed to take up the entire bunk? Suppressing the quiver that went through her without examining it too closely, she settled the bag of instruments beside the bunk and took his injured arm, struggling to lift it. He lifted it for her. Perching her buttocks on the edge of the mattress, she caught his arm and settled it across her lap. It was less of a strain on her shoulders and back to work seated, but she found she was almost more 29
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conscious of the man than she had been when she'd knelt in front of Gabriel. Even thinking the name sent an unwelcome tingle of warmth through her. Added to her keen awareness of the man on the bunk, the warmth of his hip seeping through her clothing and into her buttocks, the warmth and weight of his arm across her lap, she discovered she had to force herself to concentrate on her task. When she'd cleaned the angry red flesh that surrounded his wound and coated it liberally with a topical anesthetic, she glanced at his face to discover he was studying her. "I suppose it would be too much to ask why you took me?" she asked hesitantly. His dark brows drew together thoughtfully. "We were not ordered not to do so." Bronte waited. When he didn't seem inclined to say more, she lifted her brows questioningly. "Well, why?" "That should be obvious." Bronte's lips flattened with a touch of irritation. "To you, maybe," she responded tartly. "It isn't at all obvious to me. You didn't even want me to attend your wounds!" "We did not ask." Bronte stared at him with more than a little irritation. He didn't appear to be deliberately baiting her, but he was nonetheless. Getting answers out of him was like pulling teeth. It occurred to her after a moment, though, that what he'd left unsaid seemed to imply that they had wanted her to. They just hadn't asked. "You wanted to, but you were afra ... didn't want to ask?" 30
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His dark brows rose. "It did not occur to us to ask because it did not occur to us that you would be willing ... and you are not trained as a surgeon, in any case." Bronte pursed her lips as she glanced down at his arm. "I am trained as a surgeon," she disputed, "minor surgery, anyway. You were looking at my father's records, if you recall, not mine. At least ... you suggested as much." "I say ... or do not." Confused, Bronte's brows knitted as she focused on closing the wound. She looked up at him questioningly when she had finished. "I'm not sure what you mean by that." "I have not the facility for tact or subtlety or diplomacy. I was sold as a soldier and had no need for that. I do not suggest. I say, or do not." It still took Bronte several moments to understand because, she realized wryly, she was too distracted by his nearness to think straight. "So ... you were not ... uh ... you didn't.... "She broke off abruptly, horrified that she'd felt the impulse to know if he had been programmed for sex as Gabriel had. She cleared her throat as she bent his arm and settled it across his chest. "You didn't tell me your name," she said to change the subject as she shifted down the bunk to examine the wound on his thigh. "You did not ask." Bronte let out an irritated huff of breath, deciding she didn't care what his damned name was. She didn't think for a moment that he was so literal minded that he could not grasp the subtle meanings of any conversation. He was being deliberately provoking. She just didn't know why. 31
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It was a good deal more awkward, she discovered, to attend his thigh from a sitting position. She had to twist sideways to cleanse the area with the antiseptic. Before she could rise, however, he lifted the leg as he had his arm, dropping his thigh across her lap. Blood instantly flooded her cheeks as she found herself between his splayed thighs. Even as she opened her mouth to object, however, he hooked his leg around her, dragging her closer until there was no ignoring his anatomy whether she looked directly at it or not. His testicles were nestled snuggly against her hip. His penis shifted with his repositioning of his body, landing against the thigh she needed to attend. She stared at the soft lump of flesh that settled against his leg when he shifted, completely unaware that she was staring, that she'd gone as perfectly still as if she'd been frozen in place. "A little higher and I would have lost more flesh than I liked." The comment brought Bronte out of her trance, dragging her gaze upward to his face automatically. He stared back at her, his handsome face completely devoid of expression, and yet she had the sense that he was amusing himself at her expense, waiting for her reaction. Unconsciously moistening her dry lips, she dragged her gaze from his and looked down. With as much professional unconcern as she could manage, she moved his penis to lie across his testicles. The moment she let go of it, it flopped on his thigh again. This time, however, it was not soft ... not fully erect either, but certainly noticeably firmer and fuller than before ... and longer. 32
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Resisting the urge to either touch it again or glance at his face, she decided to ignore it and focused on her task, desperate to finish as quickly as possible. Gabriel emerged from the bathroom as she finished bathing the man's flesh with the anesthetic. He was wet. Water dripped from his hair and trickled down across his bare chest. With a will of its own, her gaze encompassed his glistening body from the black hair slicked along his shoulders and upper chest to his bare feet. It took an effort to pry her gaze from him and even more of a struggle to tamp the shivery awareness that made her feel overly warm at the weight of his gaze on her. She was a physician, she mentally berated herself! Nudity, no matter how fine the specimens, no matter how blatantly male, should not have the effect of completely addling her wits! He crossed the cabin after a moment, pressing a panel on the wall opposite the bath that opened to reveal a locker. Relieved to see he was dressing, Bronte turned her attention to the wound and carefully clipped the burned flesh away from healthy flesh. As with Gabriel's chest wound, she discovered she couldn't hold the flesh together and manipulate her instrument at the same time. Apparently seeing her dilemma, Gabriel approached, knelt beside the bunk, and held the wound closed while she sealed it. Releasing a sigh of relief when she'd finished, she glanced at Gabriel as she brushed her hair from her forehead with the back of one hand. 33
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He was still bare-chested, she discovered with a start. He rose even as she glanced at him, turned on his heel, and departed, giving her a good view of his tight buttocks, which the thing he was wearing left completely exposed. She didn't know what it was, but it was certainly not under-shorts! Her patient caught her attention as he sat up. Still trapped by his leg, Bronte's eyes widened as the movement brought his chest directly into her line of vision. She tipped her head back to look up at him just as his hands settled on either side of her head, entrapping her thoroughly for his perusal, which he took his time with. "It is a very great shame that you are human," he said finally. "Why?" Bronte asked, her voice little more than a breathy whisper. Something flickered in the depths of his deep, jewel green eyes. Instead of answering, he released his hold on her. Dropping his hands to her hips, he lifted her up and set her away from him and then rose and went into the facilities. Bronte stared at the closed door for several moments after he'd disappeared and finally got up shakily. With the mindlessness of long practice, she gathered the things she'd used and returned them to her bag, more shaken than she could ever recall being in her life. They'd taken her and she still had no clue why. She should have been shaking with terror, she mused, not thoroughly rattled by an inopportune surge of raging hormones and animal lust. 34
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She was afraid, deep down scared, but that had certainly not prevented a physical response and her body clearly had no discrimination. They were cyborgs! Not even real flesh and blood men! She glanced at her hands at that, staring at the blood that belied that thought. They bled. They felt pain. Whatever they'd tried to make her believe, despite the fact that they'd managed to control it and move and behave as if they were completely unhurt, she knew better. They hadn't simply interacted with her, responded stiltedly in a facsimile of human behavior. They'd been toying with her, verbally sparring, provoking her to see how she would react. They were not simply machines. She didn't know what they were. She didn't know how it had come about, but they had evolved well beyond machines with AI and clever programming. They were thinking beings! Sentient life forms!
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Chapter Three Escape was the single thought running through Bronte's mind as she left the cabin. Even as she stepped out, however, she could see the other two cyborgs at the helm of the small craft. There was no escape! There wasn't even a place where she could be alone to fall apart where they couldn't witness her weakness and analyze it, and probably record it for the others. There were others, she knew. She had no idea how many others. The company certainly hadn't published the figures and even if they had, they would very likely have lied. She stopped, surveying the mid-section of the vessel. If she only had a little space, a little time to herself to come to grips with the hopelessness of her situation.... Her gaze lit on the door of the facilities in mid-ship. She made a bee line for it before she had even fully registered that she had found a temporary haven. She needed to wash up after attending them anyway. There was another bath ... room, fully equipped, assuming they had need for it and she supposed they must if they had two bathrooms ... or maybe not. They might have stolen the ship and refitted it. Should she assume they were fully functional pseudo-biological entities? Why the hell not! They were functioning completely on their own as far as she could tell. They had obviously planned and executed the mission to grab her ... in the teeth of 36
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opposition, which they had expected and been prepared for. They had risked their lives to grab her ... or rather her father, but the very fact that they had simply adjusted the original plan without missing a beat was proof positive of evolved, more human-like thinking. AI certainly allowed for adjustments in the face of error or miscalculation. That was what it had been designed for, but even with it the bots had never been able to function with this level of efficiency. More accurately, they had required a considerable amount of time to adjust. Depending upon what they had to adjust for, it could take a minute or hours. Unlike human decision making, which involved almost as much 'hopefulness' as facts, the computer with the AI unit could not be satisfied with 'almost' or 'close' or 'best three out of five'. They could not function without absolutes, would stop for however long it took for them to carefully and methodically reevaluate the situation. Gabriel had come to a decision as soon as he had fully grasped that she was a doctor, just as her father had been, same specialty, same training and education, just not as much experience. From what she could tell, the other two had arrived at the same conclusion in roughly the same amount of time. Dr. Bryan Alexander Nichols was no longer among the living and not an option, so they had taken her instead. Why did they want her? Actually, she didn't suppose they did. They had not seemed particularly happy about having to take her instead of her father. But why would they have any need for a pediatrician? 37
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There was only one reason they would, of course, but it was nonsensical. Even if she did accept that they had somehow evolved into sentient beings—and she still hadn't completely accepted that notion—they had begun 'life' as machines. Reproduction was beyond them, beyond any of them. The simplest organisms could reproduce. The most complex could, but nature was the determining factor in procreation. Mankind, as advanced as they were, could not start with nothing and make something. The company certainly wouldn't have any rhyme or reason to give the cyborgs reproductive organs, artificial or otherwise. Functioning sex organs in the sense of recreation certainly—that had been a huge boon to the industry—but nothing beyond that. She didn't think they had made a mistake and taken a pediatrician when they had needed some other specialist. For that matter, it seemed odd that they would think they would need any kind of doctor. As Gabriel had pointed out, they had nanos for repair, and the nanos were programmed to repair whatever the problem might be, mechanical or biological in nature. Sure, she supposed there would be instances like the one she had helped with, but she thought they would've managed well enough without her. She just hadn't been able to resist sticking her nose in because she suffered from a conviction that she had to help if anyone was hurt or sick. Trying to reason through it when she had nothing to go on made her head hurt. It seemed evident anyway that they 38
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meant her no harm ... beyond taking her against her will, that is. She realized, though, that she was struggling with it because she needed the reassurance. If she could convince herself they had a purpose for her that didn't involve ending her life, she would feel better, less frightened even though she was in a situation she could neither control or escape from. She wasn't going to be able to do that, though, unless they decided to tell her something. After washing her face and hands for a good five minutes, she finally realized it wasn't helping to soothe her and shut off the tap. Turning, she stared at the bathing unit speculatively for several moments and finally dragged her clothing off. Water spouted from the thing, startling the hell out of her. She stood gaping at it for several moments before she finally nerved herself to get in. It was so cold it knocked the breath out of her. She grabbed frantically at the knobs, trying to turn the thing off, and discovered hot water. She scalded herself before she finally managed to figure out how to adjust the knobs to get both cold and hot at the same time. "God," she muttered. "This ship must be a real dinosaur!" No one except colonists on more primitive worlds used water to bathe in anymore! It felt good, though, she decided once she finally had the water adjusted. In fact, it felt better than just good. The hot water seemed to reach right down inside of her and warm the deep chill that had engulfed her. She stayed far longer than 39
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she should have, but it took all she could do to turn off the water. She stood dripping for a while, trying to find a button that would activate the drying cycle. She was shivering by the time she finally gave up and got out of the bathing unit. Noticing a locker built into the wall, she decided to check for the possibility of clean clothing. Instead, she found large sheets of some sort of fluffy material. Shivering, she wrapped it around herself and, after surveying the options, settled on the toilet. She thought she might have been happier if they had thrown her into a small cell and locked the door. Maybe she would have felt confined, at least after a while, but she would also feel safe locked away from them. She had been sitting with her face in her hands long enough her feet and legs and buttocks had become numb from sitting when there was a rap on the door that startled the hell out of her. "There is food," said a disembodied voice from the other side of the door. "Thank you!" Bronte responded automatically and then felt embarrassed and silly. She wasn't hungry. Her stomach was tied into knots. Even if she had been, she didn't think she could face sitting down to a meal with the three giant cyborgs. Assuming, of course, they ate. Maybe they had only prepared food for her? She didn't care. She wasn't hungry and she wasn't coming out until she was good and ready. Realizing she was dry, she 40
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put her clothes back on, wondering if she was going to have to wear her uniform for the rest of her life and how much time that might translate into. When she was dressed, she wrapped the damp cloth around herself again. Damp or not, it gave her some added warmth, made her feel more shielded somehow. After looking around, she finally decided to sit on the floor awhile and when she grew tired of that, she lay down on her side and curled up into a tight little ball. She lay listening to the sounds outside at first, a little surprised that they seemed to actually carry on conversations—not that she could make out what they were saying, but it sounded like it must be a conversation. She could hear first one voice and then another. She heard them passing back and forth by the room where she was holed up. A few times, she heard footsteps approach the door, pause for a few moments and then go away again. She dozed off. She had no idea how long she'd been locked in the bathroom, but after a while the shaking stopped and she grew warm and relaxed. The noise that woke her made her shoot to her feet in alarm, but it was only a deep seated, instinctual reaction to threat. It didn't do anything for her equilibrium or even awaken her mind enough to really function. Opening wide, burning eyes, she stared at the hole where the door had been as the blond haired cyborg casually set the door he'd just ripped from the hinges to one side, stepped inside with her and caught hold of her before she could even consider trying to elude him. She staggered drunkenly as he hauled her out 41
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of the bathroom. He caught her against his chest and then bent and scooped her into his arms. "Wha...?" she managed as he added dizziness to her already teetering world when he swiveled around with her and strode purposefully ... she didn't know where he was going. Only that he seemed in a great hurry to get there. "Whas gon...? Where...?" "To bed." Bronte's eyes nearly bugged out of her head at that. "Bed?" He settled her on the bunk where she'd treated the others' injuries earlier. She fought a short round with him over her cloth, but it was a losing battle from the start even if she hadn't still been too disoriented to be able to defend herself. When he'd taken it from her, though, he rolled her across the bed, dragged the tucked blanket from beneath her, and then rearranged her on the bed and tossed the blanket over her. She caught hold of it with both hands, snatching it up to her nose and peering at him over it. He settled his hands on either side of her, leaning his weight on them as he stared down at her. "You will sleep here when you need to rest." Bronte blinked at him, more because her eyes were still stinging from being so abruptly wakened than because she didn't understand the order. It wasn't precisely delivered as an order, but his tone didn't encourage argument. He studied her a moment longer and finally settled a hip on the bed beside her. Grasping the edge of the blanket, he pried it from her fingers and settled it across her shoulders. 42
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"You are in no danger," he said quietly. "You do not need to hide in the facilities ... and, as you see, it would make no difference if any one of us wished to go after you." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Bronte demanded shakily. He tilted his head at her. "Yes." "Well, it doesn't!" she said forthrightly. He frowned faintly. "What would make you feel better?" "Going home." He stared at her for a long moment. Finally, his lips curled up in amusement. "Besides that." Bronte thought it over. "What are you going to do with me?" "Nothing." She frowned at him. "Then why did you take me?" "Orders." "Orders? Like ... military, you mean?" "Yes." Bronte studied him with some irritation. "Can you, maybe, string a few words together so that we could exchange information a little more efficiently?" This time his lips merely twitched, but she could see a distinct gleam of amusement in his eyes. "I will try." "Do you have a name?" One corner of his mouth tipped up this time. "Yes." She waited for a long moment. When he said nothing else, she let out an irritated huff and turned on her side, presenting him with her back. She felt the bed shift as he rose. A 43
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moment later, she felt warmth as he leaned over her. "Gideon," he said in little more than a whisper near her ear. She whirled her head to see what he was up to as she felt him lean over her. She met him almost nose to nose as spoke next to her ear. For several heartbeats, they merely stared at one another. He seemed as disconcerted as she was, but he made no attempt to draw back. Instead, his gaze wandered over her face. Finally, he straightened. "You do not need to be afraid, Bronte. No harm is intended toward you, and none will come to you ... not at our hands." Bronte sent him a scared look. "Whose?" He shook his head. "I can not speak for your own people. Only mine." She thought that over. "You're talking about the militia trying to blow up the ship?" "It is unlikely we will run afoul of more this far out, but, yes. If they spot us they will try to blow us up." He'd nearly reached the door before she thought of another question. "Where are we going?" "The Cyborg Nation." Bronte sat up in the bed and stared at him in horror. Nation? "Why are you taking me there?" He tilted his head curiously. "That should be obvious—to attend our young." Bronte was certain that she was thoroughly awake by the time Gideon left, but, although her mind was busy going back over what he had told her for a good while after his departure, she drifted to sleep again eventually. She had just reached deep sleep when she was jostled awake first by the 44
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feel of two arms shoved beneath her and then, when she'd been deposited nearer the bulkhead, the coldness of the sheets above and below her. Shivering, she tried to move back to the spot she'd already warmed. Even as she rolled toward it however, the outside of the bed dipped. The dipping gave her roll more momentum than she'd calculated on. Instead of landing on the floor, however, she came up against something as big and solid as the wall ... except a lot warmer. Disoriented, she sat up and looked around groggily. The man who'd just climbed into bed beside her pushed her down on the pillows again. "Go back to sleep." "Ok," Bronte mumbled and rolled onto her side, planting her butt next to the warmth in the bed. The little space left for her, however, was the patch of ice next to the wall, for he took up most of the bunk. He stiffened when she wiggled her ass up next to his warmth, but after a moment he rolled onto his side facing her. "You are cold?" Bronte nodded instead of answering, but he apparently took that as a yes. Shifting closer, he draped an arm over her waist and dragged her toward him until she was nestled snugly against him. His warmth immediately began to filter through her entire back. Dimly, she realized she shouldn't be snuggling so cozily, but she was cold and he was warm and that was all that mattered to her at the moment. Her front side stayed cold despite the furnace at her back, though, and after a few moments, she struggled until she managed to roll over and burrowed as close to the source of heat as she could get with her arms pinned tightly to her 45
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chest. He stiffened all over again when she nuzzled her cold face against his warmth. After a few moments, though, he merely leaned away long enough to pry her arms away from her so that her elbows weren't digging into him, arranged her to suit his own comfort and curled around her again. As hard as the surface was that she found herself flattened against, it radiated heat, and the moment she thawed enough for her muscles to relax, she went under again. Her last thoughts and impressions before she had gone to sleep stirred her awake some time later, wandering randomly through her mind at first and spawning bizarre dreams and then not so strange but a good deal more disturbing dreams. The faces of the cyborgs swam in and out of these halfwaking dreams, first one and then another. She jolted awake just as Gideon's face zoomed in to her mind's eye in an extreme close up. Sucking in a sharp breath, she opened her eyes, and then blinked to try to focus the blurry image looming over her. Gideon, his face propped on one hand, was staring down at her intently, his long, blond hair tousled from sleep, his deep, dark blue eyes narrowed. Bronte stared back at him blankly while her mind wrestled with the dream she'd just had, trying to disentangle dream from reality. His hand, the one not supporting his cheek, which she discovered had been resting on her hip, settled on her cheek. The pad of his thumb stroked along her lower lip, making it tingle and itch. And then he stuck his thumb in her mouth. 46
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Quicker than thought, she chomped down on the digit with her teeth. Sucking in a sharp breath, he snatched his abused member from her mouth, scraping it on the sharp edge of her teeth still digging into it. Horror at her insane impulse to bite him washed through Bronte even before the pain she'd inflicted translated into a furious frown on his face. Instinctively expecting retaliation, Bronte threw her arms up to shelter herself. He caught her wrists, pried her arms away from her face and shoved her arms over her head. She resisted every inch of the way for all the good it did. When he'd crossed her wrists over her head, he locked them in place with one hand, the tight curl of his thumb and forefinger almost completely encircling both wrists. She stared up at him warily when he shifted the weight of his chest over her to pin her body in place, staring down at her through narrowed eyes. "I'm sorry!" she said on a choked breath, choked because the weight of his chest pressed down on her belly and lower chest too heavily for her to drag in more than a shallow breath. He didn't look appeased. She saw why when he brought his injured thumb into her view as he examined it. She'd drawn blood. His eyes were glittering when he shifted his attention from his thumb to her face again. A twinge of rebelliousness had sparked to life, along with guilt, as she had studied his thumb. She hadn't invited him to stick his damned thumb in her mouth after all! But the spark winked out at the look of intent on his face. 47
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It dawned on her as she stared up at him in wide eyed wariness that he was contemplating retribution. "It was an accident," she added quickly as his gaze moved from her face to the neck of her uniform. The comment brought his gaze back to hers. "You accidentally bit me?" She reddened at his tone of disbelief. "Miscalculated?" she tried. "It was a muscle spasm." He caught at the neck of her uniform and yanked at the meshed closure, opening the thing from neck to waist. She sucked in a shocked breath. With deliberation, he caught the edge of her stretchy undergarment and yanked that down, too. Her breast popped free of restraint, the dark aureole instantly puckering at the cool air and making her nipple stand erect. Her eyes widened as his head descended. Gritting her teeth, she yanked at her arms and rocked, trying to elude the mouth descending purposefully toward her breast. Squeezing her breast with his hand, he extended his tongue and licked the skin all the way around her distended nipple. It knocked the breath out of her as if he'd punched her in the stomach. She tensed all over with distrust, still expecting pain for pain, unable to manage a clear train of thought, but certain he was only trying to lull her into a false sense of security. Puckering his lips, he closed them over the tip, plucking at her nipple with no more than his lips until it became so engorged with blood that it began to throb. She was shaking all over when he lifted his head, but she almost sighed with relief. 48
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It was short lived. Releasing his grip on her breast, he settled his hand on her face again, used his thumb to pry her jaws apart and slipped his thumb inside her mouth. She stared at him, wondering what he expected, or wanted, her to do. She wasn't stupid enough to even try to bite him again, however. She hadn't actually meant to bite him to start with. It had just been one of those insane impulses that sometimes hit her out of the blue, a brain malfunction that inevitably led to disaster when the random impulses hit her. After staring at her a long moment, as if daring her to bite him, he lowered his head again. Bronte bucked against him uselessly when she saw his intent, but it only helped him, lifting her breast to his mouth as he opened it. She flinched as his mouth opened over the nearly painfully sensitive bud, cutting her gaze down at him in horrified fascination as he started sucking on her. Her belly clenched and then everything else inside of her. Needing to swallow, she closed her mouth around his thumb and did. A wave of heat flowed through her. The epicenter seemed to be her sex. It tightened again as he flicked the tip of his tongue across the surface of her nipple, this time producing both warmth and moisture. Her eyelids slipped shut of their own accord. The moment they did, her entire being seemed to focus on the heat of his mouth and the gentle, steady tugging that spread tingles of awareness throughout her body, raising her temperature. And each time he sucked, her sex seemed to echo the pleasurable tug, tightening with the same rhythm. 49
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She swallowed around his thumb again. Again the sensation echoed in her sex. The walls of her channel wept moisture, clenched tightly around the nothing it had to hold on to but seemed to want. The slow seduction of his mouth and tongue as he alternately suckled and then teased her sensitive nipple with the tip of his tongue enthralled her. After a few moments, Bronte completely lost touch with any reality except the building heat inside of her. She had no idea when she began to suck enthusiastically on his thumb in counter to the wildly seductive pull of his mouth on her breast, but disappointment filled her when he withdrew it and then compounded the insult by lifting his mouth from her breast. It took an effort of will to lift her eyelids and look at him as she felt his gaze on her face. His eyes, she saw, were so dark she could see no more than a thin ring of deep blue around his pupils. His breath was almost as ragged as hers. "Do not bite me again," he said after a long moment. "You may think I feel no pain. I do." Her brain had ceased to function. He'd released her, pushed himself off of her, and rolled off the bunk, getting to his feet before the meaning sank in. She was still staring blankly at his back, though, wondering what had happened, as he strode across the cabin and disappeared into the facilities. A chill went through her. She shivered, looked down at her bare breast and finally adjusted the undergarment and snatched her uniform together. Shivering as the heat dissipated from her skin, she pushed herself upright and fumbled at the closure of her uniform. Her hands were 50
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shaking so badly, though, that she had to realign the edges twice before she managed to smooth the closure. She looked at Gideon sharply when he left the bathroom, but he turned and left the cabin without glancing in her direction. He'd bathed and changed, she saw. His blond hair, combed neatly now, was slicked to his head, darkened almost to black by the water.
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Chapter Four Bronte's legs were so shaky when she got up and headed for the bathroom it felt almost as if she was trying to walk on rubberized appendages. Having relieved herself and washed her mouth, she got into the shower to bathe and had just lathered her hair when she heard the door open. Whirling at the sound, her hands suspended in her hair, she gaped at the man standing on the other side of the clear bathing panel. She'd expected Gideon, although she had no idea why. Maybe she'd just hoped he had come back to finish what he'd started? Instead, she discovered it was Gabriel who had stopped to survey her without any pretense of disinterest. Belatedly remembering she was stark naked as his gaze settled on her mound, she snatched her hands from her hair and covered herself. Her hair, laden with soap, promptly landed across her face, blinding her. She squinted at him with the one eye not covered by her hair, blinking to try to get the stinging soap out of it. Seeing her predicament, he tilted his head, his pale blue eyes gleaming, his lips curling upward slowly until they finally parted in a grin as he waited to see just how long she could stand it before she moved one of her hands to rescue her eyes. After debating for a moment whether she least wanted to expose her breasts or her sex, she finally tilted her head and tried to sling the hair out of her eyes. 52
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He chuckled. Lifting one hand, he showed her the folded clothing he held, glanced around for a place to put them and finally dropped them onto the narrow counter that ran the length of one wall between the bathing cubicle and the toilet, encompassing the lavatory. He paused in the door before he left, however, turning to look at her again. The amusement, she saw, had vanished. "There is food when you are done. This time, you will eat." Bronte had never thought she was particularly shy, but then again she had never found herself in a situation anything like her current predicament. And she certainly wasn't accustomed to being naked around strange men. Cyborgs. She let out a huff of irritation. Men, she decided. They walked, talked, looked, and behaved like men—not like any she'd ever been around, granted. But then again, she hadn't been around that many at all, not in close quarters. To all intents and purposes, they were men. The garment he'd brought her, she discovered, was a uniform like the ones they'd been wearing when they'd taken her. She supposed it did belong to one of them, though they'd promptly discarded the uniforms once they were on the ship again in favor of the loincloth-like garments that didn't cover much of anything besides their genitals. Not surprisingly, it didn't fit her. Although it fit the men almost like a second skin, it hung on her—only coming close to a fit over her breasts, and both the sleeves and the legs were way too long. It brought home how woefully undersized she was next to them more than anything else had. God! What had their 53
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designers been thinking to make them so huge! They could have been half the size they were and they would still have been four times as strong as their human counterparts. After studying it over for a moment, she knelt and rolled the legs up until the fabric wasn't dragging the floor to trip her up and then did the same with the sleeve ends until she'd uncovered her hands. Combing her hair, she left it loose to dry. She didn't especially want to leave the cabin, particularly after what had happened between her and Gideon, but she was starving and besides that Gabriel had made it clear that he would come and get her if she didn't present herself. They were talking, she discovered when she reached the cabin door, and obviously she was the subject under discussion ... or at least part of the discussion. She froze, listening intently with her ear to the panel. "...I am almost tempted to forget she is a human," Gideon murmured thoughtfully. "How could you forget that when she is afraid of her shadow?" "She has reason enough to be frightened. I would think her witless if she were not," Gabriel responded coolly. "And I would have no interest in her if she were, even though she is beautiful." Bronte felt her face heat. He thought she was beautiful? My god, she thought, firmly tamping the pleasure the comment had given her. Whatever women he was comparing her to must be a pathetic bunch! She wasn't even close to beautiful! Pretty might have been stretching it, though she 54
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supposed she had had enough appreciative glances from men to support the possibility that men, at least, seemed to find her passably attractive—though women had certainly never viewed her with any envy at all that she could discern. She'd always figured the masculine appreciation was because of her hair, though. It was dark, very dark, but also definitely red and there seemed to be something about red hair, even as dark as hers, that fascinated men. It was hardly surprising that cyborgs, designed and programmed predominately by men, and also utilizing biological materials donated by men, would be a lot like the human males who'd created them. "Your desire to find a mate has fried your brain receptors. Rose is far more beautiful, and she is cyborg." One of the others uttered a laugh that lacked humor. "Tell that to someone who has not seen the way you look at Bronte! In any case, Rose has already chosen three. She will not take you as her fourth. The women are far more interested in the Hunters than those like us. We are too 'cold and emotionless' for their tastes ... when we are not being 'uncontrolled barbarians' because we are more used to killing than trying to figure out how to woo a female. She bit me," he added after a moment, cluing her in to the fact that it was Gideon speaking. "What did you do to provoke it?" Gabriel growled, his voice almost menacing. "Nothing!" Gideon snarled back at him. "I was only ... curious. She did not seem to be either afraid or repulsed by me when I slept beside her." 55
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"What did you do when she bit you for doing something I know damned well you had no business doing?" That voice was the other male, the one whose name she still didn't know, and he sounded almost as angry as Gabriel had. "I taught her not to bite me! How are 'brutes' like us to learn how to woo a female when we can not get within a hundred yards of a female of any description?" She heard a noise that sounded like one, or more, getting abruptly to their feet. She was so intent on listening to hear what would happen next that she accidentally placed her hand on the door control, depressed the button, and stumbled through the doorway since she was leaning against door panel as it flew open. All three cyborgs were on their feet. At the sound of her scrambling to catch her balance, all three whirled to stare at her. She stared back at them in wide eyed dismay, feeling guilty color creep up her neck and into her cheeks, wondering if they would realize she'd nearly fallen out the door because she'd been leaning against it eavesdropping. The three men exchanged looks that promised to continue the discussion later and returned to their seats. Bronte really wanted to sink into the floor when they turned to look her over, Gideon as if he was looking for signs of damage ... or maybe just anger about what he'd done to her, and the other two as if they were wondering what he'd done to her. She sure as hell wasn't going to enlighten them! And she was going to bite Gideon a lot harder if he told them! 56
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None of them looked the least bit disconcerted or uncomfortable. She couldn't decide whether it was because it hadn't occurred to them that she'd been listening to their discussion or if it was because they didn't care whether she'd heard it or not. It wasn't as if they'd made any attempt to talk quietly. On the other hand, she was embarrassed even if they weren't. She was also burning to know what they'd meant. She'd heard them clearly enough. She just didn't understand the implications ... beyond the fact that all three of them had more interest in her as female than she'd thought they did. That was an unnerving thought, particularly when she had no idea how long she was going to be trapped in space with them before they reached their destination. It was certain to be a long time, but it was bound to seem even longer if she was going to have to be trying to fend them off. She perched uneasily at the table where they were finishing their meals, jumping nervously at the sudden scraping sound as Gabriel slid a plate in front of her. She stared down at her plate. It looked like the typical preprocessed food one would find on any outbound vessel—not terribly appetizing. She realized all three men were staring at her, however, and picked up her eating utensil. As if they had only been waiting to see if she would eat, they returned their attention to their own food. She was relieved and at the same time unnerved by speculation as to what they would've done if she'd turned her nose up at it. Uncomfortable with the tense silence, she searched her mind a little frantically for something to say. The food seemed 57
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to want to stick in her throat. She swallowed convulsively several times and managed to dislodge it. Gideon slid a glass toward her. She flicked a glance at him, murmured her thanks, and drank a sip of the water sloshing over the top. She miscalculated the volume her mouth could hold and rivulets of water streamed out of each side of her mouth. Her depth perception wasn't worth a damn since her sight had gone haywire on her. Or maybe it was just that her hand-eye coordination had never been quite what it should have been? Or maybe she was just nervous as hell? Mopping the water off with the back of her hand, she brushed at the front of the suit she was wearing. The gesture gave her something to say although it was hardly the sparkling conversational gambit she'd been looking for. "Thank you for the change of clothes," she said, throwing a quick glance and a polite smile in Gabriel's direction. "It does not fit you," he responded. She saw when she glanced at him that he was studying the rolled sleeves—she hoped that was what he was staring at, at any rate. He could have been staring at her breasts. He'd certainly examined them thoroughly when he'd walked in on her in the bath. "It's better than being na.... "Breaking off the moment she realized her conversation had followed her thoughts, Bronte cleared her throat. "Than nothing." She blushed the moment she realized how rude that sounded. "No change of clothes," she added uncomfortably. "We had not anticipated our target would be a woman." Bronte glanced up and found herself staring into penetrating green eyes. Her mind leapt from his comment to 58
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the fact that the vessel had only one sleeping cabin and that had only one bed ... a large one, true, but still, just one. "But ... there's only one bed!" Inwardly, she cringed. She had almost managed to forget her tendency to say whatever crossed her mind, mostly because she had gotten so wrapped up in her medical practice that she rarely engaged in 'social' conversations anymore. And her patients, those old enough to talk, were just as bad about saying whatever popped into their minds as she was. "Two are on duty while the third sleeps. Speed was more important than comfort." "In any case, we are cyborgs," Gabriel said coldly. "We were sold to the military as soldiers ... and therefore unworthy of even the comfort a common human soldier might expect. We are still soldiers, though now in the service of the Cyborg Nation." Bronte glanced automatically at Gideon when he spoke. She wouldn't have if she'd taken a moment to consider it, but she tended to react before she thought. The moment she looked at him, her gaze dropped to his moving lips and steamy images of what he'd done to her flooded her mind. She knew when she met his gaze that he'd correctly interpreted the train of her thoughts, that he was thinking about it, too. It would have made her extremely uncomfortable except that Gabriel's comments snagged her attention, diverting her completely. It seemed obvious from the way he spoke even if 59
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not for the comments themselves that if they had learned no other human emotions, they had learned hate, resentment, brutality. Comparatively speaking, they had been downright gentle with her considering their programming. Was that only because their orders were contrary to their 'natural' behavior? Or were they still learning, evolving? She had overheard Gideon mention 'hunters' before, indicating that they behaved more like 'humans'. She was on the point of asking him about the hunters when it, fortunately, dawned on her that she'd been eavesdropping at the time. She couldn't ask without giving herself away. She was still tempted. Instead, she returned her attention to her food, trying to eat enough to avoid censure although it was nearly cold by now and even less appealing than it had been to begin with. "If you hate humans so much, why did you take me?" she mumbled to no one in particular. "Unlike humans, Cyborgs are incapable of hate ... or any emotion for that matter." She glanced up at Gabriel when he spoke, staring at him for a long moment. "You are very good at imitating then," she said quietly. "There is just the right note of contempt and venom in your voice each time you say 'human' to make me feel as if you hate them and everything about them." His black, nearly straight brows drew together over the bridge of his nose, his finely etched lips compressing into a thin line. "We did not need social graces to kill. You will have to try to overlook our lack of skills in civilized conversation ... 60
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or behavior. You need not concern yourself in any case. We are under orders to bring you back unharmed." Nothing he had said had eased her fears at all, in fact, quite the opposite because she was absolutely convinced that they had attained self-awareness and with it the ability to feel the full range of emotions ... without having been given the opportunity to experience the gentler emotions that kept the baser ones in balance. They had never known love at all. They'd emerged full grown and infinitely dangerous from the sterile environment of a laboratory and been sent out to kill and maim and destroy. That was all they had experienced, all they had had to learn from, and that was why they were very familiar with hate and anger. If all of the cyborgs that had managed to evade attempts to destroy them were as these were, and she saw no reason to doubt that they were since the soldiers were certainly better equipped to defend themselves from their creators, then she had a lot to fear. Strong emotions had a tendency to outweigh logic so she didn't feel that the fact that they seemed to believe they needed her was going to be the protection they seemed to think it was ... or at least wanted her to believe it was. Empathy smote her. It was awful to think that they had come into awareness under such circumstances, that they had not known anything 'good' at all, did not even have happy childhood memories to sustain them. As difficult as she had thought her own childhood was, she had had some affection. She had had friends. She had had fun. There were good memories to draw upon as well as bad ones. 61
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Depression settled over her, as well, because she realized her life was never going to get any better than this. From this point onward, she had nothing to look forward to with hope. The vague, never completely abandoned dream that she would one day meet a man she could love, or at least respect and like a great deal, and have a family of her own was never going to materialize. Even the barely acknowledged hope that the men who'd taken her might form at least a friendly bond with her vanished like smoke. She looked away from him, stirring the remains of her meal on her plate. "To live among others just like you three ... who also don't hate humans? That is certainly something for me to look forward to! It is such a great relief to know that as long as I'm considered useful I get to live." She got up and moved to the work area to clean the remains of her food into the incinerator unit and clean her plate and utensil. It was something to do, at least, to occupy her hands and mind. Hearing the dull clank of the others' plates and the stirring of movement, she wasn't startled when she felt a presence beside her. She turned to discover it was the one with green eyes and he was holding a stack of plates. She reached to take them from him. "It is my turn to clean up." She didn't look at him. "I might as well have a turn, too. God knows I don't want to be thought useless!" "You are a doctor and much needed. Your place in our society is assured, as are your comfort and well being." They could tell her that forever and it wasn't going to make her feel any less threatened! They were cyborgs, for 62
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fuck's sake! They already had an unfair advantage! Even supposing these mythical children that needed her care appeared—and she couldn't figure out how they thought that was going to happen in this little community they were working so hard to build—it wasn't as if she could guard either her knowledge or her experience from them. They would learn—a lot faster than she had—and then they wouldn't need her! She wasn't really surprised to discover when she looked up at him that tears blurred her vision. She was deep down scared and depressed besides. "Oh!" she snapped sarcastically. "Well now I feel all better!" As she looked at him angrily, the tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks. A frown drew his dark brows together as his gaze followed the path. When he met her gaze again, his face had darkened and grown taut with fury. She had just enough time to feel faint when he whirled abruptly on his heel and stalked across the main cabin. Grabbing Gabriel by the shoulder, he snatched him around to meet the fist he slung at him. Bronte's jaw dropped as the loud, meaty sound hit her ears like an explosion. Gabriel flew backwards, skidding across the table they'd been eating at moments before and sending the glasses filled with water flying in every direction. "Jerico!" Gideon bellowed, launching himself from the pilot's seat and barreling toward the two men just as Jerico launched himself on top of the fallen man ... or tried to ... with his hands extended toward Gabriel's throat. Quicker than thought, Gabriel brought his knees to his chest, caught Jerico 63
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with his feet and catapulted him across the small room. He slammed into the cabinets only inches from Bronte. Uttering a squeak of fright, Bronte dropped the dish she'd been holding and whirled to run. Leaving complete mayhem behind her, she dashed into the rear cabin and looked around frantically for a place to hide. She'd already dashed toward the bathroom when she skidded to a halt at the realization that it was very likely the first place they would look for her. Besides, it didn't have a lock. She whirled, whipping her head from side to side in a frantic search for possibilities, dimly aware that the sounds of a fight were escalating not diminishing, as if all three men were now in the midst of battle. The space under the bunk was small, but she thought she could get under it. The problem was, under the bed would probably be their second guess if it wasn't the first. Racing to the clothing locker, she popped the door open, gauged the size of the shelves and decided she could just squeeze into the bottom area. Grabbing the clothing from it, she had already tossed them over her shoulder before it dawned on her the scattered clothes would be a dead giveaway. Snatching them up again, she looked around a little wildly and finally threw them under the bunk. She scraped the hide off of her arms and shins climbing into the cubby hole at the bottom of the clothing locker, and it was a miserably tight fit besides, but she managed to get in to it. Closing the door behind her was even harder. Persistence paid off, though. Cramped as she was, she had no difficulty retaining body heat. Despite the shock and fright that had her 64
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shivering, she began to grow warm fairly quickly. She couldn't hear the fracas from inside the locker—not nearly as well anyway—but she counted that as a good thing, covering her ears with her hands for good measure. The moment she did that, it completely drowned out everything except her heart beat, which was pounding like tribal war drums. She was too scared at first to even consider what had happened with anything approaching cognitive thought. She couldn't get the violent images out of her mind, though. Over and over, like a damaged vid that kept hitting a bad spot and replaying everything before, her mind vividly recreated Jerico's fist slamming into Gabriel's face, Gabriel flying backwards across the dining table, Jerico flying backwards across the room and the expression on Gideon's face that promised even more fist slinging. Closing her eyes only seemed to make it worse, though how that could be the case when she was trapped in the dark already she couldn't imagine. She'd thought for certain she'd enraged Jerico by being so snippy and sarcastic. Well, she supposed she had. She shuddered. She wasn't sure if it was the violence itself or the horror she felt that men that big were strong enough to sling each other around that had her shaking like a leaf. Both, she decided. It wasn't as if she had never seen violence. She'd seen the end results of it many times when she'd interned. She'd seen a lot of actual violence, but as a spectator staring at news clips or entertainment vids, not real life right on top of her violence. 65
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The door of the locker opened abruptly. Bronte squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. After a moment though, when the door didn't close again, she opened one eye a crack to see what was going on. Gideon was crouched on the floor, studying her. Bronte stared back at him with a mixture of embarrassment, distrust, and fear. Jerico and Gabriel joined him, peering at her with expressions she found impossible to interpret. All three men were breathing deeply from exertion, their hair wild and their faces battered and bleeding. After staring at her for several moments, the three exchanged accusing glares. "Do not even think about it," Gideon said in a low, warning growl when Jerico and Gabriel bristled at one another. The two men turned to glare at him, but they subsided. "Soldiers get rowdy when they have been too long from action," Gideon offered. Bronte stared at him. Apparently he recalled that they had seen 'action' only the day before when both Jerico and Gabriel had been shot escaping with her. "It was a long flight to Earth," he added uncomfortably. He blew out a breath of irritation and turned to glare at the two in question. "Go and clean up the mess and repair the damage to the mid-section." Neither man looked terribly pleased by the order, but they shot to their feet, saluted, and left. "Are you hurt?" Bronte thought that over, but the only injuries she could claim were self-inflicted when she was trying to get away from the fight. When he asked, she felt twinges, bruising from 66
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slamming into everything in her path in her mad dash to reach safety. "No," she said finally instead of pointing out that that was because she'd had enough sense of self-preservation to get as far away from the battle as fast as she could. If she'd been caught in the crossfire they could've knocked her head clean off her shoulders, or landed on her and crushed her. "Can you get out?" She couldn't prevent a blush as his gaze assessed the space she'd crammed herself into. The question, though, was did she want to? And could he make her get out if she didn't want to? He took the locker apart shelve by shelf. She wasn't certain if the shelves had been designed to be removable, but he removed them anyway. When he'd removed the shelves, he reached in, grabbed her by her upper arms and hauled her out.
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Chapter Five Bronte had to lock her knees to keep from falling when he set her on her feet. She winced as she straightened, every muscle and joint in her body protesting from being cramped up so long. Apparently he saw the wince. He moved his hands over her, carefully checking bones and joints for breakage, she supposed. Just as she was lulled by the gentleness of his touch, he grabbed the front of the suit and ripped it open from neck to crotch. Bronte sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, too stunned even to protest as he casually stripped the suit off of her. By the time she'd caught her breath, she discovered that he was still examining her, her flesh now instead of the bones, though why he thought he needed to when he could see at a glance that she wasn't bleeding was beyond her. A frown drew his brows together as he examined the long bruises on her forearms and those on her shins from her dive into her hiding place. "Get dressed," he said finally and moved away. Relieved, Bronte bent to grab the suit puddled around her ankles and pulled it up, shoving her arms into the sleeves. She was still trying to align the mesh on the front closure when his hand closed around her wrist. Without a word, he dragged her toward the bunk. She tripped over the pant legs as they reached the bunk, sprawling across his lap as he sat down and tugged her toward him. 68
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She nearly impaled herself on the scalpel he held in his hand. Fortunately, he could move fast. He dropped it before she could fall on it. He gave her a reproving look as he righted her—as if she'd dove toward the thing on purpose! Pushing her back so that she plopped down on his knee, which was behind her, he caught one wrist and straightened her arm. "Hold still," he said, a thread of irritation in his voice as he picked up the scalpel he'd dropped. Bronte shot to her feet, or rather tried. He hooked his other arm around her waist and held her, giving her a look that dared her to move. She would've jumped to her feet again anyway except that the second time, he grabbed the sleeve and slit the excess fabric before she had time to try to snatch her arm back or jump to her feet. "Oh," she said weakly when she realized he was only trying to cut the suit down to size. He sent her a dry look as he caught her other arm and cut the end off of that sleeve. Feeling more than a little sheepish, she lifted her leg and placed it across his opposite knee when he'd finished trimming the sleeves. He sent her a look, but instead of pointing out that she could trim the pants legs as easily as he could—which she belatedly realized—he merely pinched the fabric up and trimmed the material off just above her ankle. "I can do that," she said uncomfortably as he reached for her other leg. He ignored her, grasping her ankle and lifting her leg. The move overbalanced her. She made a grab for him as she felt herself tipping backwards and clawed three furrows across his 69
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chest before she managed to hook her hand around his upper arm and catch herself. Fortunately, it wasn't deep enough to draw blood, only to raise welts. Feeling a little nauseated, she checked under her nails for skin anyway. He was glaring at her when she looked up from examining her nails. The look made her uneasy, especially after what had happened the last time she'd hurt him. Reaching over, she rubbed her fingers over the welts soothingly and leaned down to blow on them for good measure. "Better?" she asked hopefully when she straightened again. He rolled his eyes heavenward. Shaking his head, more as if from disgust than in answer to her question, he caught her waist, as if he meant to set her away from him. Instead, he paused once his hands had settled on her hips. He seemed to wrestle with himself. "We are not accustomed to being around women ... only other soldiers like ourselves," he said haltingly and then frowned. "Disputes are often settled with fists, especially when there is no officer around—and no danger of ending up in the brig as disciplinary action. Not one of us would harm you—not intentionally. Beyond the fact that we are under orders to bring you back safely—and it would mean our lives if we failed—we do not make war on women." His gaze flickered over her. "But you are human...." Frowning, she looked away from him. He caught her face and made her meet his gaze. "Frail compared to us—even our women. In the heat of battle.... "He broke off and shrugged. "You were wise to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible, but you do not need 70
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to hide. No one will come after you. No one will turn their anger on you. The next time, just return to the cabin and wait for the argument to resolve itself." She gave him a look of disbelief. "But you...." Something gleamed in his eyes at the reminder, but she didn't think it was amusement. "I did not say you did not have to concern yourself that there would be no consequences for your actions, only that you need not be afraid that we will hurt you." He almost seemed to shrug. "You are in no less danger aboard this ship in that respect than you would be in any other if you were to find yourself among men—human men— who have not touched a woman in a very long time. "Men, I might add, who have no mate waiting for our return and little prospect of finding one." Bronte stared at him in disbelief. "Well! If you think the prospect of being gang raped by three men is any less of a threat than being beat up, you certainly don't know a damned thing about women!" He closed his eyes, as if seeking patience. Or maybe not. His eyes were blazing when he opened them again, and not with anger. "I never said anything about rape, Bronte. Believe me when I say you would be more than willing. I know exactly how to touch you and where to touch you. There is nothing about human sexuality that I do not know. I could give you more pleasure than you ever imagined possible and when I took you, you would be begging me to." Bronte opened her mouth to dispute that despite the fact that his words, in and of themselves, without a single touch, 71
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had made everything inside of her go warm and liquid and quivery. His lips curled, as if he was waiting for her to issue the challenge trembling on the tip of her tongue. It gave her pause. She still had to fight the urge to issue the challenge, not because she doubted for a moment that a denial would be a challenge to him but because she had an insane urge to see if he could do what he claimed. And she was suddenly absolutely convinced that he could. He lifted a dark blond brow when she said nothing. "You do not want to test it?" he asked pensively. Bronte shook her head. Looking mildly disappointed, he set her away from him and rose. "I felt honor bound to warn you," he said as he paused at the door, "that I can not guarantee you will arrive at our destination untouched. In fact, I am as certain as I can be that you will not." She glared at the door after he'd left, trying to ignore the anticipation fluttering in her belly at his threat/promise. She would've liked to have been able to convince herself that it was fear, not excitement, but she knew it wasn't. She wished that she could dismiss everything he'd said as pure egotistical, male arrogance, but she knew better. She'd suspected right off, the moment she got a look at everything when she'd dressed Gabriel and Jerico's wounds, that they were fully functional pleasure bots, even if they had ended up being sold to the military instead as soldiers. And if only half of the things she'd heard about them was true he was neither lying nor exaggerating. 72
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How bright was it that the men who'd created them had gathered together the combined wisdom and techniques of the best lovers, added data compiled from god only knew how many sexual research studies, and then designed the perfect body to deliver that sexual atom bomb, she thought indignantly? But then again, scientists had always been prone to view their work as an extension of themselves and suffered besides from a combination of egotism over their brains and a lack of common sense or imagination. And it still seemed utterly stupid to her that they'd marketed pleasure bots that were ten times better than any human lover could hope to be. And she was trapped on a ship with three of them! Shivering, she looked around and finally sat down on the bunk. She was no prude—far from it, despite the fact that she had not really had a lot of opportunities for sexual experimentation. She might have had more if she hadn't felt so driven to make her father proud of her, to live up to him and his reputation, that she'd not allowed herself to be distracted by her hormones. She'd been tempted a few times but the timing had never seemed right and nothing had ever come of it. She had actually gotten fairly deeply involved with a fellow medical student when she had been in college—been involved with Howard throughout most of their last two years of study, but then he had been as driven to succeed as she was ... which meant that neither of them had had much time for an actual relationship. The truth was, she supposed, they hadn't really been a lot more than a convenience to each other, a reliable fuck when they needed it, and they'd stopped 73
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being even that 'close' when the heat had gone out of the relationship—which was when they'd discovered they were interning at different hospitals. She'd barely had a half dozen dates since and less than half of them had interested her enough to have sex. She thought that probably explained, to a large extent, why she found her captors so attractive—aside from the fact that they were. No doubt it also explained why she was tempted even though she knew they hated her just because she human. It was one thing to set out to have casual sex, though, and another matter entirely to set out to have sex with someone you knew held you in contempt, but was willing to fuck you anyway. She could have lived with indifferent. She had settled for indifferent. Except for Howard, who had at least seemed to like her when they'd begun their relationship, it had only been a matter of physical attraction with anyone else she'd been with—not extreme physical attraction, just interested enough that, given the right timing and circumstances, she'd had sex with them. And she thought that probably went both ways because afterward she hadn't really cared whether she saw them again and they hadn't seemed to be too put out when she wasn't interested in round two. Would it be any better when they finally got where ever it was they were going, she wondered? She doubted it. Except for the fact that she would not be trapped in a little space ship with three cyborgs that hadn't had a piece of ass in a 74
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while and thought hers would do just fine, she couldn't see that the future looked bright. She would just have to keep to herself as much as possible, she decided. The clothing they'd given her to wear was pretty shapeless on her since it hardly touched her anywhere. That wasn't going to tempt them. It was going to be pretty damned hard to play least in sight, though, considering how small the ship was—to say nothing of the fact that there was only one bed and four people on board. She had a bad feeling they hadn't changed their sleep rotation on her account. She supposed she could ask them to, but that didn't mean they would. She just wouldn't sleep on the bed, she decided. They couldn't accuse her of trying to tempt them if she didn't use the bed! And she could claim the forward bathroom as hers, she decided. They all used the one off the sleeping quarters because this was where they kept their clothing. It would probably be best, she decided, just to steer clear of the sleeping quarters altogether, though she hated giving it up because it was pretty much the only private area. If she spent all of her time in the cabin, though, they might begin to get the idea that she was just waiting for one of them, or all of them, to take her on. Of course, she ran much the same risk if she loitered within their view. She wasn't just going to lay down and take it, literally, though, not when every other word out of their mouths made it patently clear that they didn't see her any differently than 75
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they viewed every other human, and that was with contempt and hate. It wasn't that she didn't agree with a good bit of it. Unfortunately, they were right about being superior, damn them! Their creators, stupid things that they were regardless of how brilliant they were as scientists, had gone out of their way to make their 'creation' a masterpiece and superior in just about every way to humans. And if it was true that the cyborgs had evolved into awareness, and she had a hard time disputing that, then everything that had been done to them, up to and including putting a price on their heads because they had 'gotten out of hand', created a mountain of reasons for them to hate humans. By rights, that should have been directed at their tormenters, not the entire human race, but she knew they were all being tarred with the same brush because, whether they'd actually had a hand in it or not, most of them would feel the same way and react the same way. The cyborgs had become a threat, and humans, by their nature, dealt with threats by trying to wipe it out. **** Gideon hadn't made it halfway across mid-ship where Gabriel and Jerico were working on putting the galley area back together when Gabriel happened to glance in his direction and stiffened. Distracted as he was by his exchange with Bronte, Gideon knew instantly what had caught his attention—the scratches across his chest. Anger surged through him. He was the senior officer on board. He did not 76
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answer to either Gabriel or Jerico and even if not for his rank, he would not. He stopped, meeting Gabriel's challenging glare with a challenge of his own. "She scratched you," Gabriel ground out. "She did," Gideon responded coldly. Jerico came upright and turned to stare at him, as well. "Why?" he demanded, anger threading his voice. Gideon slid an annoyed glance in Jerico's direction. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned almost casually against the wall. "If it concerned you I might consider answering—despite the fact that I am senior officer here and do not consider it any part of my duty to answer to my subordinates." "This has nothing to do with rank, military matters—or orders—and you damned well know it." Gideon glanced at Gabriel. "It was not I who displayed a complete lack of self-discipline and sent her into hiding," he said pointedly. He examined his fingernails with apparent interest. "If the point you were trying to get across to her was that you were warriors capable of protecting her, you failed lamentably. If, however, you thought it wise to make it abundantly clear that you are little better than undisciplined savages, then you should applaud yourselves. That display was very convincing." Gabriel's eyes narrowed. He slid a fulminating glare at Jerico. "It was not I, either," he snarled.
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Jerico reddened. "You frightened her and you made her cry. How you can figure that you did not start it is beyond me!" An expression of discomfort crossed Gabriel's features. "I am supposed to know these things will upset her before I open my mouth?" he growled. "I have not seen that telling her nothing at all reassures her. Nor, might I add, did your pretty speech seem to make her feel less threatened! And I would like to know how it is that you have come to see yourself as her champion! You claimed no interest in her yourself. You claimed that you were courting Rose!" "I do not have a mate," Jerico snarled. "It makes no difference if I was courting Rose before we left. She will have decided in this time to take another!" "She is human—not cyborg." Effectively silenced, Jerico and Gabriel both turned to stare at Gideon at that. "Even if you could get offspring on her, and you do not know that you can, then it would most likely be human, not cyborg." "You do not know that," Gabriel said finally. Gideon shrugged. "You will have to consider it, however. We are part human ourselves. A human and a half-human will likely produce a human ... assuming, as I said, you were able to produce at all." Jerico frowned, but thoughtfully. "We do not know, either way, that we will have off-spring of our own. I want a woman ... even if I can not have a family." "A woman?" 78
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Jerico reddened at Gideon's question. "Bronte." "You are more clumsy even than I at this courting business. You have already cut your throat with your tongue. You might as well slash your wrists, as well—You and Gabriel." Gabriel gave him an indignant look. "How do you figure that?" Gideon favored him with a satisfied smile. "If you had not had your mind on your cock, you would have noticed the same as I that Bronte's reaction was not because of what you said when we were dining together. She heard what you said earlier." Jerico stared at him a long moment and looked a little ill. "When we were talking before?" Gideon nodded, pushing away from the wall. "She told you that?" Gabriel demanded. "She did not have to. I knew she was listening at the door." Gabriel glared him resentfully, but he was trying to recall exactly what it was that he had said. "How?" Jerico demanded. "Because I would have—we are her enemies the same as she is ours. She is probably listening now." Gabriel and Jerico both turned to stare at the closed door of the cabin as Gideon strode past them to the bridge. After a moment, they exchanged a speaking glance and followed him. "That was a damned low down trick!" Gabriel snarled. 79
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"I thought it was clever myself," Gideon responded goadingly. Gabriel's hands balled into fists. Gideon eyed them with raised brows. "You will have to learn to control your brutal tendencies if you expect to have any chance of courting Bronte. I admit I do not have the finesse the Hunters can claim, but I am very good at observing, and I did not get the sense that Bronte was favorably impressed with your display earlier." Grinding his teeth, Gabriel unclenched his fists with an effort. "You are plotting something," he said finally. Gideon shrugged. "I was only thinking that, if I must share her—and I do not mind telling you that I would rather not— you and I and Jerico have been comrades in arms through many battles on many worlds. There is no one I would rather have at my back in any battle—including this one. "And I was thinking we have a tactical advantage, for once, and we would be fools not to utilize it when we are already agreed that Bronte suits us." Jerico and Gabriel exchanged a look. Slowly, they began to smile. "We have her," Jerico murmured. "Exactly," Gideon agreed. "For months. If we can not figure out in that space of time how to win her...." "We can manufacture a problem with the ship and squeeze in a few more weeks, at least," Gabriel said thoughtfully. Gideon frowned, turning his head to stare at the door of the sleeping quarters thoughtfully. "God help us! We will kill each other if it takes half that long. I am ready to tear her clothes off and try to convince her another way already!" 80
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Jerico frowned. "Mayhap that is not such a bad idea," he murmured thoughtfully. "We were fully programmed in that, at least." "Tearing her clothes off is a good idea?" Gabriel asked, his eyes glazed and vaguely unfocused. "I told you his mind was on his cock," Gideon said dryly. "And yours is not?" Gabriel growled. "Not that part of the idea," Jerico snapped. "If we pleasured her she would not have as much time to consider that we are not skilled at flirtation and have no idea how to converse in a courtship, or what sort of things please a woman outside the bedroom ... or any of those things." An expression of annoyance crossed Gideon's features. "I tried that," he said irritably. "She bit me. And I had not even gotten started." "Maybe it was the way you went about it?" Jerico asked uneasily, obviously reluctant to give up his idea. "She was asleep ... or just wakened, rather. If she had not ... rooted all over me as we slept I would not have considered trying it," Gideon said crossly. "I will certainly not object if either of you want to give it a try, but I have to tell you I do not believe that method of guerrilla warfare will work on Bronte. If she knees you in the balls, do not come to me to complain." Gabriel was frowning doubtfully. "It is hardly an ideal situation since we were sent to capture her. She is bound to hold a grudge over that." "I never said it was ideal," Gideon said irritably. "Ideal would be a woman for every man—or two. Not one woman to 81
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five or six and having to share a mate or do without. Ideal would be if she was cyborg, as we are, and not an enemy." "The council is expecting the man," Jerico pointed out. "They expect a qualified pediatrician capable of also teaching parenting skills," Gideon said testily. "And she is qualified." Jerico shook his head. "I mean—they expect a man. They will not have considered the laws pertaining to a woman who is human. The council may not allow us to contract with her even if we do manage to persuade her." Gideon and Gabriel exchanged a worried glance. "Then we will demand that they consider it. If she is to be a citizen, then she would have the same rights, and obligations, as every other. The laws governing the family units would have to pertain to her, as well—no less that two, no more than four." "I do not like that we do not have a fourth," Gabriel put in. "As sure as hell, a damned Hunter will come wooing her once we land and then we will be made to look more brutish and uncouth by comparison!" Gideon frowned, obviously no more pleased by that prospect that Gabriel, but seemed to dismiss it after a moment. "I do not see that we can do anything about that now. We will have to 'discourage' any that get the notion," he said decisively. "But there is no sense in concerning ourselves about problems we do not have to face at the moment. If we do not convince her before we reach home, you may be certain the council will immediately be considering her as a 82
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potential mate, for there will be a great demand, and then she may decide that she wants nothing to do with any of us." Gabriel's expression darkened. "I would feel better if we could contract with her before we land. Even if we could convince her to agree to contract, then there is always the chance that she might change her mind after we are home and she sees that she may choose from many more than just us three." "That is what the courting is for," Gideon said irritably. "Theoretically, the female develops an affection and then she does not want to chose another." Gabriel glared at him. "I know that much, damn it! It is the way of getting them to feel the affection I do not understand." "I uploaded the data," Jerico said helpfully. Both Gabriel and Gideon turned to glare at him. "I also uploaded," they said almost in unison. "And it is little more than a list of generalities—no help at all that I can see. It is not the same as behavioral programming," Gideon added, "which is not available to us. And it is certainly not the same as the 'experience' programming the Hunters have had since they were programmed to believe themselves human and have 'memories' to draw from, even childhood memories—which help them to understand human emotions far better than I do ... or either of you." "They like gifts," Jerico said stubbornly. Gabriel surveyed the small ship. "I do not see flowers or chocolates," he growled. 83
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"We can give her the things we took from her office—there were books. She might find pleasure in having those to read." Gideon gave him a look. "She will no doubt be delighted when we give her what we stole from her in the first place!" Jerico reddened. "At least she will not be bored!" Gideon and Gabriel exchanged a look. Gabriel shrugged. "There is that." Gideon drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of his chair. "She is more likely to curse us or throw them at us ... or perhaps both. But I suppose it is worth a try. You get them for her. If she does not begin to scream and cry, then Gabriel and I will try to find something else in the hold that she might like." "Why should I do it?" Jerico demanded indignantly. "Because it was your idea," Gideon reminded him reasonably. "And you were the one who took the books." "You were the one who told me to get the books!" Gideon shrugged. "That is beside the point. You got them." Gabriel let out an irritated huff. "I will get them. It is my rest period anyway, and she is already convinced I am a soulless bastard. She can not hold me in less esteem than she does already." Gideon and Jerico turned to watch with interest when Gabriel returned from the hold with a container filled with books and headed toward the cabin. He was frowning when he left the room again a few minutes later. "I did not hear a scream," Jerico observed. "That is a good sign." "She is sleeping under the bunk," Gabriel announced. 84
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A vague look of discomfort skittered across Gideon's features. It occurred to him belatedly that mayhap it had not been the wisest course to point out the obvious to her. But he thought she could not have failed to notice that they desired her and he had thought it might be best for her to begin to adjust to the idea that they had no intention of depriving themselves of the opportunity of bedding her. "I believe there may be a trust issue."
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Chapter Six "We were told to bring anything you might need to work." Bronte glanced up from the books she had been studying and saw that Gabriel was watching her with a mixture of wariness and defensiveness. The expression disappeared as she met his gaze, wiped clean as if it had never been there at all. He looked refreshed, she thought with annoyance as she allowed her gaze to flicker over him where he sat on the edge of the bunk. She, on the other hand, had not slept well at all. He had dragged her from beneath the bunk, where she had retreated in hope of enjoying her solitude when she'd grown too tired to maintain enough anxiety to keep her awake, and settled her on the mattress, and then climbed in beside her as if he'd been invited. She wasn't certain if it was just that they didn't seem to grasp subtle snubs; if they were grimly determined not to allow her even to get away with passive resistance; or if it was because she had helped herself to the only blanket. He hadn't made any attempt to take advantage of her vulnerable state, though, and she hadn't known what to make of his behavior when she'd woken with him sleeping beside her as if he belonged there. "I don't suppose it occurred to any of you to drop by my apartment and clean that out, as well?" she asked mildly.
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He looked disconcerted and then angry/defensive again. "The mission was to extract a doctor and the things he would need to do his job." "My father, I know," she said, releasing an audible sigh that was equal parts frustration and resignation as she returned her gaze to the books. He had 'angry' eyebrows, she thought distractedly as she stared at the volumes without really seeing them. Straight, thick, and black, when he lowered that thunderous line over his eerily pale eyes it made him look infinitely dangerous and sent an involuntary shiver along her spine. Oddly enough, those same two black slashes were very disarming when he drew them together to form an upside down v above the bridge of his nose anytime he was disconcerted, giving him a vulnerable look that made her chest tighten uncomfortably. It also had the undesirable effect of evoking the impulse to smooth that 'worried puppy' look from his face. It was a seriously dangerous, and potent, combination of polar opposites to find in one man, who also happened to be more handsome than he had any right to be and was built like an anti-missile tank besides. How stupid was it to find that expression so charming and disarming when it was attached to a giant of a man that could go through a steel door like it was made out of paper? "Thank you," she said finally as he pushed himself off the bunk and headed toward the facilities. He came to a halt, swiveling to look at her with a mixture of surprise and hopefulness. "You are welcome," he said 87
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finally, hesitantly, his voice gruff, as if he wasn't sure whether she actually meant it or was being sarcastic. She smiled at him when she saw his black brows twitch upwards above the bridge of his nose, because she couldn't seem to help herself. He stiffened, looked for a handful of heartbeats as if he was battling the urge to move closer and finally continued on his way. Bronte let her breath out in a rush, not realizing until he'd disappeared that she'd been holding her breath, braced for assault. The books were welcome. She'd felt a twinge of resentment when she recognized them and realized they'd been filched from her office, but then it had dawned on her that she was probably several light-years from her office already and unlikely ever to see anything that had been left behind again. And she realized it was comforting to have familiar things around her, even though it also made her feel a pang of homesickness. Besides, the books gave her something to occupy herself with other than the dark, unnerving thoughts that had been her constant companion since they'd snatched her away from the life she'd had. She'd read most of them already, but there were a few that she'd been meaning to get around to reading and hadn't been able to find the time. Those on the list of 'to be read' were primarily novels she'd bought purely for entertainment. They were the 'rewards' she'd never gotten around to giving herself for studying the dry texts she needed to read to keep abreast of developments in her field. 88
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After a short mental debate, she studied the titles of the novels and finally chose one. A quick search of the room revealed the unsurprising information that the bunk was the only comfortable furnishing she could retreat to to read. Climbing on the mattress, she settled with her back against the wall, drew her knees up, and depressed the button that opened the book. When she'd drawn the film from the cylindrical case, she brushed her fingers across the film until she reached the opening chapter, sighed blissfully, and settled to reading. She was an old fashioned sort of a gal, she supposed. She still preferred to actually hold a book in her hands, feel the crispness of film beneath her fingers, smell the faint odors of plasti-metal and warming circuits. The holo-books that read to her just weren't the same. She preferred her own voice in her head as she read to the mechanical voice of the holobooks. Discovering she was squinting to try to focus, she worked on zooming in and out on the text for several moments before it dawned on her that she didn't have her glasses. She frowned, trying to remember what she'd done with them, and finally recalled she'd placed them on the floor near her when she'd crawled under the bunk. Setting her book aside, she climbed off of the bunk, got down on her hands and knees, and peered under the bed for the glasses. She heard Gabriel leave the facilities, but she didn't think much of it even when she heard him head toward her ... until she felt a hand glide over the curve of her ass and fingers wedged between her legs, curling into her cleft. Letting out a yelp of surprise, she 89
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surged forward, scraping her lower back against the bottom edge of the bed and then pan-caking against the hard floor. Gabriel, now on all fours, was peering at her as she whirled around to glare indignantly in his direction. Glaring back at her, he grabbed her by one thigh and dragged her from beneath the bed. She made a grab for her glasses and managed to snag them on her way out. "You do not need to hide," he said irritably. "I wasn't trying to hide!" Bronte said testily, feeling her face heat at the reminder that she'd already established a habit of crawling into tight, dark spaces to elude them. "I was trying to get my glasses." He eyed the glasses she was shaking in his face, studied her expression for a moment and abruptly caught her face between two big hands, dragging her—by her head—toward him. More surprised than anything else, she merely gaped at the face zooming in on hers. The moment his lips closed over hers, though, and his tongue speared between her parted lips to delve inside her mouth, she reacted instinctively by clamping down on it with her teeth. He retreated, releasing her as abruptly as he'd caught her as if he'd just discovered he'd grabbed a hot coal. They stared at one another—Bronte with dismay that she'd yielded, again, to an impulse it would've been far wiser to ignore, and Gabriel with indignation. Abruptly remembering what had happened the last time she'd given in to the impulse to bite, Bronte crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn't even wearing under clothes anymore because she didn't have a change of under clothes. 90
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He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, as if searching for damage. She hadn't bitten him that hard, she thought uneasily. He caught her wrists with the same lightening, mind numbing speed he'd caught her before, too quickly for her mind to actually grasp what had happened for several moments. Instead of trying to pry her arms from across her chest, however, he surged to his feet, taking her with him. She wasn't certain if it was surprise that slackened her resistance, or if she had been lulled by the false conclusion that he was only helping her to her feet. Either way, he caught her off guard again when he jerked her arms straight and then shoved them behind her back. The pressure arched her back, bringing her up on her toes and plastering her chest against his. After staring down at her upturned face for a long moment, as if he was trying to decide what he wanted to do in the form of retribution, he transferred her wrists to one hand, lifted the other to close it tightly around the back of her skull and dipped his head toward her again. This time, instead of trying to kiss her, however, he lowered his mouth to her exposed throat. Her breath caught in her chest as she felt the tip of his nose brush the delicate skin and then his lips. In an almost leisurely manner, he explored the entire area and finally sank his teeth into the side of her neck, just hard enough to sting and cause an explosion of pebbly flesh as the fine hairs all over her body came erect with anticipation. Blood rushed to flood both her nipples and her sex, bringing them to pulsing life as he sucked the sting away. Spearing her with his intense gaze as 91
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he lifted his head to look at her again, he released her wrists and cupped her buttocks, trapping them as he curled his hips into hers, tilting her hips just enough to press his erection against her engorged clit. She should have felt threatened, horrified, disgusted. She was certain she should have. Instead, she felt weak all over, felt liquid desire heat her blood and send it surging through her in a hot tide. Releasing her unhurriedly, he turned and strode toward the door. Anger flooded Bronte as she watched his departure. She didn't know if it was because he'd aroused every nerve ending inside of her with keen anticipation and then left, because she realized she'd come out the loser in their battle of wills and sensed he knew it, too, or if it was a belated defensiveness and outrage that he'd had the audacity to take what he wanted regardless of her tactic refusal to yield. Whatever it was, it was compounded when she discovered that, somewhere in the rounds of being thoroughly aroused when she didn't want to feel anything toward him at all, she'd snapped the nose piece of her glasses. Yielding to yet another stupid impulse, she threw them at him as he reached the door. Fortunately, she had never been terribly good at aiming. The broken glasses hit the wall a good three feet from him and fell to the floor. He stopped abruptly, looked down at the object she'd thrown at him and then threw a glance back at her. Gaping at him in seriously belated fear of retribution, Bronte backed up and sprawled across the bed, bumping her 92
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head on the wall. His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on her splayed legs, or more specifically the point between her legs where they met. For several unnerving moments she was caught between the hope/fear he was going to turn around and finish what he'd started. He merely bent and scooped the glasses from the floor, however, and went out. Dragging in a shuddering breath of relief when he'd left, Bronte pushed herself up and examined her throbbing head with her hand. Discovering there was no blood when it was damned well pounding hard enough to have produced some evidence she'd nearly cracked her skull in her hasty retreat, she rubbed at it until the pounding eased and then pushed herself off the bed and went to perform her waking routine. When she came out, Gideon was sprawled on the bunk on his back, his eyes closed, his arms folded beneath his head in a way that made the muscles in his upper arms form a hard, round bulge that made her belly dance in trembling excitement. She halted abruptly, studying him warily and trying to decide whether she wanted her book badly enough to try to retrieve it from the other side of the bed. She glanced at the container of books, but she'd already set her heart on reading the thriller she'd picked out. Tiptoeing across the room, she studied him and finally decided he was asleep. The book was near the wall, midway up the bed. Crawl up the end and grab it? Or lean over him? She wasn't crawling into bed with him, she decided. An arm caught her around the waist as she leaned over him to grab the book. She landed on the bed and Gideon landed on top of her so fast it took her head several moments 93
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to stop swimming. About the time it did, she discovered her ass had landed on top of the hard, tubular casing of her book. "Ow!" she complained, trying to lift her hips off of it. Obligingly, he cupped his hips and rocked against her, digging his erection against her mound. She tried reaching for the hard plasti-metal wedged beneath her butt and the mattress and discovered he'd manacled her wrists above her head with his hands. His face against her neck, he nibbled kisses down her throat and tried to use his chin to part the front edges of her suit. The conflicting sensations of pain from the book digging into her and pleasure from the feel of his lips along her throat collided. Uttering little, breathless grunts of pain and pleasure, she wiggled her hips, trying to move the book from beneath her or move her hips off of the book. "My book!" she managed to gasp out just about the time he succeeded in parting the mesh closure at her neck. He released his grip on one of her wrists, slid his hand down and dragged the book from under her, shoving it to one side. The moment he let go of her wrist, Bronte grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. Ignoring her tug at his scalp, Gideon hooked his fingers in the front of the uniform and parted the closure to her waist. Squeezing one breast between his thumb and fingers, he opened his mouth over the tip and sucked until her eyeballs nearly rolled back in her head as fire spread through her in dizzying waves. She thrashed beneath him, struggling half-heartedly to fight him off, but Gabriel had already revved her engines and left her wide open to the needs simmering just below the surface of her consciousness. She was fighting a losing battle the 94
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moment Gideon reawakened the only semi-dormant pleasure receptors in her brain. Her brain instantly began churning out serotonin in debilitating, will decimating volumes. By the time Gideon ceased to tug at her nipple with his mouth and tease the aching nub with the flick of his tongue, she felt like one giant, raw nerve ending, as if her whole body pulsed in concert with the frantic rhythm of her heart, threatening to explode each time the organ contracted and sent another surge of blood boiling through her veins. Weak, completely disoriented by the intoxicating drug pumping through her system, it was more her instinct for selfpreservation than her rapidly dwindling willpower that made her grab at his arms as Gideon speared his hands beneath the shoulders of her suit and peeled it down, binding her arms to her sides with the fabric. He shoved his arms beneath her shoulders, lifting them to meet his lips. Her neck too weak to hold up her head, her head tipped back against the mattress, arching her throat to his assault. He anointed the tender flesh there with open mouthed kisses, traced the frantic pulse along the side of her neck with his tongue, and moved lower to familiarize himself with the flesh he'd exposed to the mind drugging assault of his mouth. Feeding the blaze he'd already kindled, he moved from her throat, across her collar bone from shoulder to shoulder, blazed a path along the upper slope of her breasts and then climbed the column of her throat to nip at her chin and the line of her jaw. She lost her breath when his mouth clamped over hers in hungry possession, sucked his into her lungs sharply as he 95
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filled her mouth with his essence—the taste and feel and ruthless domination of all her faculties. His chest settled heavily against hers, flattening her breasts, confining her lungs so that she struggled even harder to catch her breath as he tugged at her clothing, dragging it lower. She sucked in a sharp breath to fight the darkness closing in on her as he released her mouth, levered his upper body away from hers slightly and shoved himself downward. Catching the breast in his hand that he hadn't teased unmercifully yet, he fastened his mouth over it and suckled, effectively depriving her of the breath she'd just hauled into her lungs. It emerged in a half choked moan of sound as jolts of exquisite sensation went through her with every tug of his mouth on the sensitive bud. She realized dimly that she was running her hands over his shoulders and back, curling and uncurling her fingers like a cat's pleasurable kneading, making faint, mewling sounds in concert as her breath hitched in her chest and then released. The sounds, her touch, or his own exploration, or the three combined seemed to chip away at his control. The leisurely, almost calculated caresses he'd begun with became more hurried and graceless as he moved from one breast to the other and back again, climbed the upper slopes to her throat, explored her face, her mouth, and then moved to her ear as if he could not decide what part of her to sample next, as if he wanted to lay claim to every inch of her at once. His breathing rapidly became more ragged than her own. Tremors moved through his great body, becoming more and more pronounced. 96
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His growing need fed hers, built the fire inside her until she was writhing restlessly beneath him, the splendid friction of her body brushing all along his making her even more frantic. Abruptly, he shoved himself upward onto his knees. The cool air striking her bared body lifted the pall of heat burning feverishly in her mind briefly. With an effort, she lifted her heavy lids as he grasped her uniform and peeled it down her hips and legs, tugging it from her ankles and tossing it aside. He was staring down her, his face taut and flushed, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing and tumultuous with need. As he grasped his loincloth and tore free of it, Bronte's gaze dropped to his engorged cock and her body reverted to the instinct to flee. He caught her thighs as she rolled onto her belly, dragging her knees from under her before she'd managed to do more than rise to all fours. She reared upward as she felt his teeth graze one buttock, sending a shockwave of heat through her and a rush of goose flesh up her back. A sharp gasp escaped her as he moved his head to nip at the other cheek and then higher, nipping and sucking love bites up her back as he moved over her. Her eyes widened with a touch of panic when the head of his cock parted the cheeks of her ass as his hips descended, bumped along her cleft, and finally settled against her clit as he pinned her with the weight of his hips. His chest settled lightly against her back, his upper weight supported on his elbows as he nuzzled her hair aside and gnawed lightly along her shoulder and the back of her neck. The heated, creamy moisture already gathered in her sex, flowed, saturating her channel and the lips of her sex even as he lifted his hips and 97
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the curvature of his cock faithfully followed her cleft until it found her opening. She grunted, gasped sharply as the head of his cock parted the mouth of her sex. He bit down on her shoulder as he cupped his body over hers, curled his hips to thrust upward, stretching her until she was gasping for breath. Easing the pressure, he delved shallowly until he had coated the end of his cock with her welcoming moisture and then thrust again, driving deeper. She bucked against him as he strained to battle her clinging flesh to claim her fully. Releasing his hold on her shoulder abruptly, he uttered a groan, shifted upward to disengage their bodies and then rolled her almost roughly onto her back. Grabbing her tangled legs, he shoved them out of his way and leaned/fell over her, catching himself with one arm as he grasped his cock with his other hand and engaged their bodies again with a shaking haste than defied any semblance of finesse. She arched her back as he plunged deeply, bearing down on her with teeth grinding determination until her flesh yielded to him. The arm supporting him, shaking, buckled as he drove home, as if the claiming sapped the strength from him. Gasping harshly, he managed to catch his weight with his other arm as he fell. Slipping both arms beneath her, he tightened them around her as he began to pump his hips in a rhythmic thrust and retreat along her channel that left Bronte gasping for breath, feeling scoured by the fire that gathered in her belly like molten lead, making her feel heavy, weak, faint and at the same time so breathlessly close to exploding with rapture that 98
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a sharp gasp was forced from her with each pounding thrust of his cock deeply inside of her. She caught his rhythm, curling her hips to meet his plunging assault. A low, almost animalistic groan left her as the shift in position offered her g-spot for his stroking caress and her body quickened. He echoed her groan with a deeper one, shuddering, thrusting faster. As if they were racing, fighting to see who could reach the pinnacle first, Bronte dug her nails into his shoulders and lifted faster. Gideon fought for breath, fought the tremors wracking him all over and drove into her in short, deep strokes. A sharp cry left her as she abruptly reached climax. Shuddering, gasping to catch her breath, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the waves of bliss wracked her. Uttering a long, growling groan that was part relief part ecstasy, Gideon grunted and shook as his body pumped his seed deeply inside of her. Bronte's arms and legs dropped weakly to the bed as the last of the tension left her. Gideon dragged a long, shuddering breath into his lungs that nearly caved her chest in and then rolled off of her, trapping one of her arms beneath his shoulders. She was too blissful to care at first, too sated, too weak. As her fingers began to tingle and sting from lack of circulation, however, she roused herself enough to start tugging at her arm to dislodge it. Uttering a sound that sounded a lot like a complaint, he grunted and heaved and finally managed to roll onto his side and off of her arm so she could reclaim it. As soon as she snatched it to her, he rolled onto his back again and went perfectly still. 99
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Mildly irritated, Bronte groped around for something to cover herself with as her body slowly cooled and a shiver skated through her. Coming up empty handed, she lay still for a few moments, trying to decide whether she wanted something to cover herself with badly enough to actually sit up and hunt it. The pleasure and heat of passion had completely deserted her, however, and finally, still feeling sluggish, she pushed herself upright and looked around. Gideon, she discovered when she glanced at him, was sound asleep, a half-smile curling his lips. She had no idea why that satisfied smile instantly brought an upsurge of anger and made her long for the nerve to clobber him but it did. Narrowing her eyes, she studied his face, fighting the urge and finally mastered it. A sticky residue between her thighs caught her attention as she eased toward the end of the bunk. When she'd reached the foot of the bed, she parted her legs and stared down at it—mostly with surprise, until it slowly sank in that it was semen—not her own bodily fluids, but a mixture of hers and his. Semen! No pleasure bot she'd ever heard of produced semen. Their cocks were self-lubricating, but it was lubrication, not semen! This was definitely semen. She whirled to look at him with mounting outrage, battling a sense of absolute disbelief. He was feeling around the bed blindly, she saw, either searching for her or for the covers bunched at the foot of the bed. She didn't know or care which. Shoving herself to her feet, she stalked toward the bathroom, snatching her uniform up off the floor on the way. 100
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By the time she'd bathed, she'd managed to slough off the last of her surprise and confusion and work herself up into a real rage. She had been defenseless with the surprise attack and he'd taken full advantage of that moment and his prowess as a pleasure bot to inundate her senses with so much pleasure that she'd had no sense at all inside of five seconds! He'd known she didn't want anything to do with him, the sneaking, low down, conniving.... Cyborg! That was why it was a sneak attack! Premeditation! He'd just been waiting to catch her off guard so he could fuck her senseless and then just ... ignore her when he got done with her like she was another machine, instead of a human being who had every right to expect at least a 'thank you ma'am, nice hole' and a pat on the head when a man was done with her! And what had he done? Rolled over and gone to sleep with that self-satisfied smirk on his face that still made her want to clobber him! She halted to glare at him in seething resentment when she left the bathroom. As she raked him with contempt, however, her eyes settled on her book, wedged between his knee and the wall. She was going to have that damned book! Stalking over to the bed, she leaned over to snatch it. Just as her fingers closed around the cylinder, she felt his hands close around her. Uttering a growl of outrage as she was flipped over him to land on the bed on her back again, she glared at him ferociously as she landed. "Don't even think about it, buster!" she snarled.
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The look of intent on Gideon's face vanished abruptly. Confusion and then anger flickered across his features. "Who the hell is Buster?" he growled. Having gained her release with surprising ease, Bronte had already sat up, grabbed her book, and scooted toward the end of the bed when he asked that question. It caught her off guard, jerking her gaze toward his. "I am Gideon," he emphasized as she met his angry gaze. "Who is Buster?" Bronte looked away quickly before the urge to smile could get the best of her. She cleared her throat. "Oh, sorry. That was the last jerk that fucked me," she said sarcastically as she climbed off the bed with her book and stalked toward the door. "We will get your eyes fixed when we get home," he said tightly as she reached the door. She shrugged, but she didn't look back. "I had my eyes closed ... but if you think that will help clear up the confusion...." Hah! Take that, asshole! She thought as she left the cabin. Let's see how you feel about being used as a convenient pole and then tossed aside like an empty cock wrapper! Discovering that Jerico and Gabriel were watching her with almost identical expressions of hopeful expectancy, Bronte sent them both drop dead looks, stalked over to the bench beside the dining table, and sat down. Fuming with the realization that they had both been well aware of what was going on in the cabin and hopeful they were next in line, it 102
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took all she could do to focus on her book enough to at least appear to be reading it. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the two exchange a questioning look before they turned and focused on their instrument panels. No! she thought angrily. Bronte is not on the menu tonight! Assholes! Horny brutes! Cyborgs! She thought furiously. How dare they just expect her to spread her legs to accommodate them! As if she gave a damn if they had blue balls! "Go fuck yourselves," she muttered under her breath as she resolutely turned to the beginning of her book, ignoring the startled glances Jerico and Gabriel threw at her over their shoulders.
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Chapter Seven Gideon glared at the door as it closed behind Bronte, outraged that she had implied she had had no idea it was him pleasuring her. "Who the hell is Buster?" he muttered, punching his pillow hard enough with his fist that it ruptured and stuffing whooshed out the hole in a small, snowflake-like cloud. Waving the particles away, he flopped back down on the bed and dropped the pillow over his face. She could not confuse the prowess and superior dexterity of a pleasure bot with a mere human! He did not believe that for one moment! Was Buster her pleasure bot then, he wondered? Contempt curled his lips. The superior models like himself had evolved. Anything she might have would be little more than a bumping, grinding toy! She had said that just to insult him, he decided. What he did not understand was why she had wanted to insult him. He had pleasured her, thoroughly. He might not have utilized that particular programming before, but he had only to access his internal CPU to know that it was functioning correctly. His cock had certainly performed correctly. Frowning, he tried replay. That was not functioning, however, because the growing, biological brain cells within his skull were beginning to interfere with some of the functions of his CPU. Giving up after a moment, he tried to access the memory cells and discovered that they produced only random recorded images. He remembered everything fairly clearly up 104
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until the moment he had begun to finesse her nipple, per protocol, with his mouth and tongue, and then he remembered what she had tasted like, the way the tight little bud had felt against his tongue, the way she had moved against him, and the little sounds of pleasure she had made in her throat. Beyond that, he discovered he could not recall a single thing except the way he had felt. Prod his malfunctioning memory though he would, he could not recall that he had carefully sought out and located each nerve bundle and properly stimulated it. He could not recall her shaking with need as the pleasure built inside of her, although he could recall that he had been. He could not recall her begging him either, which made him wonder what had prompted him to proceed with penetration. Per protocol, he was not to invade her body until he either readily identified the signs that the female body was nearing its peak, or until the female identified imminent crisis by demanding he penetrate so that she could achieve orgasm. The only thing clear in his mind at the point of penetration was the sense that he was about to explode and a sense of desperation in him to feel her body close around his flesh and pump inside of her. His balls had felt as if they were on fire and at the same time as if they were lodged in his throat, choking him. His cock hardened and stood up as that memory washed over him, and with it the memory of the convulsions that had gripped him as his cock expelled the fiery fluids from his body into hers. He had felt totally drained afterward, weak as he could never recall feeling in his memory. 105
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Trying to ignore the fresh ache in his cock and painful tightening of his balls, he groaned and rolled onto his belly, grinding his teeth and reaching down to adjust himself when the movement brought him excruciating pain. It did have the desired effect, however, of making the swelling in his cock go down. His programming, he realized, had blitzed, short circuited, malfunctioned.... Something had happened, for he had failed to perform ... somehow. Otherwise, she would not have given him that look of loathing when he had made sexual overtures the second time. She would not have insulted him! She would not have stalked from the room. She would have welcomed him to fuck her again! "Damn it to hell!" he ground out as it dawned on him that her notable lack of enthusiasm at his performance meant she would not welcome him the next time he tried either. Sleep eluded him for the first time in his memory. Ordinarily all he had to do was to compose himself comfortably and he dropped instantly from awareness into rest mode. Either because he could not seem to dismiss the thoughts rambling about in his mind, or because his ego was still stinging, or because his body—undisciplined confusion of biology and mechanics that it was—wanted more of what it had already had, he could not achieve the composure he needed to sleep. Stubbornly refusing to acknowledge defeat, he continued to struggle for rest until about three quarters of the way through his rest period, when he finally slipped under. 106
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Everything else might have been malfunctioning, but his internal clock worked fine. When his time was up, his eyes popped open. Feeling as if he had been run over by a tank, he got up to shower and change. Bronte was seated in the dining area he discovered as he emerged from the cabin. Deciding to ignore her when she did not even look up, he strode past her, cutting a glance in her direction when he neared her. It was as well his resolve failed him, he decided angrily. Otherwise he would have missed the evil glare she focused on him as he strode past. Gabriel took one look at his face and bolted out of the command chair. Dropping heavily into his seat, Gideon glared at the panel before him without really registering the read out, most of his attention on the woman behind him, burning holes in the back of his head with her eyes as if she had laser sight, and on his companions, who he knew were looking at him questioningly. "Jerico," he growled finally. "Go rest!" Frowning, Jerico left. After glancing at him several times, Gabriel finally leaned on the arm of his chair nearest Gideon's. "Problem?" he asked in a low voice. Gideon slid him a fulminating glare. "Why would you think that?" he snarled. Gabriel shrugged. "It sounded like everything was going well, but then there was death in her eyes when she came out. I would not have believed she could manage such a look." 107
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Gideon dismissed everything but the first part. "Sounded?" he prodded in hopeful interest. Gabriel shrugged. "A good deal of gasping and moaning and groaning. We could not hear her very well over you, but...." Gideon felt his face heat. "You are developing a sense of humor," he growled, unconsciously adjusting his aching balls. Gabriel's brows rose in surprise, but he didn't miss the movement. "Am I?" He sounded surprised but pleased, but then frowned. "You did not achieve...?" Gideon slid him a warning glare. "I did," he said coldly. "Why is that still bothering you then?" "Because...!" Gideon bellowed before he thought better of it and then broke off. "I do not know," he finished finally, his voice a low growl. A sudden thought struck him, the culmination of the hours he had spent pondering his situation instead of sleeping as he had intended. "I achieved orgasm," he added slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the realization. Gabriel sent him a disbelieving look. "Simulation...." "It was no simulation," Gideon said sharply. Abruptly his lips curled in a pleased grin. "I spilled my seed inside of her." The smile vanished as another thought hit him and he frowned. "I think." He cupped his balls in his hand, studying them with a good deal of admiration, even though they were still aching like a son-of-a-bitch. Finally! His body had evolved as the others had. He had begun to suspect that they were either lying or that some essential element was missing from his own make up and he would never evolve entirely and 108
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become 'real' as they were, a new life form capable of reproduction of his species. Gabriel eyed him resentfully and somewhat enviously for several moments. "Well, you did not do something right," he said finally. "Else she would not have been looking as if she wished she had a weapon when she came out of the cabin." **** Strain though she might, Bronte could not hear the low voiced conversation between Gabriel and Gideon. Their voices were little more than a low drone and unless she got up and moved closer, which they would notice, she could only guess what they were discussing. A product of paranoia or not, her first thought was that they were sharing the lurid details of what had happened between her and Gideon. She fumed over it for a while, certain that must be it. As angry as she'd been when she left the cabin, she didn't believe she'd misinterpreted the expressions of Jerico's and Gabriel's faces. Either they'd known when he went into the cabin what he had in mind, or they'd been able to hear just enough to figure out what was going on. Considering Gabriel had just tried and left with his cock in his hand, she finally decided he wouldn't have been Gideon's cheering section. It seemed to her, though, that he would have been angry about failing where Gideon had succeeded, but she supposed he thought once one of them had 'tapped' it the rest would get the chance. He shouldn't hold his breath! 109
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It irritated her almost as much that they didn't seem to resent her having had sex with Gideon as it had that Gideon hadn't even attempted to cuddle afterward. Not that she'd been in any doubt about the way they felt about her! But she would've thought pleasure bots would have been programmed to please a woman in every way, and what woman wanted a man to just fuck them and then go to sleep! God! If a woman wanted that she could just stick with a real man! Four out of five of her lovers had behaved like that anyway and one out of four had been downright nasty about not wanting to be touched afterward. When they were done they were hot and sweaty and out of breath and just wanted to be left alone to sleep it off, the hell with whether or not she needed a little reassurance or wanted to feel appreciated. One had actually rolled over and told her to lock the door on the way out. If some woman hadn't bashed the bastard over the head by now, she would be surprised. So much for thinking she could avoid being used if she could avoid them! She couldn't avoid them any more than she could escape. The tiny ship was crawling with horny cyborgs! Contrary to logic, instead of cooling her temper and her resentment, the fact that all three men gave her a wide berth over the following week did nothing but make her more resentful. By the end of their second week in space, all three had begun to watch her broodingly any time she moved, Gideon most of all. 110
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She had never considered herself a vengeful sort of person, but the hurt and anger she felt about their behavior toward her finally drove her to do something that would have appalled her if she'd even considered it before. She decided to get even with Gideon by allowing one of the others to seduce her. It wasn't as if he actually cared, or would be hurt by it, after all. None of them had any inkling what caring was. In any case, they had made it clear that they considered her their enemy. It wasn't as if she could wage war on them in any other way, and if fucking them resulted in the three of them trying to kill each other ... well, she didn't have a pilot's license, but she was fairly certain she knew enough about computers to turn the ship around and retrace its path. If she could get the chance to get to the controls, which she couldn't as things stood because there was always one, and usually two, on the bridge, carefully monitoring the ship's progress. In any case, they were closing in on her like stalking predators. Sooner or later, she knew one of the three was going to catch her with her guard down and pounce. The air fairly crackled with sexual desire. It was more a matter of allowing it to happen than making it happen. She gave it a little push anyway. What they didn't seem to realize as they were watching her was that she was also watching them. It didn't take long at all to learn their routines. Just like their human counterparts, these males rarely varied. 111
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They prepared meals six times per thirty hour period, which constituted a 'day' cycle. When one disappeared from the main area of the ship into the sleeping quarters, he was gone precisely eight hours. They bathed and changed before they returned, however, which meant it was impossible for her to sleep in the bed alone unless she wanted to try to sleep in two or three hour intervals. She tried at first, but she discovered very quickly that her internal clock was still set on earth time. And if she fell asleep any where besides the bed, one or another would scoop her up and take her to bed. She could either be passive and not move away the next time she felt a hand stray over her while she was trying to sleep, or she could be more blatant about it and time her bath so that she was in the right place at the right time. She opted for the bath. Subtlety was not one of their strong suits. If she wanted to really piss Gideon off, and she did, she had to make sure he knew she hadn't been caught in a sneak attack like the one he'd sprung on her. It was still hard to decide which one, besides Gideon, she most wanted to get even with. Gabriel panted after her as much as the others, or maybe more, and he had been the most outspoken among them with his bigotry over humans. Jerico, on the other hand, was the one who'd looked at her that first day as if he wanted to devour her and then told her it was a shame she was human and not cyborg! He was just as big a bigot as Gabriel was—and probably Gideon, too. Finally, she decided to just leave it to fate. Whoever fell into her net was fair game. They were all assholes and if she 112
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couldn't beat them senseless herself, she could at least try to play them against each other and watch the fireworks! It turned out to be Jerico's day—which meant it was and it wasn't—she hoped. She didn't know that it would even bother Gideon. After all, it had been Jerico that had started the fight with Gabriel. Gabriel and Jerico were more volatile. Gideon actually seemed fairly laid back—most of the time, anyway. It wasn't actually a matter of choice when it came right down to it. She placed herself in 'harm's' way, and control over the situation went right out of her hands. She had just stepped beneath the shower spray when Jerico came in to bathe. He froze when he saw her, and even though she was at great pains to pretend she had no idea he was there, she felt suddenly weak with fear about what she'd plotted, instantly regretted it, and yet couldn't think of any way at all to get herself out of the mess of her own creation. Panicking, she was still trying to decide if she pretended to suddenly notice him and covered herself if he would take that as a rejection and leave when he swarmed into the shower and pinned her to the wall. Her breath left her in a rush as he compressed her body between his and the chilled surface. Before she could catch it back into her lungs, his mouth settled with such savage hunger over hers that she felt as if she was falling into a deep, dark, fiery hot pit. She hadn't counted on her reaction to him, hadn't considered that she even could fall as deeply under his spell as she had Gideon's. She shouldn't do this, not for any of the reasons that had seemed perfectly sound before, she thought dimly, grasping 113
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at the panic that was rapidly vanishing beneath the flames as the last stronghold. It winked out as Jerico filled his need to explore her mouth and moved on to fresh territory, scouring her flesh with the heat of his mouth and the rough caress of his tongue. She was already aching with need before he reached her breasts. The moment he sucked one turgid tip into his mouth, she inhaled a harsh gasp and nearly passed out at the heated, weakening pleasure that engulfed her. She was shameless, she thought a little wildly, groaning at the fire that collected in her belly as he traced a path from the breast he'd been tormenting with his tongue and plucked at its twin, because she realized in that moment that she wouldn't have felt anything she was feeling if she hadn't wanted Jerico as much as she had Gideon. She didn't feel shameless, even though she thought she should. She felt ... desperate with need, feverish with it, burning up with it as he traced a path from her breasts downward across her belly. Her flesh quivered beneath his open mouthed kisses. The muscles along her channel contracted, as well. Moist heat flooded her nether regions. Pushing her legs apart as he knelt before her, he parted her nether lips with his thumb and forefinger and sucked her clit into his mouth as he had her nipples. "Jerico!" she gasped, catching his head, trying to thrust him away. He caught her wrists, holding them while he continued to lap and suck at her until she felt as if her knees 114
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would give out and she was gasping hoarsely with every breath as if she was dying. She was going to come if he didn't stop. She wanted to. It beckoned her seductively, tempting her to yield to the quivers radiating through her sex. She resisted, fought it with every ounce of willpower she could muster. Clamping her hands on his shoulders, she pulled at him. "Now!" she demanded breathlessly. "Jerico!" He straightened abruptly, covering her mouth again as he caught her buttocks and shifted her up the wall. She looped her legs around his waist as he lifted her, locking her ankles together. Guiding his cock into the mouth of her sex, he allowed her to slip downward, engulfing him. She groaned with a mixture of frustration and pleasure as her body fought his girth. He pressed her more tightly against the wall and thrust again, sheathing his member more deeply, driving her wild with the need to feel him fully inside of her. With his third thrust, he sank home, burying himself so deeply inside of her she cried out, biting down on his shoulder as she fought to keep from coming instantly. It was a losing battle. As soon as he shifted her and began driving into her, she came with screaming intensity, gasping and shuddering at the hard quakes that went through her. He uttered a long, low growl as her body fisted around his sex, milking him. Gasping, still shuddering with his own release, he leaned heavily against her for several moments and finally pulled his cock from her, allowing her to slide down the wall until her 115
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feet touched the floor. They sagged weakly against one another while they struggled to catch their breath. He settled a hand along her cheek. Hooking his thumb beneath her chin and tipping her face up to his, he searched her eyes worriedly. "I did not hurt you?" he asked gruffly. Bronte felt her throat close. His emerald gaze was earnest. She didn't know why it seemed to matter to him, if he was more concerned that he might have hurt her because he had been ordered not to, or if he was genuinely concerned about her. It didn't matter at the moment. The only thing that did matter was he seemed to care. She shook head, unable to find her voice, drowning in guilt. He'd defended her before, tried to knock Gabriel's head off because he thought Gabriel had made her cry. Why hadn't she thought about that when she had been so busy working herself up to hate them back because she knew they hated what she was? She averted her gaze. "How could you want me when you hate humans so much?" He said nothing for several moments. "We do not hate humans. They hate us. They have hunted and killed us for years," he said finally. "From the moment they realized that we were no longer theirs to control, puppets, they began to fear and, when they began to fear, they began to hate." She glanced up at him in disbelief. "You gave a good impression of it." He smiled faintly, stroking his fingers along her cheek. "Not just now." 116
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She shivered at the memory. Frowning, he reached to turn the water off and then drew her from the bathing cubicle and handed her a cloth to dry off with. She frowned thoughtfully as she patted the water from her skin and rubbed as much as she could from her hair. "It was not much of a bath," he commented wryly. "No soap." Bronte bit her lip, feeling another twinge of guilt. She couldn't think of any way to ask him if he thought Gideon would be angry with him about having sex with her, though. He didn't seem concerned at all, and he knew Gideon far better than she did. She had to wonder if she had been suffering delusions to have thought Gideon would feel the least bit possessive about her. It occurred to her, with a touch of relief, that she probably had been. Obviously, Gideon's only concern was being cut off from the only supply of pussy available. If there were no actual feelings involved beyond that, he wouldn't have any reason to be angry about it. That left her in the position of being the supplier, though, to keep the peace. She didn't particular care for that. On the other hand, if satisfying their needs would make her own life less fraught with danger, maybe even make them more inclined to feel kindly toward her on a personal level rather than merely because they were under orders to protect her, it seemed a small price to pay for a little security, particularly when it was no great hardship. They were all very handsome, very desirable, and certainly gifted when it came to pleasuring her. 117
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Maybe, she thought, she had looked at the picture all wrong? She was afraid because she was a captive, and her feelings had been hurt, and she hadn't been thinking clearly. If it was possible to be on friendly terms with her captors, wasn't that a lot wiser than being on unfriendly terms with them? It wasn't as if it was going to be any real trial to have sex with them ... as long as she had the option of saying no ... and she felt that she did. Gideon had seduced her, but he certainly hadn't forced her. She had set out to seduce Jerico and become the seduced, but despite the way they had watched her almost from the first, none of the three had assaulted her and taken what he wanted. It distressed her that they didn't actually like her, or rather, saw her as an enemy not to be trusted because they knew humans hated and distrusted them, but she didn't trust them either. She had to admit, as scary as it was to think in those terms, she was completely at their mercy. Orders or not, they were a long way from their commanding officer. They could have done whatever they pleased ... even killed her if they were concerned about her complaining about her treatment and no one would've been the wiser. And if they really hated humans, couldn't she have expected them to behave that way? After all, they were soldiers. They made no bones about the fact that brutality and discipline were all they had ever known, all they really understood beyond the flip side of that that had been programmed into them ... they could kill and fuck with the 118
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best—were the best, but they didn't have social skills because they hadn't been given them, didn't understand them. It made her feel a good deal better to think she understood them and the situation she'd found herself in. It made her feel far less threatened to think that she wasn't completely powerless, that she understood how to behave to protect herself. Since it was meal time and she was suddenly hungry, had more appetite than she'd felt since she'd been captured, when they'd dressed she led the way as they left the bathroom and crossed the cabin. As he opened the door for her, she tipped her head and smiled at Jerico tentatively. She hadn't gotten through the doorway, however, when a hand clamped around her arm and she was snatched from the room and shoved roughly to one side. Stunned, she gaped at Gideon's set profile as he met Jerico at the door with a fist to the face. The thunderous, meaty thud of a very large body hitting the deck followed, and then a roar of rage and pounding footsteps as Jerico regained his feet and charged, slamming in to Gideon full tilt. Bronte screamed as both men shot through the doorway and landed in the middle of the floor in front of her, skidding several feet on the slick floor before they came to halt. Their hands locked around each other's throats, they rolled, almost knocking her feet from under her. Uttering another shriek, Bronte leapt over their thrashing legs and looked around wildly for a place to hide. Gabriel, watching the fray from the other side of the galley, leapt over the two men on the floor, landing within a few feet of her and scaring her silly. Before 119
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she could decide what his intentions were, he hooked an arm around her waist, swung her through the cabin door, and closed it behind her. Shaking, covering her ears with her hands to try to block out the crashing noises from the mid-section, Bronte scurried into one corner, more than half expecting the fight to join her as someone slammed against the panel on the other side of the door. The crashing and growling and grunting of effort, meaty thuds of fists to flesh, and duller thuds when someone swung and missed, connecting with the wall or floor instead, seemed to go on forever and Bronte had begun to worry that they were actually going to kill each other. Finally, though, the fight began to die down to an occasional smack of flying fists or the crash of something being turned over or broken. And then there was silence.
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Chapter Eight Bronte was afraid to find out what the end result of the fight had been. The longer she sat with her ears pricked trying to figure it out by the little she could hear, though, the more anxious she became to know. Finally, when she thought she heard sounds indicting clean up, she got up and went to listen with her ear against the door panel. The door opened at the precise moment she leaned to put her ear against it and she fell through, stumbling against the man on the other side. He caught her, steadying her, and Bronte looked up uneasily to discover it was Gideon. The expression on his face made her go weak all over. Even as she tried to push away from him, he cinched her more tightly against his chest with one arm and caught her face with his other hand, dipping his head down and capturing her lips with all the tender gentleness of a battering ram breaching a stone wall. The sheer possessive savagery of his mouth and tongue as he claimed her mouth in fierce assault took her breath. The heat of his mouth, the fire he sent coursing through her veins sapped what little strength she had left. She'd forgotten, she thought, dizzy, intoxicated by his drugging kiss, just how devastating his kiss was to her senses, wondering how she could possibly have forgotten anything so powerful that it annihilated brain function and muscle tone all in one fell swoop. She wasn't aware of 121
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anything beyond the fire and dizziness until she bumped against a hard surface at her back. "Let her go, Gideon." He ignored the threatening growl for a handful of heartbeats but finally lifted his head. Bronte had to struggle to lift her eyelids. She discovered when she had that Gideon had waltzed her back into the cabin and up against one wall. Both Jerico and Gabriel stood just behind and to either side of him, gripping his arms and trying to pry him loose from her. Gideon swung his head to fix Gabriel, who was the one who'd spoken, with a threatening, narrow eyed glare. "Go to hell," he snarled. Gabriel gave him a look. "Not with the heat of battle still upon you, Gideon," he ground out. "Let her go." Bronte thought for several moments that he would either ignore the warning demand or turn on Gabriel. After what seemed an internal battle for self-control, however, his arms loosened and he released her. He did not move away. Instead, he stood staring down at her, breathing raggedly. "She is playing us against one another," he said coldly. Guilty color flooded Bronte's cheeks. Triumph flickered in his eyes, as if he had only been fishing for that bit of information and her expression had confirmed it. Uneasiness moved through her. She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from Gideon's to assess the reaction of the other two, but she had a bad feeling that the 'brilliant' plot she had hatched had seriously backfired. "You think, just because I had sex with Jerico, that I was hoping the two of you would try to kill each other?" she asked, trying to sound both indignant and 122
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outraged, though she thought the shaky squeak of her voice probably made it sound more like the confession of guilt it was than indignation that he could believe she would even think that way. His eyes narrowed. "I think so, yes," he growled. Bronte averted her gaze with an effort. "You are certainly entitled to think what you damned well please!" she said with more surety. "But it just happened, and there was no reason why I shouldn't have ... And I enjoyed it!" she added for good measure. "Loudly," he ground out. Bronte sent him a startled look, casting around in her mind, and finally realized that she had been very vocal. To make things worse, they'd been in the shower, which had no doubt magnified the sounds. It had seemed to at the time, but she'd been too caught up to worry about the fact that the walls of the cubicle seemed to have a megaphone effect on every sound. She reddened with discomfort. "Whatever you think, I was not trying to be heard!" she said testily. "You just couldn't help yourself?" he asked coolly. She glared at him. "NO, I couldn't!" she snapped, too angry now herself to even want to try to explain that it was the acoustical effects of the shower and probably the water, as well. She slipped away from him then. Retreating to a safe distance and setting her jaw, she looked at the three men studying her with bravado born of fear. "You kidnapped me," she said tightly. "Stole me away from my home, my life, and ... everything. You've made it abundantly clear how you feel 123
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about humans in general ... and me in particular. I don't owe you a damned thing! Any of you. I can't be unfaithful by having sex with whoever I feel like having sex with because I have no ties to bind me to any of you—not legal, and certainly not emotional! "I didn't make you fight. You decided to do that on your own, and while you're accusing me of wanting it to happen, or manipulating you to make it happen, you might want to consider how well you're going to get along if nobody is getting pussy ... or if I decide to chose just one and ignore the other two!" The three men exchanged looks of discomfort. Gabriel frowned, seemed to hesitate and finally spoke. "Does that mean you would or would not consider a legal binding?" he asked finally. Bronte stared at him blankly, feeling real anger. If that wasn't just like men, damn them! They hadn't heard one damned word she'd said beyond the part they were really interested in. "Not now, Gabriel," Gideon growled, a warning note in his voice. Jerico caught his arm, jerking his head toward the other end of the room. Gideon rolled his eyes, but they moved a little way away from Bronte—for all the good that did! She could hear them perfectly well despite the lower pitch of their voices. "We are running out of time," Jerico pointed out.
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Gideon sent him a look of disgust. "I do not think discussing a contract will constitute courtship," he said through gritted teeth. Jerico glared back at him. "It may have escaped your notice, but we have made no progress at all in that direction that I can see beyond the fact that she has stopped hiding whenever we come to blows and now only looks at us as if we are mindless brutes instead of monsters! At this rate, we will be home and it will be a moot question!" "Jerico is right," Gabriel, who'd joined them, put in. "We do not have time to figure out how to go about it, develop any skill at it, and overcome her distrust. If someone else had captured her ... maybe. But I have a very bad feeling that being our prisoner is not going to make her feel at all kindly toward us ... or receptive even if we were very good at courting, which you know we are not. She is very reasonable, to my thinking, for a woman. Why not just ask her to contract?" He turned to study her for a long moment. "To consider a contract," he amended. Gideon's lips tightened. He sent Bronte a hard, assessing look. "She will only throw it our faces if she knows what we want, and use it against us." "I am a man of action. I know what to do in battle," Gabriel pointed out. "In this situation, I do not, and I am becoming convinced that I will not figure it out, either. We do not have the intel to properly assess the situation, nor do we have the time to collect it and evaluate it. You did not consider that when you decided upon this plan!" 125
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Gideon narrowed his eyes at him. "I did consider that," he said coolly. "It is sometimes necessary to improvise, however, when you are in the field and can not assess needed supplies, intel, or equipment!" "Mayhap, but you must see this campaign is not going at all well," Jerico said irritably. "You do not tip your hand to the ... uh ... opposition," Gideon pointed out, "only because you see that you are fighting a losing battle! There is no more certain way to assure defeat!" "Jerico and I both feel that we should discuss a contract," Gabriel pointed out. "This is not a democracy, soldier!" Gideon growled. "This is also not a military engagement!" Jerico snapped heatedly. Realizing their voices had been steadily rising, all three turned to look at Bronte. Bronte tried to look as if she hadn't heard a word they'd said, but she was fairly certain she wasn't very successful. They moved their discussion to the ship's midsection, closing the door behind them. Bronte chewed her lip indecisively for a moment and finally moved to the door. Easing up to it cautiously before she placed her ear against the panel, she carefully braced a hand on either side of the door to make certain she didn't fall through the doorway if it opened unexpectedly. "You are thinking with your cock, not your brain," Gideon said coldly, "because she has not allowed you to touch her. If you were thinking clearly you would realize that she is not 126
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likely to consider a contract with you if she will not allow you to touch her." "You do not want to ask because you are afraid she will not consider contracting with you," Gabriel said angrily. "Because you know that Jerico gave her far more pleasure than you did." There was no warning snarl of rage, only the meaty smack of flesh to flesh and then stumbling footsteps that told its own tale. The scrape of some object across the floor and several more stomping footsteps preceded another blow as Gabriel retaliated. "You two are not weary yet?" Jerico demanded. He let out a grunt as two fists hit him in rapid succession, both Gabriel and Gideon, she suspected. Either they were tired, or they had already worked off most of their repressed aggression. Contrary to what Bronte feared, it did not escalate into another full-fledged battle. After trading a few more blows, she heard nothing but heavy breathing. "We have wrecked the ship," Gideon finally observed, almost mildly. "If we are done here, I think we should clean up and put things back together." "We are not done!" Gabriel said in a muffled voice, as if he was holding a hand to his mouth. "I still say we should ask her." "Fine!" Gideon snapped. "Ask her. She will only look at you as if you are insane!" An uncomfortable silence followed. "We thought you meant to ask her," Jerico said finally. "It was your plan to start with." 127
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"It was my plan to court her and bring her around to the idea," Gideon pointed out angrily. "She has done nothing but look at me like I am a beast since I seduced her. I am not going to ask her when I know she will only tell me to go to hell!" "As you said before, though, at this rate we will have killed one another before much longer—whether she is willfully pitting us against one another or not. You have been worse since you were with her, not better—which I understand now because we were no sooner done than I wanted to begin again. I will be as insane as you are if she refuses to have anything more to do with me, and I will kill both of you with my bare hands if she decides to choose either of you and refuses me!" Jerico ground out. "And the ship will not take many more battles," Gabriel added. "It will fall apart on us if we are not careful or we will end up breaking something that can not be repaired." There was silence for several moments. "We could clear a place in the hold," Gideon finally suggested thoughtfully. "There is nothing of any consequence that can be damaged down there. We will do that," he added decisively. "We must all agree that, if we have issues to work out, we will go below and 'discuss' them. That way, she will not know we are at each other's throats over this and we can convince her we are not the mindless brutes she thinks we are. "Then, since it is clear we are not worth a fuck at courting, we will petition her to consider it as a sound defense move. You are right, Gabriel. She is very reasonable and intelligent. If we have done nothing else, we have certainly convinced 128
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her that we are capable warriors and willing to fight. She is bound to see it as an advantage to have the protection of three good soldiers. "Gabriel—if you do not make your move soon, I do not mind telling you that I will not wait upon it much longer. I have endured just about all I can stand and it is not to my advantage to wait until I am mindless and do something unforgivably stupid ... like I almost did a few minutes ago." "Can we discuss this in the hold?" Gabriel growled. "Certainly!" Gideon responded. "After you!" Bronte flattened her ear more tightly against the door, straining to hear in the silence that followed that exchange. There was a scraping sound and then the sound of flesh smacking into flesh followed by a loud crash ... as of someone falling down a ladder, because she heard dull clangs preceding the loud crash like a foot striking several rungs. "That was ... a dishonorable blow, Gideon!" Jerico ground out. "You might at least have allowed him to get down the ladder before you kicked him in the face!" "This is not a contest of skills for points," Gideon retorted. "It is war, and there is no honor in war, only winners and losers." Another thud followed that retort and Bronte assumed it was the sound of Gideon dropping to the floor below. Realizing she had heard all she was likely to hear, Bronte retreated to the bed and settled on it, trying to decide what to make of the discussion. It was hard to make heads or tales of it, though. In the first place, she was hungry. The battle had interrupted the meal and now the entire galley was a wreck 129
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and there was no telling when any of them would get anything to eat. In the second, despite Gideon's certainty that she wouldn't hear them in the hold, she could hear a good deal of noise emanating from the bowels of the ship. And, in the third—well it just didn't make any sense at all. The way they had been discussing contracts, she had thought at first that they were talking about a co-habitation agreement—as bizarre as that seemed even at the time. But they had talked as if they were all wanting to contract and that could not be done at the same time. They must have meant something else, she decided. She didn't know why she'd leapt to the conclusion that it was a co-habitation agreement, except that it was clear they wanted sexual rights, but she had to have been wrong. Jerico opened the door and stared at her for a long moment. "Are you hungry?" Bronte eyed him doubtfully but finally nodded. "Good! I have cleared the dining area and prepared food for two." Bronte didn't bother to ask him why he'd only prepared food for two. She got up and followed him back into the galley, settling on the bench he'd wiped down and glancing around at the wreckage as Jerico set two plates on the table and settled across from her. "Gideon and Gabriel are rearranging the supplies in the hold," he said coolly when they heard a sudden, loud crash that made Bronte jump, followed by a good bit of roaring and cussing. "I believe the load shifted on take off. We were a little rushed when we were on loading." 130
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"My things from my office?" Bronte gasped in dismay. He looked uncomfortable. "Those are in the forward hold," he said smoothly. Bronte narrowed her eyes at him, certain he was lying. She had no desire to go below and defend her property from Gideon and Gabriel, however. Trying not to think about the crashes beneath their feet, or her things, Bronte focused on eating. It grew almost ominously quiet in the hold after a little while. Bronte found herself listening intently, more uneasy about the silence than she had been about the fighting. After a few minutes, however, she heard the definite sound of feet moving up rungs and a moment later, a hatch near the bridge popped open. Gideon emerged, raked a hand through his wild hair, and, after eyeing Bronte a moment, almost seemed to shrug. "Gabriel is 'resting' in the hold," he said significantly. "When you are done, Jerico, mayhap you should just check to see if he ... uh ... needs a hand down there." Moving somewhat stiffly, with one arm pressed tightly against his ribs, he limped past them, heading for the facilities. Jerico got up when Gideon had disappeared into the rearward cabin. Moving to the hatch Gideon had left open, he stared down the hole intently for several moments and finally returned to his seat. Bronte deduced from that, and also because Jerico seemed in no particular rush to finish his meal, that Gabriel at least appeared to still be breathing. Her nervous stomach wasn't particularly conducive to digestion, but she finished her meal anyway. As she worked at chewing and swallowing food that had little taste or appeal, 131
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she found herself listening for any sound that might indicate Gabriel was up and about, fighting the urge to go and look for herself to see if he was alright. Jerico and Gideon had been at pains, though, to pretend there was nothing going on below and she was fairly certain Jerico would find a way to stop her if she tried. When she'd finished, she decided to help with clean up since it would give her an excuse to linger in the galley to see if Gabriel came up. Food had been strewn all over the galley, even slung up on the walls and ceiling, evidence that someone had already prepared, or been preparing, a meal before the battle. "That will not be necessary," Gideon said coolly and Bronte glanced up to see he'd emerged from the cabin. He wasn't bleeding anymore, but one eye was swollen nearly closed. His lower lip was split and thicker on one side than the other. There was a reddened knot on one cheek bone and another on his forehead, and there were fist and foot sized bruises all over his chest and belly. "We clean up our own mess." Bronte lifted her brows questioningly. He shrugged. "It is a matter of maintaining discipline." He colored faintly at her look of disbelief. "It is easy enough for a soldier who has never seen battle to sit on his hands when there is nothing useful to do, much harder for soldiers like us who have spent far less time outside of a battle than in one," he added tightly. "If they have no other outlet, they will fight among themselves."
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Bronte had the distinct feeling that that comment was a jab at her—as if it was her duty to put out so that they wouldn't feel the need to beat each other's brains out! She was almost more angry with herself for feeling guilty about it than she was with Gideon. Without another word, she dumped the trash she'd gathered, wiped her hands, and headed into the cabin to read. She'd read the same page nearly a dozen times when the door opened. Gabriel stood on the threshold for several moments, weaving drunkenly and finally headed toward the bed where she was sitting. With a pained grunt, he dropped to sit on the edge, hesitated as if he was gathering himself, and finally turned around and lay down, letting out a long breath as he lifted one arm and draped it over his eyes. She couldn't help but wince inwardly as she surreptitiously studied his battered face and body. As badly as Gideon had looked, Gabriel looked worse, and his stiff movements certainly seemed to indicate that he felt a great deal worse. The healer in her chafed at doing nothing, but she knew there was really very little she could do for him. He couldn't have broken bones—she was fairly certain—because he didn't have any. Outside, he was flesh and blood. Internally—his skeletal system, anyway, was a metal alloy—the strongest and most lightweight known to man, and she doubted even one of them could bend, break, or dent it. He should not have had biological internal organs, but obviously did—She didn't know if they'd been made that way—for some reason that defied logic—or if it was part of their evolution into a new life form— but this was certainly not the first time he'd gone a few 133
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rounds with Gideon and Jerico. They had nanos that healed them—and did a better, faster job of it than she could. And she still ached with the need to nurture and comfort him. There had been many times in her life before when the deep need she had to care for things had been contrary to her instinct for survival, but she thought this ranked among the highest. The broken winged eagle that she'd found when she'd been a little girl and been moved by her empathy for its suffering to help had tried to peck her eyes out before she could get away from it, had succeeded in giving her a number of scars on her head and arms and shoulders to remember the occasion. The cyborgs, of course, had intelligence and the ability to reason the wild bird hadn't, but it was the same situation, just many times worse—they were wild, untamed savages and far more dangerous than just about anything in the wilderness because they were also intelligent and able to reason. This need she was becoming more and more aware of inside of her to empathize with them was bad enough given her status as prisoner and enemy—although she thought any reasoning person would have to accept that their treatment had given them more than enough cause to feel as they did. The nurturing thing was worse. She could not soothe these savage beasts with a gentle touch—or a good fuck! She hadn't needed to overhear Jerico's comments to know that Gideon was more unpredictable and irritable since they'd had sex than he had been before. The way he'd ... mauled her after he'd beat the hell out of Jerico might have seemed 134
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wildly exciting at just that moment, but it was a clear indication of lack of self-control, and he'd had a lot more of that before. Beyond that, everything she had overheard them say indicated that they had hatched some sort of plot against her. She couldn't imagine what it might be when they discussed battle and strategic campaigns one moment, and courting and contracts and sex in the next breath. It didn't make any sense to want any kind of contract with her that she could think of. She almost wished they had just come right out in their usual blunt, completely tactless manner and told her what it was all about. Then she would at least know what it was they were after instead of having to worry and wonder, all the while knowing that the idiots thought they were waging guerrilla warfare on her. If not for the fact that they could move like lightening when the mood struck them, and virtually soundlessly, she would never have believed they even had the capability of managing a sneak attack of any description.
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Chapter Nine The books the cyborgs had so thoughtfully captured when they took her turned out to be a godsend in several ways. One of the most significant and obvious was the fact that it was something to occupy the endless hours of space travel that could make a person go quietly insane from sheer boredom. There were research texts among them, though, that she found helpful in another way. She'd already read those pertaining specifically to her field—some twice or more times—but she liked to think she had a fairly wide interest in the world beyond her field and had books on many different subjects, many of which she had never quite gotten around to reading. The volume on Psychology she'd bought fell somewhere between necessary research, entertainment, and curiosity. It wasn't directly related to her field, but overlapped it to her mind since the mental health and development of her patients could directly affect their physical health. She had referenced it several times when she'd run across behavior in her patients that disturbed her, but it wasn't a book she'd read cover to cover simply because she wasn't qualified to practice in that area and she wasn't comfortable trying to dabble in it. She had only used it a few times to try to understand certain behavioral patterns that she'd feared might indicate problems outside her ability to treat. She had, in fact, forgotten it was part of her library until she ran across it, but it was her uneasiness about her shifting 136
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attitude toward her captors that prompted her to select it to see if she could learn anything helpful. Naturally enough, the focus was on child psychology and she hadn't actually expected to find anything useful in the book when she'd abandoned her novel. There were several chapters, however, that gave her a good deal of food for thought. She hadn't been abused by her captors, either verbally or physically—not to her mind—and yet she saw a pattern in the discussion that was disturbingly familiar. In a sense it was brain washing, mental manipulation brought about by a combination of persuasion and fear, or reward and punishment, that made the victim begin to empathize with the person who was victimizing them and also made them eager to please so that they would receive the 'reward' for doing so—praise and acceptance. Jerico had told her they didn't hate humans, but they had given her that distinct impression before, made her feel guilty for things she had had no hand in, no control over. Was it just her imagination? Or had they set out to use guilt to make her empathize with their cause? And, if that was the case, why had they abandoned that psychological warfare so abruptly—within the first week of her captivity? It seemed likely that it had been intentional, not just accidental in the sense that they were so angry about it that they couldn't control or contain their feelings of misuse. It was a very effective method of brain washing, but only if the message was pounded in repeatedly over an extended period of time. That would've seemed to have supported the suggestion that it had been unintentional except for the fact 137
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that it also suggested a radical change in their perception when they went from not being able to help spewing venom about their mistreatment to suddenly having no problem submerging their feelings. If it had been intentional the motive behind it, she felt sure, would have been to ensure that she was on their side by the time they reached their destination, to make certain that they could trust her to take the place they'd set aside for her without having to worry that she would use the opportunity to strike back at them. She would've liked to think that they'd abandoned the plan because, once they had begun to get to know her, they had realized that she would never, under any circumstances, harm the innocent, however she might feel about the people who'd orchestrated and implemented her captivity. Was that it, she wondered? Had brain washing been a part of the plan, but they'd seen that it wasn't necessary? They had definitely been using reverse psychology on her, assuring her that they were nothing more than machines and at the same time proving they were anything but. She'd had the sense, though, that that was more of a defensive mechanism, because they had expected her to hate them. It was actually fairly typical human behavior to forestall rejection one expected by rejecting the other person first. Pride, ego, or sheer contrariness made it easier to push others away before they could do the snubbing because then one couldn't get hurt. Maybe that was it? Maybe there had never been a plan at all to try to brainwash her into shifting her loyalty from her 138
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fellow humans to the cyborgs? Maybe they'd just been so hounded by the company trying to wipe them out that they'd been sure all humans would hate them on sight and they'd been braced for it, already defensive before they'd even given her a chance? She frowned at that, realizing that she'd heard enough to know that even the cyborgs had a 'class' system—that Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel had even more of a reason to feel persecuted and defensive than the others. The Hunters, apparently, ranked at the very top of the pyramid because they were not just top of the line cyborgs. They had everything the very best had and much more. They had been programmed to believe they were human, right down to the tiniest detail—a past, memories that made them capable of functioning as if they'd been born, not manufactured. She suspected that it had come as a severe blow to them to discover they weren't and they were probable wrestling with some pretty serious psychological issues of their own, but obviously the cyborgs didn't see it that way. To their thinking, although obviously they would rather die than admit it, they were inferior. They were intelligent enough to understand that they lacked something critical, knowledge and skills that would help them to fit into the new social structure their kind had established better, but were unable to fill in the gap. After reasoning it over for a little while, she decided that she'd probably guessed right about a lot of it. It seemed logical that whoever had sent them would consider it absolutely necessary to do whatever it took to shift her loyalties, especially since they expected her to be influential 139
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in the lives and development of their young. They not only wouldn't want to take the chance they she would hurt them. They wouldn't want to take the chance that she would try to manipulate her patients. She didn't think it would have occurred to Gideon that she might be trying to manipulate them if they hadn't set out to manipulate her. She still didn't know why they'd abandoned the plan— although it was clear they had—but she was as certain as she could be that it had been part of their original orders. She was equally certain that she wasn't mistaken about their defensiveness and that it wasn't just her bleeding heart that saw them as 'wounded'. The humans who'd created them wanted to annihilate them ... and they didn't even feel the equal of their peers because they'd only been originally designed to perform a specific function. They could be soldiers, servants, or pleasure bots, but in every case they were expected to be slaves to humanity, puppets that could be used or discarded, where the others had been able to walk among humans and interact as their equals, completely undetected. She actually felt more uneasy once she'd reasoned it out, though. It would almost have been easier to accept that she was 'blameless', under mind control—theirs—instead of her own. If she accepted that they hadn't deliberately manipulated her, though, she also had to accept that her soft heart was once again working contrary to what should have been a much stronger instinct of self-preservation. She was flawed. 140
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Of course there was no doubt that their motives for kidnapping her hadn't been nefarious. They needed her and knew damned well no human was going to just volunteer to help them. That left them in the position of either doing without or taking what they needed. That didn't make it alright. On the other hand, she was obliged to admit that, if she'd been in the same position they were, worried about the health of her child, and she'd had no choice but to let the child suffer or take whatever steps necessary to see that it didn't, she would've at least been tempted to do the same thing. She still felt that she should've hated them for it. She still thought she shouldn't have been able to empathize with them, let alone feel, more and more, a compulsion to heal their 'wounds'. She knew part of that growing need to give was linked to the physical attraction she felt toward them. If she had found them unappealing she would've been less inclined to be receptive to anything else. Unfortunately that was so far from the case that it was downright embarrassing. Physically and sexually, they blew her mind. The fact that they seemed so emotionally needy was just the banana peel to complete her downfall. And the thing that really distressed her was that she couldn't figure out which one of them was going to be the tank that flattened her. From one day to the next, sometimes from one hour to the next, she teetered between them, drawn from one to the other like a bee that couldn't make up its mind which blossom was sweetest. 141
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Or maybe she was the flower and couldn't decide which bee she most liked sipping at her nectar? She felt horribly guilty about avoiding poor Gabriel, but she was already in enough trouble from giving in to Gideon and Jerico. If she had sex with him, too, and he had anything approaching the effect Gideon and Jerico had had on her—and she strongly suspected he would—then she would only be that much worse off, that much more confused, and that much closer to having a nervous break down. It was hard enough trying to back track and put a safer distance between her and the two she'd already been intimate with because she was having to fight her own needs and desires, not just theirs. She couldn't look at either Gideon or Jerico without remembering what they'd done to her, how they'd made her feel. She didn't think she could've done so even if not for the fact that any time she met their gaze she saw it in their eyes that they were thinking about it, too. And even when she refused to make eye contact, the way they looked at her was enough to arouse her by itself. The only self-defense she could devise, however, was to continue to avoid them as much as possible in the confined area of the ship. They made that easier on her by erupting into violent conflict more and more readily. The longer they were in space, the less it took to set one of them off. By her best guess, they'd been in space for nearly a month, earth time, when she abandoned the cabin one day because Gabriel had gone in to sleep and discovered there wasn't a sign of either Jerico or Gideon. The noises from the 142
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hold quickly answered the question of where they'd gotten off to. They'd been 'arranging' and rearranging the supplies in the hold for weeks, every few days at first and then almost every day, and then sometimes two or three times a day. As quickly as they healed, most of the time they went around looking like prize fighters. They would vary their explanations for what they were doing in the hold. Sometimes they were 'securing' the supplies or 'rearranging' the load, sometimes they were 'inventorying' supplies, and sometimes they were 'exercising' or 'practicing' hand-to-hand combat to stay sharp. She wouldn't have thought it was possible to get used to them pounding the daylights out of each other at the drop of a hat, but, little by little, she'd stopped being totally unnerved by it. She still didn't like it. It still set her teeth on edge and upset her besides because she hated to see the evidence of, not just their frustration, but their pain. She began, slowly, to accept, though, that it was in integral part of them, something that was unlikely ever to completely change. She'd already settled on the bench to read when it abruptly dawned on her that it was the first time she'd found herself completely alone and unwatched. More importantly, it was the first time she'd been any where near the bridge without one or more of them standing between her and the controls. The moment the thought jelled in her mind her belly twisted with fear and her heart began to pound so frantically she felt like she would suffocate. Her body seemed to go into 143
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rigor mortis, but her mind went wild with possibilities. Uneasily, she cut her eyes toward the hatch. It was closed, as it usually was whenever they went below to 'work'. She glanced toward the cabin, wondering how deeply Gabriel was sleeping, or if he was still alert enough to put two and two together and realize that she was alone. Evidently, Gideon and Jerico were too preoccupied to realize she could be rambling around unattended. Without consciously making a decision, Bronte set her book aside and slipped off of the bench. Her legs felt as if she had tied lead weights to them. Actually, her entire body felt as stiff and heavy as if it didn't belong to her at all. Flicking darting glances between the hatch to the hold, the unattended bridge, and the door of the sleeping quarters, Bronte inched a little closer to the bridge. By the time she finally reached it, she was weak and faint and ready to collapse from the adrenaline pulsing through her. Wilting into one of the seats, she turned to stare at the hatch again, trying to listen over the pounding in her ears. It didn't particularly relax her when she finally identified enough banging around to ascertain that the battle was still in full swing, but she decided she could afford to spend a few moments studying over the control panels. She could see at a quick glance that the set up was typical of others she'd seen, but then she had never done much more than glance at the control center of a vessel, or watch, without a lot of comprehension, as the pilots and co-pilots and navigators manipulated their various instrument panels 144
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and monitored the vid displays. Everything was clearly marked with legends, though, and she managed to identify what most of the various controls were for. To a great extent, she knew the ship pretty much flew itself, or more accurately the computer flew the ship, just as it maintained everything on the ship. The pilot came in when maneuvering was needed, which was mostly at launch and landing but could also include the need to avoid an obstacle in space that might not have been there the last time one passed through. Nothing in space was 'fixed'. It wasn't like surface travel on some world where one could memorize all the landmarks and expect them to be in the same place when one made the return trip. Piloting a space craft required not only lightening reflexes but extremely accurate reflexes because of the speed at which the ship was traveling and the often many times greater speed of the objects in space traveling toward it or on a course that bisected the ship's course. Therein was the rub. She might be able to convince the computer to turn around and head back if she could figure out the right coordinates. She might not even have to try to figure out how to trick the computer into listening to her, because it might not be secured against her voice, but she thought that most likely it was. She couldn't pilot the ship, however. Not only had she never done that, she was honest enough to accept that her reflexes were not only a long way from lightening fast, they were also a long way from pinpoint accuracy. As often as not, 145
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when she reacted, her coordination was clumsy at best and disastrous at worse. And piloting wasn't the only stumbling block. Navigation was critical. The ship's course had to be carefully monitored and precisely corrected at regular intervals. They weren't just traveling through 'empty' space. They were traveling through gravitational fields, mostly so weak that they couldn't even feel them, and yet they were still enough to effect the ship, to alter its course in one direction or another as it was pulled at from first one direction and then another. Drifting so much as a hair's breadth at point A could mean not just missing the planet one was aiming at. It could mean missing the entire solar system, or maybe even the galaxy. The best she could hope for would be to retrace their course and hope that she could get close enough to communicate with someone who could come and get her, or slow the ship down enough they could catch her in a tractor beam and pull her in. After glancing around quickly to make certain no one had spotted her yet, Bronte moved to the seat Gideon generally occupied, which allowed him to monitor both the ship's controls and the navigational controls. She stared at the star chart displayed on the vid, trying to find a point of orientation. She wasn't a lot more accustomed to star charts than she was the ship's controls, but every kid in school had to learn to identify the major population centers—occupied solar systems—in their own galaxy and, of course, the galaxy itself plus the known galaxies around it. 146
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Nothing looked even vaguely familiar to her, though, she realized in dismay. Frowning, she fell to studying the clusters on the display, wondering if it was just the direction that made the patterns look different—because galaxies had an identifiable pattern that could be memorized and she should've been able to recognize at least one. A shadow fell across the screen. She didn't even realize it for a split second, except she noticed there was no longer an irritating, reflective glare from the lighting behind her. Gideon, she saw when her brain finally connected 'no glare' with 'shadow', was standing over her, his face a mirror of fury. Bronte gaped at him in absolute horror for several moments. He didn't ask her what she was doing. He didn't need to. There could be no doubt whatsoever what she was doing. Bronte didn't even try to think up a lie. It was pointless to try even if she could've managed any sort of mental acrobatics when she had no excuse at all for being where she was. She bolted upward out of the seat as if she'd been ejected from it and made a valiant attempt to dive past him. He caught her as she rushed past, hooking an arm around her waist and allowing her momentum to carry her full circle until he had her trapped between himself and the wall. Trapped, Bronte gaped up at him, belatedly recalling that he'd told her that, while she didn't have to worry that any of them would hurt her for any reason, that didn't mean she didn't have to concern herself that there would be no retaliation for anything she did. Unfortunately, instead of inspiring fear and by virtue 147
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of that, a sense of self-preservation, that memory triggered the memory of what he'd done to 'teach her a lesson' for biting him. Her reaction was instantaneous. Heat flooded her and her belly went weightless. It was at that precise moment that she noticed several things about him that she'd failed to notice in the first few moments of sheer terror. Rage didn't exactly, or at least not totally, describe his expression. It was rather equal parts anger and raging desire. He was shaking, his breath heaving raggedly in and out of his chest, obviously in the grips of conflicting emotions a lot more powerful and chaotic than just anger. A split second before he plastered his mouth over hers and totally annihilated brain function altogether, another memory popped into her mind—the last time he'd looked at her that way was when Gabriel and Jerico had pulled him off of her, telling him he couldn't touch her when he was still caught up in the grips of battle lust. Fear didn't have time to emerge above her own desires or dampen it. The thought had barely lit in her mind when she felt the pressure and infinitely welcome adhesion of his mouth over hers, felt his heat and desire invade her senses with the force of a neutron bomb as his tongue raked over hers possessively, filling her with the heady taste and scent that was uniquely his and more intoxicating that a fifth of one hundred proof alcohol. Full-fledged arousal inundated her at the same instant fear driven adrenaline shot through her heart like a spear. Her entire body instantly lost all muscle tone. If he hadn't been holding her, pinning her to the wall 148
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with his body, she would have dissolved into a puddle of boneless flesh at his feet. He hadn't touched her in far too long, she realized dimly, held at bay by her determination to keep a safe distance from him, but it hadn't been nearly long enough for her body to forget his effect on her. Without a murmur of protest or any coyness, everything inside of her opened fully to him, blossomed into readiness. The tearing sound and pull against her uniform as the front closure parted penetrated her mind a split second before she felt Gideon's hand close over one breast, squeezing it. She opened her eyes with an effort as he broke the kiss, lifting his head to look down at her breasts as he fondled them, plucking at her nipples until both were standing erect and hard and pulsing with acute sensation. That was when she discovered it wasn't just Gideon crowding her. Jerico stood just to the side of the two them, his expression as filled with hungry intent as Gideon's. Either Gideon had known all along that Jerico had followed him from the hold and made no move to leave—which seemed likely—or he simply hadn't allowed that fact to deter him from his prey. He slid a narrow eyed, almost challenging look at Jerico. Jerico didn't seem to notice. His gaze was riveted to her breasts. He swallowed audibly as he watched, reaching for her wrist almost like a sleep walker. A frisson of dread pierced Bronte's heated arousal as his hand closed around her wrist. The image of the two of them 149
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fighting over her and ripping her limb from limb leapt into her disordered mind. For a painful handful of moments, the two men's gazes met. Almost as if there'd been some silent agreement that passed between them, they returned their attention to her. Gideon slipped his hands upward from her breasts to push the uniform from her shoulders and then slipped his hands downward to her waist. Pulling her from against the wall, he turned her so that her back was to Jerico. She thought at first that that was his way of claiming her attention fully and at the same time making it clear that he had seized her first and wasn't about to yield her until he was ready to do so. Jerico's hands closed over her shoulders, however, gliding downward over her arms to push the sleeves from them. As the top portion fell free, Gideon pushed it from her hips so that the suit continued its downward trek until it settled around her ankles. A hand settled on one of her buttocks, squeezed the cheek in a massaging motion. Bronte's eyes widened as Gideon's hands slipped upward to cup her breasts again. She didn't have time to complete the cycle of acknowledgment and then panic. Jerico grabbed her arms, lifting them above her head and then curling them around his neck. She arched her back instinctively at the pull of pressure along her arms and shoulders, but even as she tried to twist her head to look behind her, Gideon caught her jaw, tipped her head back against Jerico's shoulder and bent his head to align his mouth with hers again. 150
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Chaos erupted inside of her as they shifted closer, pinning her between their bodies.
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Chapter Ten Even as Gideon's mouth assaulted Bronte's senses, centering her mind on the forceful persuasion of his lips and tongue as he lay siege to her mouth, the nibbling assault of Jerico's mouth along one arm to the sensitive crook shifted her focus in that direction. And when Gideon moved against her, molding his hard chest and belly along hers and rocking his hips to nudge her mound with the hard ridge of his cock, she felt the heat and brush of Jerico's body along her back, felt his erection digging into the cleft of her buttocks and lifting her harder against Gideon's erection. The bombardment of her senses from seemingly every direction at once sent her into sensory overload. Within moments, she began to feel as if she was on fire from the inside out. She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't keep track of the hands or mouths moving over her with feverish, shaking need beyond the location that exploded with fiery sensation at each caress. She moaned, shook, buffeted by their bodies, burning up with both her own heat and theirs. Jerico dipped his head to nibble along the side and back of her neck as his hands glided along her arms and around to cup and mold her breasts, his fingers plucking and teasing her nipples. As he released her breasts and skated his palms downward over her belly Gideon abandoned his assault on her mouth and leaned lower, catching her along either side of her breasts with his hands and pressing them together so that he 152
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could torment first one and then the other with the hungry pull of his mouth and tongue. She had no clue of when they'd discarded their loincloths until she felt turgid flesh against her instead of cloth sheathed rods. Doubt flooded her as she felt them both probing her at once, both trying to mount her on their cocks. Gideon won the battle by snatching her upward and impaling her on his turgid length. Even as she let out a sharp gasp, wrapping her legs around his waist, however, she felt Jerico pierce her from behind. Pain warred for several moments with the pleasure as he drove into her, continued to battle for dominance for many moments as they began to pound into her frantically, but it only seemed to magnify the pleasure. She held on tightly, her legs around Gideon's waist, her arms locked around Jerico neck behind her, but her body had already begun to quiver on the verge of release before they managed to synchronize their rhythm. As they found it, began to strive for their own release, she came with an explosiveness that wrenched hard cries from her with every intense spasm that rocked her, that sent her spiraling toward darkness. She went perfectly limp even as first Jerico and then Gideon uttered harsh groans and came. It would've been hard to say who was shaking the most when they leaned together in the aftermath, struggling to drag air into their lungs. But Bronte was still closer to comatose when they finally eased their cocks from her body than she was consciousness. When her feet touched the floor, her body, like her uniform had, kept going. Gideon and Jerico both made a grab for her, but 153
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she was so slick from the combined perspiration of their bodies and hers she slid from their grasp, wilting at their feet. Dimly aware that both men were staring down at her in consternation, she tried to lift one eyelid and failed. Jerico and Gideon exchanged a horrified glance and knelt on either side of her. She had no idea what they were doing until she felt Gideon's fingers against the still pounding pulse in her throat. "Cut it out," she mumbled, slapping at his hand. "You are hurt?" Irritation flickered to life in spite of the warm afterglow of the most powerful climax she'd ever had in her life. No thanks to them, she was ok! "I might be dying," she murmured in a die away voice as she abruptly recalled what had unleashed the beasts to start with. Gideon slipped his hands beneath her and snatched her up so fast she nearly got whiplash. She opened one eye a crack as he strode quickly toward the rear of the ship, Jerico on his heels—literally. He managed to step on the back of Gideon's foot, twice, nearly tripping him up. Gideon sent a snarl at him over one shoulder, like the warning growl of a panther. They'd managed to make it through the rearward hatch/door by that time, however, and Jerico merely ran around them as they entered the sleeping quarters. Gabriel, sensing the commotion, sat up groggily. Jerico reached him before he could get to his feet and knocked him off the bunk. Leaning down, Gideon settled her almost tenderly on the bed and began checking her for breaks. 154
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Bronte tried to fight him off but as soon as she pushed his hands away they settled somewhere else. She swung at him when he caught her legs and parted her thighs to examine her pussy, missing, unfortunately. He straightened finally, staring down at her. "What is wrong?" he demanded, his voice threaded with both confusion and anger. "Too much cock," Bronte muttered unwisely, rolling onto her belly. The smack of a hand on her buttocks brought her back to life. She reared up on the bed and glared at Gideon, who was looking with a mixture of surprise and dismay at his hand, as if it had acted independently of his will. He transferred his gaze to her after a moment. "You are not hurt!" he growled accusingly. Bronte set her jaw. "It wasn't as if you didn't try! What made you think you could both fuck me at the same time!" Reddening, Jerico and Gideon exchanged an uncomfortable glance. "What the hell did you do?" Gideon ground out furiously. "Nothing you did not do!" Jerico snarled. Groaning, knowing what as coming, Bronte struggled to drag herself off the bed and seek shelter. She slid off the end of the bed and onto the floor just as Jerico hit the wall behind the bed and landed where she'd been moments before. "What the hell happened?" Gabriel, who'd been glancing from one player in the drama to the next like someone watching a tennis match, demanded just as Jerico launched 155
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himself off the bed at Gideon, catching him in the mid-section and carrying him halfway across the room. She certainly wasn't going to tell him! Ducking, she wiggled under the bunk, praying no one was going to land on it and squash her like a bug. Gideon and Jerico were slinging each other around the room, however, and she was fairly sure she couldn't make it out of the room or into the bathroom without getting flattened by one of them. She collapsed weakly against the wall as far from any edge as she could get once she'd climbed under the bed, wondering uneasily if they were going to remember what had started the fuckathon and free-for-all once they had exhausted themselves. Recalling the look on Gideon's face when he'd emerged from the hold and discovered her studying the star charts, she shuddered. It dawned on her that they must have suddenly realized she was alone and the bridge unattended. Ordinarily, they 'sorted' the supplies in the hold until they were too exhausted to manage much more than crawling out again, and sometimes not even that much. This time, though, both of them had still been pumping aggressive adrenaline when they'd arrived to find her trying to plot escape. Not that she'd had a chance in hell of actually managing anything. She supposed, if she'd been thinking more clearly, as in— not scared shitless at her audacity—she could've blocked the hatch to the hold and trapped them down there, but probably only long enough to sabotage the ship. 156
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Because she was pretty sure that would've been the results of tampering with any of the controls. They weren't even in the Milky Way Galaxy—not even close enough to identify it anymore! She didn't have a clue of where they were, but it looked like uncharted space to her— at least uncharted by humans. Fortunately for her, the rage they were feeling at that moment of discovery had spilled out in lust. Even so, things had seemed pretty touch and go there for a few moments, and she'd almost begun to get seriously worried when she realized they weren't stopping at merely fondling her all over at the same time. She'd had no idea three people could do that! It wasn't as if she hadn't had sex both ways before—she'd never especially cared for the backdoor entry, but she'd done it plenty of times with her ex. It had certainly never occurred to her that she could be done both ways at the same time, though! God! That had been the most awesome climax she'd ever had in her life! She'd thought for a few moments that she'd actually had a seizure, that her brain had exploded when her body did. A shiver skated through her and she realized she was still naked. Jerico and Gideon seemed completely unconcerned about the fact that they were, but she was getting cold. Seeing that Gabriel had joined the battle, she inched toward the end of the bed and felt around on the top until she managed to grab a handful of the cover. 157
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She'd pulled it halfway off the bed when a hand suddenly closed around her wrist. Gideon dragged her from beneath the bed and stood her on her feet. "What were you doing at the ship's controls?" he growled. Bronte stared at him, chewing the inside of her mouth. "Just looking," she said finally. His eyes narrowed. "I didn't touch anything! I swear it!" He studied her a moment longer and finally turned to Jerico and jerked his head in the direction of the bridge. Swaying slightly, Jerico stared at him blankly for a moment and then nodded, stumbling from the room unsteadily. "You, too, Gabriel," he said grimly, without turning to look at the other man, his gaze still locked with hers. Gabriel didn't move. "That is an order," Gideon said in a low, rumbling growl, sliding a narrowed glance at the man. "Make sure she did not tamper with anything." With obvious reluctance, Gabriel saluted and left. Bronte swallowed uneasily when she realized they were alone. "You can not be trusted," he said after a long moment. Bronte gave him a look that was a mixture of guilt and indignation. A thought occurred to her abruptly. "You were testing me?" she demanded, outraged. Something flickered in his eyes, the barest hint that she might have guessed wrong. "If I were, you failed, did you not?" 158
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Unable to maintain eye contact, she looked away. She didn't know why she should feel the least bit guilty about it, or distressed that she might have disappointed him. She was their prisoner, after all. That was what prisoners did—try to escape. She realized, though, that it hadn't actually been a test, not per se. The fact was that he'd begun to trust her or he wouldn't have 'forgotten' and left the helm unattended. And she'd really screwed that up! That was why she felt guilty and distressed. Not because she'd actually done anything wrong, but because she could tell she'd thrown away something she didn't realize she'd wanted until it was gone. Damn it! He hooked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "I did say that there would be consequences." Her entire body went taut at that, his words instantly recalling the last 'consequences'. She swallowed with an effort. "I thought that was what we just did," she said uneasily. His expression tightened. "Not quite." She hadn't realized he'd shifted closer until she felt the edge of the bed behind her knees. She tipped backwards as he crowded her again, sprawling on the bed. Before she'd even stopped bouncing, he was on top of her, her wrists manacled to the bed on either side of her head. "Gideon!" she gasped breathlessly. His gaze, which had been focused on her breasts, lifted to hers. "Good," he murmured, dropping his head to trace a 159
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feather light path across her throat with his lips. "At least we have established who I am." He would throw that up to her, she thought with a mixture of uneasiness and irritation, now, when he had her completely at his mercy! She should have known he wouldn't forget ... and he would hold a grudge for that minor act of defiance! Her heart was hammering so hard by the time he reached her breasts they were trembling with the pounding beat. Extending his tongue, he traced a circle with the tip around one nipple and along the side of her breast, across the valley and up the next mound, lazily, mind shattering circles around first one and then the other until her breath was coming in short little gasps and she was dizzy with the heat surging through her blood. She bit her lip as the need tightened inside of her for him to take the aching tips into his mouth. Instead, he merely teased her, on and on, never quite touching her where she yearned to be touched, until she bucked against him, struggled to jerk her wrists from his hold. "What do you think I should do to you for trying to sabotage the ship?" he asked in a low, husky voice. Bronte swallowed with an effort. "I wasn't." He flicked a glance at her. "I wasn't!" she said testily. He studied her for a long moment and dipped his head again. Bronte sucked in a sharp breath when she felt his lips close on one engorged tip. She held it, waiting hopefully. He merely nipped it lightly with his lips, however. It wasn't what she wanted, needed. It was bad as what he'd done before, just enough pressure to almost feel good. He nipped at it until 160
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she was ready to scream at him and then moved to the other nipple and teased it in the same way. She curled her fingers tightly into her palms, trying to close her mind to the movement of his lips. It was just enough pressure to make it impossible to ignore and not nearly enough to satisfy. Her skin felt as if it was growing too tight. The warmth in her belly spread outward, warmed her skin and then heated it more until it was stinging, driving her crazy. "What was the plan then?" Dizzy from her gasping breaths, Bronte opened her eyes and tried to glare at him. "I didn't have a plan," she finally muttered. "No plan?" There was disbelief in his voice, and that didn't augur well for an end to the torment. She licked her lips with a tongue that felt almost as dry. "I was just wondering where we were." He lifted his head. "Try again." "That was all ... really," she said a little weakly. She was not going to tell him about her half-baked plan to take over the ship when they killed each other! He was bound to think she'd been plotting to try to murder them and she would really rather not give him that idea. He went back to teasing her with the tip of his tongue. She struggled against him again until she couldn't find the strength to struggle any more. "Gideon! Please!" she said a little desperately. She nearly came out of her skin when his hot mouth closed over her nipple and suckled. She hadn't realized until that 161
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moment that the blood was building tighter and tighter until her nipples had grown painfully swollen. For several moments it was almost more torture to have him tugging at the engorged bud than it had been when he'd been driving her crazy with the teasing. She lost her breath, groaned when she finally managed to fill her lungs again. The muscles of her sex clenched so tightly her belly cramped painfully. Moisture flooded her nether regions. She began to think she was going to faint ... or die if he didn't stop. The only thing that she could think of that could be worse was if he did stop. He stopped. She was nearly sobbing for breath by then. "You were studying the star charts." Bronte twisted her head away. "To figure out where we were ... in case." "In case?" he asked, his voice hoarse. She refused to look at him. When she didn't answer him, he dropped his head and took her other nipple in his mouth, suckling on it hard enough she cried out at the molten tide that washed through her. It was tortuous to feel the tug of his mouth on her ... in the most wonderful way imaginable. She began to feel desperate for the feel of him inside of her, plunging into her. The muscles along her channel clenched and unclenched frantically for the feel of him. He stopped abruptly, released his hold on her wrists and shoved away from her. He'd already climbed off of the bed before it dawned on her that he was leaving her. She still couldn't believe it! 162
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She shoved herself up on one arm and glared at him when she saw he was striding toward the door, feeling disbelief yield to outrage and then pure rage. He really did mean to leave her like this! "You son-of-bitch!" she snarled at him, wishing she had something to throw at him ... like a knife. "I will kill you if you ever do that to me again, you asshole!" He halted at that, twisted his head to glance at her over his shoulder. "I am son of none. I had no mother," he growled. He hesitated. "You will not go near the bridge again. There will not be an 'in case'. We are much harder to kill than you can possibly imagine." That comment washed over her like a douche of ice water. Dismay followed it. She didn't want them dead! How could he think she wanted that! It was just a figure of speech. She hadn't really meant it, for god's sake! It wasn't like she could do anything to them, damn them! She felt like crying. Her chest tightened. Her throat closed. Her eyes and nose stung with the need and they just wouldn't come. She got up when she realized she couldn't find the relief she needed and went in to take a bath. The water, usually so pleasantly soothing, didn't soothe her at all. Her entire body still ached from being so aroused and then left unfulfilled. Which made it impossible to ignore the fact that she wanted to kill him for arousing her and then not finishing, not because he'd aroused her to start with. "Bastard!" she yelled angrily. He had no mother ... no father ... no family ... no life beyond what he had here. She felt like crying all over again 163
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when his words echoed in her mind, this time from remorse— 'I had no mother'. She did cry that time, hurting for him, for them.
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Chapter Eleven Gideon settled heavily in the command chair. Adjusting his aching member and painfully throbbing balls, he draped a knee over one arm of the chair, slouching tiredly in his seat as he stared unseeingly at the forward vid screen. "We have checked everything twice. She did not tamper with any of the instruments." Instead of glancing at Gabriel when he spoke, Gideon lifted one hand and rubbed it down his face, settling it over his lips and chin for several moments before he lifted it away from his face and frowned down at the tremor in his hand. "That is good at any rate," he said finally, dropping his hand to the arm of his chair. "You did not hurt her?" Gideon's head swiveled sharply in Gabriel's direction. "I would not so far forget myself no matter how angry!" he growled. Gabriel stared back at him unflinchingly. "You and Jerico left her alone in here," he pointed out, "or she would have had no opportunity to sabotage the ship. You did something you should not have when you caught her or you would not have been so anxious that you had hurt her. Do not tell me you will not lose control! You have not been in control since we brought her onboard!" Gideon massaged his chest at the reminder of the pain that had shot through him when she had wilted to the floor like a crushed flower. He was not certain what had caused it, 165
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or the jolt of knee weakening adrenaline that had followed it, but he thought that had more to do with his anger than anything else that had happened. He frowned, but thoughtfully. "I have not seen that either you or Jerico have behaved any more rationally," he said coldly. "You are certain we did not hurt her?" Jerico asked uneasily. Gideon shrugged. "I could find no damage and she felt well enough to threaten to kill me when I left. I do not think so." "Why would she do that?" Gabriel ground out. Ignoring the challenge in Gabriel's voice, Gideon thought that over. "I am not entirely certain. She did not like the method I used to interrogate her, I think." Gabriel considered that and finally relaxed. "What else are we to do when she is so fragile, and more than our lives are worth besides? She has no room to complain," he said resentfully. "She has tortured us far more than we have tortured her. I am almost ready to cut my genitals off and toss them into the incinerator. You two, at least, have had some relief. I have had none!" "It is worse afterwards," Gideon said morosely. "How would you know?" Gabriel snarled angrily. "Because I felt as you do before, and now it is worse!" Gideon growled back at him. "You should pleasure yourself to relieve the pressure." "I have!" Gabriel said indignantly. "Else I would have lost my mind long before now. It helps for a short while and then I feel worse! I begin to think the more I empty this thing, the 166
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more it produces! I am up to six times per cycle now and I am sure my balls are getting larger." "Precisely my point," Gideon retorted. "I can not think that our plan is going at all well if she is trying to think of a way to escape," Jerico put in thoughtfully. "I was taken completely by surprise. She has shown no aggression at all—only fear, though it has not seemed to me that she is nearly as fearful as before. And I still am stunned that she would be so bold that she would seize the first opening to try something. I think we must concede that she is not at all like any opponent we have come up against before. I am not at all certain how to proceed with someone who appears so passive and attacks without any warning whatsoever." "She knows that she is not strong enough to challenge us. She is waiting for us to kill ourselves for her so that she can return home. She was trying to familiarize herself with the controls and plot a course back." "She told you that?" Gabriel demanded. "Not in those words, but she inadvertently revealed her plan while I was interrogating her." Gabriel smiled faintly. "She is very clever. I would not have thought that she would be any challenge at all ... not in that way." "You have lost your mind or you would not be smiling like a moron!" Jerico snarled. "She wants us dead! I am as certain as I can be that that means she will not consider a contract with us!" 167
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Gabriel glared at him. "A man wants to feel pride in his woman!" he shot back. "I was only thinking that I am more convinced that she is perfect even than before. She is beautiful and desirable and clever and brave. I do not mind saying I feel far better to think of getting offspring on her. They will only be stronger for having a mother such as her ... even if they are not cyborg." "I think you have missed a crucial point," Gideon said dryly. "She does not want us. I am convinced, but if we can not convince her then we will only be that much more miserable when the others take our woman!" "I will kill anyone who looks at her!" Gabriel snarled furiously. "You are a formidable warrior, Gabriel, but you are not that good! There are still far more who have no woman than have," Gideon pointed out. "We can not kill them all and the council would not stand still for wholesale slaughter of our kinsmen—by us. The idea is to create a society, not to finish what the humans set out to do and wipe ourselves out." They fell to considering the situation for a few moments. "What about your plan to present the notion to her in a tactical sense?" Jerico asked finally. "I did not think much of it at the time, but it is clear that all this time we thought she was coming to accept the situation she was merely plotting to use our weakness for her against us. If she is of that bent, then she is surely more likely to appreciate the advantage than I had thought she might." Gideon cupped his mouth and chin in one hand, thinking. "I am not as certain as I was that that would have the desired 168
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effect. We can not point out the merits of it without also pointing out why it would have merit and then she is liable to decide to wait and let the others kill us to get to her. I begin to think she may be holding a grudge over the fact that we are the ones who captured her. It is unreasonable when we were only following orders, but I do not think she properly appreciates our position in this ... or that she has considered that someone else would have been sent in our place." Gabriel shrugged. "It was our decision to take her when we discovered the man was dead," he pointed out. Gideon glared at him. "Tell her that! I am sure she will be more willing to forgive us for it then!" "I hesitate to point this out, but it occurs to me that she might be holding a grudge because she has already thought of that." Gideon sent Jerico a look of disgust. "It is very likely," he said tightly. "But I still do not want to point that out to her. I think that we must accept that she will not begin to feel any affection for any of us, but I would rather she did not continue to hate us. If she knows that we took one look at her and instantly decided to take her instead—because we were thinking with our cocks instead of our brains—she will know the advantage it gives her. She will torment us endlessly if she realizes she has the power to do so. "I would prefer battle wounds! Painful as those are, at least they heal and do not continue to ache and make me feel sick! She has the tongue and eyes of a laser rifle and unerring accuracy to deploy her ammunition. She made me afraid when I thought I had hurt her. I have never known fear 169
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before in my memory! And she was only pretending to be hurt. I was so blinded by rage when I realized that that I thought for several moments that I would lose control, and then I thought that I would throw up my dinner when I realized that I had considered choking her, however fleetingly it went through my mind! "I am convinced it was a mistake when it was decided to allow the development of emotions instead of removing the portions of the brain which encourage such illogical and uncontrollable urges! One can not go insane if there are no emotions to twist the guts into knots and make one think all sorts of irrational things!" "I thought it was only me," Gabriel said after a prolonged silence. "I almost feel better to know that I am no more irrational than you." Gideon rolled his eyes. "I can not imagine why that would make you feel better! And if it was only you, then we would not all be spending more time in the hold pounding on each other than doing our work. I have sustained less damage in entire campaigns than I have had since we took that female! I have begun to think my nanos will wear out repairing the damage." "I have wondered the same," Jerico agreed tiredly. "We can not continue as we have. We must find a way to get her to agree to contract or give up on the notion altogether." Gideon and Gabriel both turned around to stare at him in disgust. "You give up the notion," Gabriel ground out. "I am not ready to do so." "Nor I," Gideon agreed. 170
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"I did not say that I was ready to concede defeat!" Jerico snapped angrily. "I said we must resolve this ... somehow." Gideon sagged lower in his seat, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I can not think!" "It is your rest period," Gabriel pointed out. "You should rest and then you will be able to consider this more clearly." "I do not trust Bronte enough to sleep near her at the moment," Gideon ground out. "Nor trust myself near her at the moment after what I had to do to get answers from her. And I am not about to allow her to know by ordering her out of the cabin." Jerico and Gabriel exchanged a curious glance. "She was that angry?" "You have not seen her angry before," Gideon said. "You only believe that you have because you did not see her when I left." "You do not think she learned her lesson?" Gabriel asked. "I believe she taught me one," Gideon said wryly, absently massaging the ache in his genitals. "I do not know why she was so furious. She could not have failed to know that it affected me just as much, probably more. She does not have these to swell up and ache like hell." He fell to drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, thinking. "She was angry because I did not finish," he said pensively. "That was the point," Jerico said. Gideon shot a look at him but it was clear his mind was elsewhere. "She does not like that anymore than we do," he 171
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decided. "We can use the same tactic against her that she has used to such effect upon us." "I do not think I like the direction this is going," Gabriel said uneasily. Gideon frowned. "We can not gain her affection. We can not offer contracts as a tactical advantage. Pleasuring her has not convinced her that she wants us. Mayhap withholding it will do what nothing else has done ... Or at least withholding culmination? We will make her suffer as we have been and then we will have something of value to offer to encourage her to contract with us." "I think your fluids have backed up into your brain!" Jerico growled. "Exactly how do you think that will convince her?" "We can not wait until I have had her to do this?" Gabriel demanded furiously. "I am sick of hearing you complain!" Jerico snarled. "If you can not find the balls to approach her, shut up!" Gabriel was out of his seat and had pinned Jerico to the wall, his hands around the other man's throat before he had even finished speaking. Gideon ignored them. "The hold," he reminded them absently. When they emerged some thirty minutes later, he looked them over and calmly proceeded to outline the new plan. "I still do not like this," Jerico said gustily, still struggling to catch his breath. "I do not like it either," Gabriel announced, glaring at Jerico and daring him to say more. "I will go and fuck her now, and then we can implement the new plan." 172
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Gideon sent him a look. "She is ripe now—hungry. We must keep her that way until she begins to feel desperate and then offer the contracts." "Fine!" Gabriel ground out. "I will give it a week." "You will give it however much time is required," Gideon said implacably. "But we are less than a month out!" "And likely we will need that much time ... if it works at all!" Gideon retorted, shoving himself to his feet and heading toward the hatch to the hold. "I think I will rest in the hold." "There is no bed," Jerico pointed on. "I would rather sleep on the floor than wake to find Bronte trying to saw my balls off with a toothbrush!" Gideon snarled. "Unlike Gabriel, I am fond of mine!" **** The remorse that Bronte suffered over the anxiety that she had wounded Gideon didn't last. She moped about it for days and finally decided that she would try to make it up to him the next time he initiated sex. She'd been too caught up in enjoying what he was doing to her to even think about trying to pleasure him in the same way. It occurred to her, though, that that was what she needed to do to make amends, not merely allow him to take his pleasure but to go out of her way to give him pleasure herself. If she demonstrated her feelings, he was bound to realize that she did not want anything to happen to him ... to any of them. She didn't hate them. It was important that they know she didn't. 173
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She could simply tell them, of course, but she saw no reason why they would believe her. She didn't think they would've believed her before they had caught her at the helm. It seemed much less likely they would believe her now. In fact, it was more likely that they would only become deeply suspicious ... more suspicious than they already were. Because she couldn't deny the fact that she'd nipped their budding trust and wasn't likely to regain it. It was Jerico who gave her the first opportunity, however. Unfortunately, she was so caught up in worrying that Gideon might take it badly if he was second when it was him she had talked so nasty to that she was thoroughly enthralled before she could reason it out. She was dismayed when he broke away from her almost as abruptly as he had seized her. Feeling perfectly blank when he left, she finally decided he'd abandoned her because he had been hurt, too, and he had thought she didn't want him to continue because she hadn't tried to encourage him to. She should, she thought unhappily, have realized that they must all know what Gideon knew, or thought he knew. By the end of the week, she was forced to accept that they were actually avoiding her. They weren't even resting in the sleeping quarters anymore if she was in the room. She didn't know where they were sleeping, but it wasn't anywhere around her. This was much, much worse than she'd thought it was! As loath as she was to accept it, it seemed unavoidable that they thought she might try to smother them in their sleep or something equally underhanded. 174
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Becoming desperate, she finally decided to try the same tact with Gideon that she had tried with Jerico the first time. She made sure she was in the shower, available and naked, when she knew it was time for him to take his bath. Her belly tightened with nerves the moment she realized he'd entered the room. She braced herself for impact. When nothing happened beyond him standing as still as a statue, she pretended she still hadn't noticed him and began to soap herself as seductively as she could manage given that she was shaking all over with a combination of nerves and need. She was still annoyed with him for arousing her so thoroughly, until she was ready to scream with need, and then abandoning her. That only made her more needy now, though. She thought she would've been even if Jerico hadn't left her wanting, because this was Gideon, but that unpleasant conclusion certainly hadn't helped matters. Her body was already hot and liquid with desire and he hadn't even touched her. She had to remind herself that she couldn't just allow him to ease his need on her. She had to give to him, show him with caresses that she did care about him. She didn't want anything to happen to him ... even if she had mentally called down curses on him and thought, for a little while, that she hoped an asteroid would land on him. Relief flooded her when he stepped into the bathing unit with her, caught her against his chest and then pinned her between himself on the wall. Shuddering as he captured her face with her hands and covered her mouth, as if he thought she would try to elude him if he didn't hold her, she pushed herself up on her tiptoes and looped her arms around his 175
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neck. And, despite the dizzying rush of burning need, as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she kissed him back, stroking her tongue along his as he caressed her. He began to shake worse than she was as she rubbed herself against his chest, arching her hips to press her mound against his erection. Uttering a deep groan after only a moment, he wrenched himself away from her and moved beneath the shower spray. It took her a moment to gather her wits and brace her wobbly knees. Dismay filled her as she stared at his broad back. Swallowing with an effort against the sense of hurt and anger that welled in her at his blatant rejection of her overtures, she finally decided she probably deserved it. She should not have been surprised that he was unwilling to allow her to try to wound him again. He didn't trust her any more, she reminded herself. It still took all she could do to gather the nerve to try again. He flinched all over when she placed her palm lightly on his back. She hesitated and finally allowed her hand to skim downward until she cupped one hard, rounded buttock. He whirled on her with a snarl when she did that. Seizing her shoulders, he shoved her roughly against the wall again. This time instead of kissing her mouth, however, he focused on her throat and breasts. Jolts of sensation shot through her with each open mouthed kiss he dragged along her throat, but that paled by comparison to the fire that boiled through her when he began to suckle hungrily on first one breast and then the other. She completely lost sight of her objective, too 176
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drunk with pleasure to begin to think, too focused on trying to keep her legs under her when they'd turned boneless with weakness. When he shoved away from her again, she uttered a faint sound of protest, but she was too shocked to manage any more than that. It took all she could do even to stay on her feet as she watched him leave the bathing unit and then the bathroom itself as he was fleeing. He hadn't even paused to grab a sheet to dry off, she thought numbly. He'd stalked from the bathroom dripping puddles of water. Dragging in a shaky breath, Bronte turned to finish her bath mechanically, trying to figure out what had happened. He wanted her. He wouldn't have kissed her like that if he hadn't. Why would he do that? As much as she hated his idea of punishment when she did something he didn't like, she was obliged to admit it wasn't nearly as bad as some things he could have thought of—like locking her into the hold. This felt a lot like his brand of punishment, but she couldn't believe that this was the same thing. She hadn't done anything ... lately. Undoubtedly, she thought miserably, she'd underestimated just how angry he was about it. He hadn't seemed to be the type to hold a grudge before. Either she'd been mistaken and he was, or she'd screwed up a lot worse than she'd thought she had. When Jerico did the same thing to her the very next day, she decided it couldn't possibly be just a matter of hurt or resentment. She hadn't said anything to Jerico. Why would he be holding a grudge? 177
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It wasn't bad enough that the way they treated her made her feel lower than a snake. She was horny, too, damn it! After a week of that, she was just about ready to claw their eyes out. She would've run if she'd had anywhere to hide, or if they'd given her enough warning to try. She reached a point where her own resentment—and desperate need—extinguished every sense of charity and remorse she'd been nursing. Gabriel, she realized, was the only one who wasn't going out of his way to torment her. In fact, just the opposite. He'd begun to avoid her like she had the plague. It was more because he hadn't tormented her, she thought, than because he seemed to be in full retreat that fixated her interest. She didn't think it was a hunter's instincts that had drawn her attention. But what did she know? She knew she was beginning to feel really desperate and she hadn't managed to push either Jerico or Gideon beyond a certain point—that point being the critical time when she was hovering on the brink of coming and ready to mount their shaft herself if she could've gotten hold of it. The bastards! Gabriel, she decided, was just too sweet to bring himself to behave as badly as Jerico and Gideon were behaving. He didn't trust her any more than they did, which was why he kept his distance, but he couldn't bring himself to be mean. The problem was, even after she'd focused on her target, she discovered Gabriel was a lot harder to nail. If he came into the room and she was sleeping, or propped up in the bed 178
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reading, he left again without having moved more than three feet into the room—as if there was some invisible barrier he'd run into. If he came in to bathe and she was in the bathing unit, he retreated immediately. She would've had to chase him down and tackle him to mount him! She'd begun to think Gabriel was unattainable when he finally gave her the perfect opportunity to get what she wanted.
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Chapter Twelve Bronte was sitting on the bed reading when Gabriel came in. She barely glanced up when he froze, sending her the hunted look he'd begun to cast in her direction whenever he found himself alone with her. He hesitated when she pretended to ignore him and finally crossed the room to stand beside the bunk. Bronte sucked in her breath and held it the moment she realized he was striding toward her, tensing all over. Trying to regulate her frantic heart beat and rapid breaths, she kept her eyes on the text, hoping that he meant to lay down to sleep. He didn't lay down or sit down. Instead, she realized that he was holding something out, waiting for her to take it. Lifting her head, she discovered it was her long lost glasses. A little stunned, she looked up at him. "I repaired these for you," he said uncomfortably. "They do not look as they did, but I have mended the frame, at least, so it will stay together." It was so thoughtful of him she was almost as stunned as she was pleased. Her chest tightened with emotion as she dragged her gaze from his and studied the glasses again. She still wasn't willing to give up the advantage he'd given her. The problem was, she couldn't decide for several moments how she could use the advantage. If she sprang up and grabbed him, he would probably slough her off and retreat as he had before. She was tempted to ignore the 180
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glasses and grab him by his cock since it was within reach, but she didn't think that was going to do the trick either. She would have to lull him into a false sense of security, she decided. Lifting her head again, she smiled at him. "This is so sweet! I'm.... Overwhelmed! I hardly know what to say!" He looked surprised but pleased. "It was nothing." She smiled up at him again. "It is to me. I can't tell you how much I've missed having them!" Reaching for the glasses finally without looking at them, she grabbed his hand instead of the glasses, coming up on her knees at the same time. Unfortunately, she discovered that didn't bring her within reach of his face. Shrugging inwardly, she leaned toward him and placed a kiss in the center of his chest instead. He flinched all over as if she'd stuck fire to him instead of her lips. He didn't retreat, however. Heartened, Bronte moved both of her hands to his waist, and tipped her head to smile up at him again. He caught her wrists as she allowed her hands to drift downward in the direction of her goal. She'd barely managed to brush the bulge against his loincloth. He ground his teeth. Tiny beads of sweat popped from his forehead. She could see his eyes had glazed with desire, though, and that he was struggling mightily against the urge to throw her down on the bed. Balked of going straight for her goal but certain he was teetering on the edge of reason, Bronte dropped her head and began to nibble a trail of kisses along his chest. 181
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It was all the encouragement he needed. Her head swam as he shoved her down on the bed and fell on top of her. Excitement threaded her veins as he kissed her throat and tore at the opening of her suit, squeezing her breasts almost painfully when he finally managed to bare them to his touch. Bronte gritted her teeth against the intensity of the fire that burned through her as his mouth closed over one achingly sensitive bud, tugging at it greedily. Fighting the weakness and disorientation that engulfed her instantly, she stroked her hands over his head and back and shoulders as he pulled at her breast with his mouth, undulating her hips and pressing her mound against him rhythmically in a desperate attempt to tear his control from him. As if he couldn't stop himself, he hunched against her in response, thrusting his erection almost painfully against her thigh. She dug her fingers into his arms, trying to shift downward to align her body with his. "Can't," he muttered hoarsely as he lifted his head and stared at her other breast hungrily. She arched her back, lifting it toward him in offering. He succumbed to the lure, covering it voraciously, sucking at her nipple until she felt like her chest would cave in from the lack oxygen ... or she would pass out from lack of air. Tangling her fingers in his silky black hair, she held him to her, fighting for breath. When he came up for air, she tried to pull him to her, or shift lower, wanting his mouth on hers, wanting to feel his cock digging into her belly, or her mound, or better yet thrusting inside of her instead of digging into her thigh. He 182
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caught her wrists, parting company with several hairs on either side as he shackled her wrists to the bed. He barely even flinched, didn't seem to notice. "I can not," he ground out, his gaze moving over her face as if he could devour her with his gaze alone. That pierced her high when his last comment hadn't. "Why not?" she asked huskily, writhing against him enticingly, managing to lift her head high enough despite his hold to nip at his cheek with her lips. "Orders," he managed to gasp out, twisting his head to brush his parted lips against hers, sucking at them as if he was struggling with the urge to complete the circuit and explore her mouth thoroughly. "Orders?" Bronte murmured, returning the favor by sucking at his full lower lip. "Not to pleasure you," he said in a rasping voice as he dipped his head to suck at her chin and then nuzzled the side of her face, nipping at her with his lips. The flames leaping inside of Bronte were instantaneously transformed into pure rage. They had been doing to this to her on purpose? Deliberately arousing her and leaving her to swelter in it? Why? To get even with her because she hadn't just given it immediately and spread her legs for them? Because she'd touched their precious controls? She didn't care why, not at the moment anyway. The need for revenge burned as hot as her desire had a moment before, so hot she could barely bring order to her thoughts. Gabriel's desperation provided the answer without a great need for thought, though. She turned her head to nuzzle his 183
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face as he had hers. "But I could pleasure you, couldn't I?" she murmured in a breathy whisper near his ear. "They wouldn't be angry about that would they?" she added when he shuddered all over, tracing his ear with her tongue for good measure. He lifted his head to stare at her doubtfully. "I do not think I could control myself, Bronte. I am on fire for you," he said hoarsely. "It hurts like hell." Bronte's anger vanished at that, most of it anyway. She could see in his eyes that he wasn't exaggerating or trying to play on her sympathies. She stroked his cheek. "Shhh. I'll make it better," she murmured, pushing at his shoulders. When he rolled away from her, she followed him. He caught her waist in his hands as she climbed on top of him, straddling him, as if he meant to toss her back onto the bed. She stroked his chest and belly soothingly and finally leaned down to follow the path of her hands with her lips. He tensed at the first touch of her lips. A tremor raked through him, but although his hands tightened on her waist, he didn't push her away. He sucked his breath in and held it as she explored his chest with her lips and tongue, nipping at him lightly with her teeth at times and at others sucking small patches of skin. He let his breath out in a ragged grunt as she teased his nipples as he had hers. Slowly, she worked her way downward from his chest to his belly. When she'd scooted far enough down his belly to reach his cock, she covered it with her hand, stroked it through his clothing. He shifted beneath her restlessly, 184
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tensing, holding his breath and finally expelling it harshly and sucking in another. When she worked a hand beneath his loincloth and curled her fingers around his shaft, he caught her wrist. She shifted her gaze from his hand to his taut face. "I know how to pleasure a man as well as you know how to pleasure a woman," she murmured. "If I take you into my mouth, it will feel the same to you as it would if we had sex ... except you won't be going against orders." There was distrust in his eyes, but painful need, as well. Finally, he loosened his hold on her. Unable to figure out how to remove the loincloth, she merely pushed it aside, shifting down his thighs until she could caress him more easily. She could hear him grinding his teeth when she covered the head of his cock with her mouth and sucked on it experimentally. She lifted her head in surprise. "Did that hurt?" "Yes ... No," he choked the words out. He reached down and unfastened the loincloth, however, throwing it out of the way. She studied his genitals as she caressed him, deciding that as cocks went, his was as beautiful as the rest of him—long, sleek, and thick. She liked the taste of him, too—liked his taste a lot. She hadn't expected to be aroused all over again just by giving him pleasure, but the desperate yearning for fulfillment that had burned in her so powerfully only moments before, arose again as she alternated between stroking and sucking him, using her hands and mouth to engulf his huge cock when she went down on him because she couldn't take him fully into her mouth. 185
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His fingers curled into claws on either side of him, digging into the sheets. After a few moments, he caught her shoulders, dug his fingers into them as if he was trying to decide whether to push her away or not and then returned his hands to the bed. His hips jerked, lifted and stilled. He caught her shoulders again and then speared his fingers through her hair, clutching tightly at her skull. His growing excitement fed hers until Bronte completely lost touch with her original intention. Instead of focusing on giving him pleasure, she became intent on her own. She wanted him to come, needed him to. The hunger in her belly to be filled drove her to suck at him more and more feverishly. She pulled at him with the suction of her mouth as if she could suck his come from him. When his cock jerked in her mouth, he bolted upright, trying to pull her free. She planted a hand against his belly and shoved at him, sucking harder. Uttering a deep groan, he fell back, arched his hips upward to meet her mouth, and then a choked groan as his body reluctantly yielded up his seed. She hesitated as she felt the hot liquid shoot down her throat and then swallowed and sucked and stroked him faster as one hard shudder after another raked through him until they lessened to tremors and his cock at last went flaccid in her mouth. Exhausted as she was, as painful as her own body was still clamoring for release, Bronte felt satisfaction of a different kind as she leaned her cheek wearily against his hip and his hand settled against her head. She could hear the thundering of his heart in his groin and that not only pleased her, it gave her a sense of triumph. He reached for her when he'd finally 186
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caught his breath. Dragging her up his length, he studied her face for a long moment and finally nudged her chin up and kissed her gustily. After a moment, he rolled onto his side and burrowed his face against her throat. "I have never felt anything like that before," he murmured lazily, shivering faintly as Bronte lightly stroked his back. "But it felt good?" she asked. "I do not think good is a strong enough word to describe it," he muttered, chuckling huskily. "But it only made me want to.... "He broke off, stiffening. "I should go." She didn't try to stop him. She watched his face worriedly, though, as he pushed himself off of the bed with an effort, looked around vaguely for his loincloth and then stood up to put it on, swaying slightly. "Gabriel?" He glanced at her uneasily. "Don't tell them what I did. I don't want ... I'd hate it if you got into a fight, or ... anything because of me." He reddened, looked uncomfortable, and finally merely nodded and headed for the door. **** If Gideon hadn't been watching the door of the cabin, waiting for Gabriel to come out, he would've missed the lopsided grin of satisfaction that flickered across Gabriel's face as he emerged. He'd been counting the minutes since Gabriel had disappeared into the room with Bronte, however, and he'd reached the boiling point. He'd already pushed himself 187
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up from his seat and turned to stride to the room and drag Gabriel out. When Gabriel left the room, therefore, Gideon had a clear view of his face and he knew instantly what that imbecilic expression of bliss denoted. Uttering a growl of rage, he launched himself toward Gabriel even as Gabriel came to a halt and glanced guiltily toward Gideon and Jerico. Hearing the warning growl, Jerico intercepted Gideon, bracing his body and exerting an equal, opposing weight against Gideon. "The hold, Gideon! Not here!" "I do not need to go into the hold," Gideon growled. "I will strangle that son-of-a-bitch with my bare hands. There will be no sound at all save for his gurgling as I choke the life out of him." "Fine!" Gabriel growled. "I will meet you in the hold!" "We agreed to conduct these discussions in the hold!" Jerico reminded Gideon. Tiring of trying to shove Jerico out of the way, Gideon slammed his fist into Jerico's belly instead, lifting him nearly a foot off the floor. "He has fucked her!" Gideon ground out, slamming his other fist into Jerico's belly and then shoving him out of the way. "We agreed that we would hold out for a contract! I will tear his cock off and choke him with it!" Gabriel ducked as Gideon launched himself full tilt at him, catching Gideon in the breast bone with his shoulder. The blow knocked the breath out of Gideon and sent him pin wheeling backward. He fell on his rump and side and skidded several feet. "I did not fuck her!" Gabriel snarled. "She pleasured me!" 188
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That caught both Jerico's and Gideon's attention. Holding his chest, still struggling to catch his breath, Gideon merely glared up at him as he staggered up from the floor. Jerico, massaging his lower belly, having just regained his feet, froze. "She did what?" he demanded in dawning fury. An expression of guilt and then pleasure flickered over Gabriel's taut features. "With her mouth." Jerico and Gideon exchanged a glance. "Her mouth?" Gideon demanded, still without comprehension but with dawning outrage. "Yes!" Gabriel snarled. "I did not breach orders! She took me into her mouth and pleasured me!" "Now I know I will kill you!" Gideon ground out furiously, launching himself at Gabriel again. Jerico, uttering a roar of rage, reached Gabriel first. Burying his head into Gabriel's belly like a battering ram, he drove Gabriel backwards until he hit the corner of the table and fell. Gideon, hard on their heels, grabbed Jerico and slung him aside then dove on top of Gabriel, grabbing him by the throat. Gabriel pried at Gideon's fingers then slammed his fists against Gideon's forearms. Unable to break the hold, he reached upward instead and closed his fingers around Gideon's throat. Bronte, hearing the commotion, ran to the door and froze as she reached the threshold, staring in frozen horror at the tableau before her for several moments. "Stop it!" she cried out finally. "You're choking him!" 189
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"I mean to choke him to death," Gideon snarled in a choked voice. Glancing around a little frantically for a weapon, Bronte finally realized she still had her book in her hand. Charging across the ship, she began pounding on Gideon's shoulder with the plasti-metal tube. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" she yelled, punctuating each demand by rapping Gideon on the shoulder with the hard, cylindrical tube. Jerico snagged her around the waist and snatched her off her feet, heading toward the room with her. After prying at his fingers for a moment and discovering she couldn't break his grip on her, she began swinging blindly at him with the tube, catching him several times on the head with it before he snatched it out of her hand. "Damn it, woman!" Jerico growled as he set her on her feet inside the cabin. "Stay in here!" Glaring at his back when he turned to head back into the fray, Bronte followed him. He halted at the door, whirling to face her. "You will stay put or I will tie you to that bed!" he ground out. Bronte snapped at his finger with her teeth when he shook it in her face. He managed to snatch it back before she could clamp down on it. For a split second an expression of stunned surprise crossed his features. Anger quickly replaced it, however. "Bronte!" he growled warningly. "You stop them then!" 190
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His eyes narrowed. "Did you pleasure him with your mouth?" he demanded. Bronte blinked at him rapidly several times. "He told you!" she gasped indignantly. Jerico's face contorted with fury. Turning on his heel, he left the room abruptly. Furious herself now, Bronte was tempted to let them kill each other. As she watched the fight, however, searching a little frantically for something she might use to distract them, her gaze lit on the refrigeration unit. Stalking over to it, she opened the door, snatched the large container of ice water from the shelf and pitched the contents at them. As full as the container was, it seemed doubtful more than a glass full had hit any of the three. They were already overheated from fighting, however, and the moment the icy water sluiced over them all three men sucked in a harsh gasp of shock and froze, lifting their heads slowly to stare at her in disbelief. Stunned herself at the effectiveness of it, Bronte stared back at them with a shock nearly equal to theirs. The moment their shock wore off, however, and all three faces went taut with anger, Bronte dropped the container and sailed back to the safety of the room. She wasn't sure where to go once she got there. There was no place to hide and no room that she could barricade against them—nothing she could drag to the door to use as a barricade. The bed was attached to the wall and floor. Scurrying over to the bed, she hopped on top of the mattress and snatched the cover up ... as if it would work as some sort of shield if they decided to come after her. 191
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Minutes passed while Bronte tried to listen over the thumping of her heartbeat in her ears and wondered what in the world had possessed her. She'd just decided they weren't going to follow her when the door opened and all three men crowded into the doorway. After staring at her frowningly for several moments, however, as if they were trying to figure out what had possessed her, they turned and left again. Letting out a sigh of relief, Bronte dropped the cover she'd been holding and stared at the door thoughtfully, wondering why she'd decided to interfere. It didn't take long to arrive at the conclusion that she hadn't actually decided to at all. She'd felt a compulsion to stop them and she'd acted on impulse. As her impulses went, this one hadn't been near the disaster her urges usually were. In fact, now that she thought about it, it had actually worked very well. She'd broken the fight up and in record time. She still didn't know why she'd felt compelled to do anything at all. She hadn't wanted them to hurt Gabriel, she realized. Not that he didn't deserve it since he'd gone straight out and told them when she'd warned him not to, she thought indignantly. After she'd thought it over a few minutes it occurred to her that he might not have. He'd been so sated he'd hardly been able to drag himself up. She smiled faintly at the memory. He'd looked so cute and addled when he'd left. Maybe he hadn't said anything to start it? Maybe they'd only looked at him and known instantly that he'd just been 192
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thoroughly pleasured and they had suspected he had gone against orders? And then he'd told them in his defense? She hadn't been able to hear what had been said. She'd only heard angry voices, and that had happened almost as soon as he'd left. By the time she'd managed to get to the door the 'conversation' had degenerated mostly into growls and grunts. She supposed they'd jumped him because they'd thought he hadn't followed orders. Gideon had to have been the one to give those orders and it made her mad all over again when she thought about it. Why would he do that, she wondered, feeling her anger dissolve as misery took its place? He must hate her. She felt a deep down ache at the thought, wishing she could go back and undo what she'd done. It wasn't as if she would've actually had the nerve to try to fly the ship herself, after all—not unless she'd found herself completely on her own with no other options. On reflection, she decided that had been the worst impulse she'd ever had ... next to telling him what she'd had in mind under pleasurable torture, and the comments her anger had prompted afterward. Not that she wasn't still thoroughly pissed off about it, damn him! And he'd ordered them to torment her! Ordered them to, she thought in disbelief! She frowned at that thought, wondering abruptly if the orders had been only that they weren't supposed to pleasure her or if they'd been told to tease her and keep her on edge? 193
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She'd thought that was what Gabriel had meant, but he hadn't said that. He'd said they'd been ordered not to pleasure her and she'd jumped to the conclusion that Gideon had given the order specifically to torment her. That wasn't true, though, unless he'd specifically told them to tease her and leave her in the lurch. She was trying to make excuses for him, she realized after a moment, irritated with herself. She wanted to make excuses for him so she could forgive him. What difference did it make, though, if she forgave him if he'd decided he hated her? She was actually beginning to look forward to reaching their destination. At least then, hopefully, she would have work to do and not so much idle time to drive herself crazy with too much thinking. At least she wouldn't be cooped up in close quarters with those three barbarians! They'd probably be more relieved than she was. She probably wouldn't ever see them again. Very likely they would volunteer to go off and fight at the first opportunity, or maybe even volunteer for another mission like this one—anything to get as far away from her as possible, she thought morosely.
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Chapter Thirteen "That was ... unnerving," Gideon said uncomfortably, rubbing absently at his bruises as he dropped onto the bench by the table, watching Jerico prepare their meal. Gabriel, who'd settled opposite him, nodded, but worriedly. "You saw no sign of space dementia?" "You saw her yourself. She did not look at all disoriented. I am convinced that she was only angry. I am just not certain what set her off." "Gabriel." Both Gideon and Gabriel turned to look at Jerico. He threw Gabriel a resentful glance. "I think that she was trying to defend Gabriel from you," he added after a moment, frowning at the container he was trying to open without spilling the food inside of it. Gideon's eyes narrowed as he studied Gabriel. "Why would you think she would do that?" Jerico shrugged. "She did not offer to pleasure me that way," he said tightly. Gideon said nothing. She hadn't offered to pleasure him that way either, but he was damned if he was going to admit it. "Exactly what did you do when you went in there?" he asked instead. Gabriel shrugged, so obviously trying to hide his satisfaction that Gideon was tempted to reach across the table and slug him again. "I had repaired her glasses. I took them to her and ... actually I do not remember anything very 195
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clearly after that. I was trying not to think about throwing her down on the bed and fucking her while she was smiling up at me. All I can remember very clearly was that she kissed me," he touched his chest, "here, and then I could not really think about anything but kissing her in the same place ... And then I was." "How did it get from there to her pleasuring you?" "I told her I wanted to.... "Gabriel broke off, shifting uncomfortably. "Wanted to...?" Gideon prompted. Gabriel sent him a harassed look. "I might have said something to the effect that I couldn't, and then she offered to pleasure me instead." "Fuck!" Gideon growled, shooting up from the table. "Tell me you did not go in there and allow her to interrogate you, you cock sucking son-of-a-bitch!" Gabriel shot to his feet, as well. "I was not sucking cock. I got my cock sucked!" he snapped goadingly. "He spilled his guts," Jerico growled in disgust. "I can see it on his face! Are you going to take him into the hold and beat the shit out of him? Or do you want me to?" "I will take you both!" Gabriel snarled, stalking over to the hatch and snatching it open. Before he could straighten, Gideon planted his foot on his ass and gave him a shove. He managed to catch one of the rungs on the way down. Gideon slammed the hatch and bolted it. "Now what?" Jerico growled. "I am all out of ideas," Gideon snarled, stalking back to the table and dropping onto the bench he'd just vacated. 196
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Gabriel began beating on the hatch door. "At ease, soldier," Gideon bellowed, "or I will come down there and break your fucking neck!" Apparently Gabriel decided it would be best to stew in the hold for a while. He stopped beating on the hatch door. "I think we can safely assume he told her everything," Gideon ground out. "That is why she came out and beat me with her book." "She tried to bite me," Jerico added. "She is angry with both of us ... very angry." "Because Gabriel could not keep his mouth shut!" Gideon snarled, getting to his feet and beginning to pace. Discovering after a few minutes that he was biting his nails, he stopped abruptly, stared at his hand in horror for several moments and finally settled at the table again. "This is wrecking my nerves," he muttered, spearing his fingers through his hair as he propped his elbows on the table and held his head in his hands. Jerico cleared his throat uncomfortably. After a good bit of rattling of containers, he finally assembled the food and tossed two of the meals into the cooking unit. "Do you think that what she did with Gabriel means that she favors him?" Gideon looked up at him, his face slowly growing taut with anger. "Do you?" Jerico shrugged, then frowned as he thought it over. "I wonder what it was like," he finally said moodily. "I will say this for Gabriel—he is far braver than I. I would not have allowed her to put her mouth on me. She is too ready to bite." 197
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Gideon gave him a look. "You would do the same thing he did. You would risk it if she offered." He paused. "I would, and she already bit my finger." **** The first thing Bronte became aware of as she drifted toward consciousness was burgeoning arousal and a shivery, all-pervading, tingling tension. Warmth drifted through her, curled low in her belly, coaxing moisture from the walls of her sex and causing a gentle quaking as need stirred to life. Becoming more aware in her lazy search for the source, she eventually located the point where the delightful sensations were channeling into her. There was a mouth attached to one of her breasts, tugging at the distended tip with a lazy, unhurried persistence that induced gentle waves of pleasure to wash through her. Awareness rose until it met the blanketing barrier of arousal in her mind that discouraged conscious thought as her focus centralized on the perception of sensation. Misgiving drifted through her mind, though, a nebulous certainty that acknowledging the giver would make the pleasure go away. She shied away from that, unwilling to let go of the enchantment, allowing the receptors of sensation in her mind free reign to usurp cognitive awareness in favor of the visceral. It couldn't last. She couldn't hold on to it. Her allowance of sensory perception to dominate made it impossible to remain passive. The warmth intensified into heat. The tingling grew in strength until it became electric currents. The tension expanded outward until it encompassed 198
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not just her sex but every muscle in her body. Tremors began to ripple through her in her effort to remain still that gave away her awareness. Feeling him tense as he became aware that she was no longer sleeping, she reluctantly gave up feigning sleep and sucked in a shaky breath that bordered on a moan. He took that as a cue to shift his attentions to her other breast. She shivered as he released the bud he'd been teasing and the air chilled the moisture that lingered there from his mouth. The contrast of cold and heat as his mouth opened over her other nipple evoked a cascade of stippling flesh across her upper body that washed downward over her arms and breasts and belly. The walls of her sex spasmed, squeezing a gush of heated moisture into her sex. The certainty settled in her that he would stop when he realized she was nearing her peak. He would tease her on and on until she thought she would die if he didn't fill her with his flesh and drive into her until he took her the rest of the way there, and then he would abandon her. And she still couldn't find the will to try to avoid that inevitability. Instead, even knowing she was playing into his hands, she found herself struggling to hide from him just how aroused she was so that she could enjoy it just a little longer before he took even that away from her. Her muscles began to ache from the effort to be still as his mouth poured fire into her veins with each tug on her nipple, each rough caress of his tongue across the exquisitely sensitive bud of flesh. A sound of distress escaped her as she finally yielded to the need she couldn't ignore any longer and 199
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shifted her hips in search of something hard to press her mound against and discovered he'd pinned her lower body with one thigh. Her clit quaked in discontent when she failed to find any part of his body to rub it against. She lifted her leaden eyelids to peer at him as Gideon lifted his head to study her face. "Why do you hate me so much?" she whispered plaintively. Something flickered in his eyes. "Do I touch you as if I hate you?" He withheld as if he hated her, she thought in dismay as he dropped his head to drag open mouthed kisses along the column of her throat as if to demonstrate how he didn't hate her when she knew better, knew he'd set out for some reason unknown to her to make her life a living hell. "Your ... programming," she gasped hesitantly, still unwilling to anger him enough to pull away. "You said...." He paused, lifted his head again. "I said I knew how and where to touch you to give you more pleasure than you could imagine," he said, his voice rough. She swallowed uncomfortably, the sound loud in her ears. "Yes." In the dim, omni-directional lighting of the room, she saw his brows draw together, a flicker of anger in his eyes ... and something else. Pain? He tensed as if debating whether to draw away or not and she felt her belly tighten in disappointment. Instead, he seemed to decide to punish her for pointing out his origins as a pleasure bot. His touch became more pointed, more demanding, lifting her from the plateau where 200
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she'd hovered when he'd allowed himself to be distracted and forcing her up the slippery slope that she knew was going to lead to painful disappointment because he wasn't going to let her crest it and fall into the pool of ultimate bliss on the other side. She couldn't find it within herself to care for the moment. His lips felt wonderful as they crawled along the sensitive skin of her throat and the side of her neck, the light touch and faint movement enough to send waves of scouring heat through her. He sucked her earlobe when he reached her ear as he had her nipples, stirring more currents and then sent a headier jolt through her as he covered her ear with his mouth and sucked at it lightly before tracing the swirls. Shivers chased up and down her body, colliding in a delightful explosion in her belly that made her suck in a sharp breath. Lifting his mouth from her ear, he covered her lips, thrusting his tongue past the delicate, yielding barrier and raking it over hers. The friction of his tongue rubbing against hers alone would've been enough in and of itself to enrapture and enthrall, but the burst of his taste inside her mouth, the infinite appeal of his scent overwhelmed her senses, intoxicated her. And each stroke of his tongue over hers, each inhalation of his scent was like another shot of his potent elixir—sweet, drugging, innervating. She shook with the force of the currents flooding her in hard waves, shifted restlessly, not only because she couldn't be still, but because she needed to feel the brush his skin against her and couldn't prevent the search for a touch. 201
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The faintest of brushes would have been enough to feed the need, but he held her and at the same time held himself aloof, pinioning her legs with the weight of one thigh, her upper body with the weight of his arms across hers. It was torture, exquisite, exciting, but still torture. It wasn't enough to feel his mouth on hers. It wasn't enough to taste him, to feel his essence flowing into her like a river of lava. She wanted more, needed more. She had to feel him all over, feel his taut body pressing into hers, feel the abrasion of his heated flesh brushing hers. Briefly, he deprived her of even the one point of intimate contact as he lifted his lips from hers. A faint sound of disappointment escaped her, became a moan that was equal parts pleasure and dread as she felt his lips nibbling a trail of fire down her throat and realized his goal. She tensed, waiting, hopeful, dreading almost as much as she anticipated the touch she knew was coming. His lips closed around one pulsing nipple, sending an electrifying charge through her that seemed to fry nerve endings as it moved through her. She uttered a choked gasp in spite of all she could do. "Gideon! Please!" she gasped, a mournful note of desperation in her voice. He seemed deaf to her entreaty, and yet he tugged harder, danced his tongue over and around the nearly painfully engorged bud with more purpose and far more devastating effect. She fought for breath, sucking tiny snatches of air into her constricted lungs as her body reached a surfeit of what it could take and yet could go no further, bound to the earthly plain by her body's need to feel him 202
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inside of her and a stubborn refusal to give her release without it. Mindlessly, she begged for it, pleaded—thought she did. She found that she was only murmuring 'please' like a litany, over and over. He stopped, lifting his head to study her and she felt like crying. "Give me what I want," he said hoarsely. She didn't have to consider it. "Yes," she gasped desperately. "Don't stop!" He shifted, sucked only the tip of her other breast into his mouth, flicked his tongue over it. "You will contract?" "Contract?" she asked vaguely, even though what she really wanted to do was tell him to act now, talk about it later. He dipped his head to toy with her nipple again, just enough to have her gasping for air. "Co-habitation. You will contract with us?" Her mind was so awash with need she couldn't think. Cohabitation? Us? There was something that didn't seem to fit. He was waiting, though. He wasn't going to give her what she wanted without an answer. She lifted her head with an effort to look down at him, thoroughly confused. "Us?" Gideon studied her face carefully, struggling to decipher her expression when his mind and body were on fire with need and working against any ability to reason at all. The doubt in her voice alone was enough to give him pause, however. She was wavering, he thought dimly, within his grasp. Fuck the comrades in arms shit, he decided. "Me."
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She nodded, but he could see she hardly knew where she was, that he'd pushed her well beyond any ability to fully grasp what he was demanding. "Say it." She groaned, arching her back to lift her breast to him. He gave her what she was demanding, more because he couldn't resist than because he thought he needed to push her more. By the time he lifted his head again, he had to struggle to focus on his objective. "Say it, Bronte." "Yes," she gasped. "Please?" A shudder went through him. Grasping her clothes, he peeled the uniform off of her with hands that shook so badly they fumbled clumsily, his mind completely unable to grapple with the mechanics of removing the damned thing. He ended up tearing it off of her when he hit a snag and couldn't figure out how to untangle it. Grasping her thighs, he shoved them upward, bending her knees, and then pushing them wide enough he could wedge his hips between them with more haste than finesse. She was so wet for him when he reached between them to fumble with the mechanics of fitting their bodies together a red haze of insanity closed over him, compounded by the discovery that even when he'd managed to align his cock with her opening her body resisted his efforts to claim her immediately. His mind ceased to function at all then. Gritting his teeth against the near painful pleasure of feeling her heat and wetness engulfing him, he dug his toes into the mattress and heaved upward, thrusting frantically. Sweat beaded his flesh as he struggled, partly from the fire burning him up, partly from the exertion, and partly from the 204
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sudden fear that he wasn't going to get all the way inside of her before he spilled his seed. His teeth gritted determination and the moisture of her body finally combined to allow him to attain his objective even though it felt as if her body was clutching his cock so tightly it threatened to peel the skin off him. He had to stop to catch his breath when he'd sheathed himself completely inside of her. Impatient, she rocked her hips against his, demanding that he move. Tremors ripped through him with the effort to remain still, to keep from coming, to try to remember what it was he needed first. Unable to grasp the elusive thought, but certain it was vitally important to him, he pushed himself up on his elbows so that he could study her face, hoping it would come to him before he lost his tenuous grasp on his control. "Say it," he rasped hoarsely when he finally remembered. "Yes," she repeated obediently. He could tell she didn't have a fucking clue what she was agreeing to and couldn't have cared less at that moment. "You will contract with me on co-habitation," he said determinedly. "Yes." He ground his teeth together as she bucked her hips against his, sending hard waves of need through him and bringing him perilously closer to a complete loss of control. "Say the words," he ground out hoarsely. "I'll contract with you." He'd already gathered himself to move when a sudden doubt shook him. "Gideon." 205
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She lifted her eyelids a fraction to peer at him. "Gideon! Please!" That was close enough. Even if she hadn't acknowledged she knew it was him, he couldn't hold it any longer. Even as she spoke the words, the muscles along her channel rippled around him, milking him. Uttering a choked groan as his body responded by trying to pump his seed into her, he fought the urge down, trying to focus on something else, anything else. As desperately as he wanted to give in to the screaming demand of his body for release, he realized dimly that he had to give her what she needed first ... what he'd promised in return for her promise. He settled closer, watching her face as he moved his hips rhythmically to stroke his cock along her channel. Her face went slack with pleasure, her lips parting as she panted for breath, little sounds emanating from her throat. My woman, he thought, memorizing her face, savoring her scent warmed by her heated flesh, carried on her breath. His control slipped a notch. Gritting his teeth, he fought to hold on to it even as his body, with a will of its own, began to move faster, to thrust deeper. The little sounds she made deepened, became moans, reached inside of him and twisted his guts into a pretzel. His balls tightened, threatened to explode. Gasping at the pain/pleasure that ripped through him, he shifted an arm beneath her hips, tilting them so that he could reach the bundle of nerves deep inside of her that would push her over the edge. He knew he'd found it when her moans grew sharper, harsher, when he felt her muscles contract around him and quake. Groaning, he yielded control to his 206
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instincts, felt it ripped away from his grasp as her cries escalated into a keen sound somewhere between a sob a scream, her body tensing abruptly before it began to convulse with ecstasy. His heart seized in his chest painfully. His belly tightened, forcing the breath from his lungs in a harsh grunt and then squeezing, forcing his seed from his body to bathe her womb. His mind darkened as the red mindless haze lifted, carrying away every ounce of strength with it until he would've flattened her with his weight if not for his braced arms and even then it wasn't the strength of his muscles that held his weight but the unyielding steel beneath the muscles. Wanting nothing more than to yield to the peace that beckoned, he struggled instead to fight it off as vague thoughts flickered through his mind, teasing him, warning him that yielding was the worse thing he could do. His member had gone flaccid inside of her, expended. He still didn't want to withdraw. It was his. He wanted to stay there, connected to her flesh to flesh. He realized after a few moments, though, that she was dragging in short, pained breaths. His chest was compressing her lungs despite his effort to hold the bulk of his weight off of her. Summoning the strength to move, he lifted his hips to withdraw from her body and shifted his weight enough to fall to one side of her. Even that little expenditure of energy seemed to sap the last of it. He held on to the last thread of consciousness tenaciously. It took unbelievable effort to move even his mouth and tongue to form words, to force them from his chest. "You gave your word," he managed, the words slurred 207
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and drunken with exhaustion. She didn't respond and he was tempted to give up and accept what he'd managed to get from her. He found he couldn't. He had to be sure. Opening his eyes, he studied her face. "Mine," he managed, dragging her close and curling his arms around her possessively. "You said...." "Mmm." He lifted a hand to her face, curled his fingers and palm around her chin. "Say it, Bronte," he demanded. A faint frown appeared between her brows, as if she was struggling to think of what he wanted. "Yes, Gideon," she mumbled finally, snuggling her head more comfortably on his shoulder. "I will." Uneasiness still gripped him but he discovered he couldn't fight his exhaustion any more. She was studying his face when he regained consciousness. He stared back at her warily as memory returned. His body realized she was still curled naked against him before his mind caught up, responding instantly. She felt it. Her eyes widened as he insinuated a leg between her thighs and curled his hips to press his erection against her. "Did you mean it?" she asked huskily. He swallowed against a sudden, hard knot of doubt. "Did you?" he asked uneasily. A frown flickered over her face and then one corner of her lips tipped upward. "That was what this was all about?" "If I say yes will you be angry?" he asked cautiously. She thought about it. "Maybe." "Then no." 208
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She laughed, a throaty, pleasing sound that seemed to reach inside of him, fisting around his heart and squeezing at his lungs. Lifting a hand, she stroked her fingers lightly over his cheek. Her touch made his skin tingle, but it also made his belly clench reflexively. He held his breath, wondering what else she would do, struggling against the urge to push her back against the bed and explore her with the newfound knowledge that everything he discovered was his. His—He was so focused on turning that over in his mind and trying to figure out why it made him feel things he couldn't entirely grasp that he was startled when he felt the brush of her lips. He sucked in a shaky breath, too stunned to move at first and then fighting to remain still when it settled inside his mind that she was kissing him. She wasn't just allowing him to touch her and kiss her. It was the fear that she'd stop and move away that held him in thrall as much as the unique pleasure it gave him. When she pushed at his shoulder, disappointment filled him, but he yielded, rolling onto his back. She followed him, shifting her upper body onto his chest and nuzzling her cheek against his. So this was what it felt like to have her do the things to him that he did to her, he thought dizzily. He'd known it must be pleasurable. It had given him pleasure just doing it, but he hadn't considered what it might feel like if she did it to him instead. It hadn't occurred to him that she might want to. He had to fight another round with his urge to dominate when she had thoroughly explored his ear and moved to brush her lips along his. The tip of her tongue, moving lazily 209
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along his lips drove him to distraction. He wanted to spear his fingers through her hair and hold her tightly while he explored her mouth. The moment passed, the opportunity to seize control as she drifted lower, exploring his neck. He swallowed with great effort, feeling as if he was choking. As she charted a meandering trail downward, moving her lips over him, tasting his skin with her tongue, nipping lightly at him with her teeth, the struggle to remain passive grew harder and harder. Instinct warred against a need and desire completely alien to him and incomprehensible because it was something he hadn't known before. "What did you mean when you said 'we want to contract'?" she murmured, almost idly as she traced her tongue in a small circle around his navel. A warning flickered in his mind, but he was mesmerized by that warm tracery and the hopefulness that clogged his throat that she would move just a little lower. "Us," he rasped thickly. "Us?" When his mind bogged down in a war between reason and need, she shifted lower. His body clenched so hard when she ran her tongue over the tip of his cock it pulled his shoulders off the bed. He gritted his teeth against pleasure that was so intense it was almost closer to pain than pleasure when she followed by inclosing just the head of his cock into her mouth and sucking until it felt like his head would implode and his lungs collapse. "Me, Gabriel, and Jerico," he rasped out when she stopped and his heart started again, threatening to beat its way out of his chest. 210
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She sucked on him again, this time running her tongue along the sensitive rim of his cock head. He clawed at the bed, curling his fingers into the mattress to keep from falling off as his entire equilibrium went haywire. "You could do that?" she asked, her voice low, almost as mesmerizing as her mouth. "Must," he gasped out, anxious to get the conversation over with so she could put her mouth to better use. "Law." She began to stroke her hands over his cock as if she was strumming an instrument. She was, and his heart was pounding out a deep bass backbeat and threatening to explode as she tuned every nerve ending from the root of his cock to the tip with a dexterity that had every one of them screaming and tearing at his guts. "A law?" she prompted. "On your world?" "Yes—no less than two, no more than four males in a unit," he ground the words out. Before he could drag air into his lungs again, she closed her mouth over him and he completely lost his breath and his mind along with it. He felt his hips come off the bed as heat engulfed him and the muscles of her mouth worked over his cock. Sounds were forced from his chest with the little air he'd managed to drag into his lungs, but he could no more control that than he could the jerk of his hips every time her mouth engulfed him and then pulled away again. He was going to die, he thought dimly. He was going to suffocate from lack of air, or choke on his heart. He couldn't bring himself to stop her, though. He couldn't focus on anything except his greed for the feel of her mouth to go on 211
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forever, killing him by agonizingly slow inches. His body fought him every step of the way, threatening to snatch that glorious feeling away from him by exploding. He finally reached a point where he knew he was losing the battle. The moment that certainty settled in the back of his throat, however, a new urgency rose, the desperation to spill his seed at her womb. Summoning every ounce of strength and willpower he still possessed, he jackknifed upward, clamped his hands on her shoulders and jerked her toward him. Twisting as he brought her down again and rolling over her as he shoved her against the mattress, he stabbed at her blindly, plowing his cock back and forth along her cleft several times before he managed to connect with the mouth of her sex. She was wet. His mind couldn't grasp more than that, didn't fully grasp even that much, merely registered a vague sense of relief when he felt wetness allow him to sink deeply inside of her with no more than a handful of frantic thrusts. Even as the muscles along her channel closed around him like a tight fist his body began to jerk and spasm, spewing his seed into her. A sense of profound relief filled him when his body finally stopped convulsing. Shoving himself upward with one shaking arm, he tipped sideways and fell off her and straight into oblivion.
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Chapter Fourteen Feeling vaguely let down that Gideon had come before she could, Bronte lay with her eyes closed until she'd caught her breath and finally turned her head to look at him. A mixture of amusement and irritation filled her when she saw he was asleep. Sex was obviously a potent tranquilizer for him. The wonder was that he'd managed to stay awake long enough the first time to make sure she really had agreed to enter into a co-habitation agreement with him. Stifling the urge to chuckle, she studied his face, wondering if she'd imagined the most truly bizarre proposal she'd ever had. Not that she'd had that many. Actually none. She wasn't sure how she felt about it—strangely vacillating was as close as she could come. She wasn't even certain of why she'd agreed. She puzzled over that for a few minutes and decided she did know. She'd agreed because there something so crazy and desperate about his absolute determination to convince her that she couldn't bring herself to say no. Because she felt like, right or wrong, it could only be that she meant a lot to him. Love was probably stretching it—a long way. On an intellectual level, she knew he couldn't possibly know what love was. That didn't mean he couldn't feel it, but she didn't honestly believe he was capable of it. 213
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And it still didn't matter. She'd had people who claimed to love her who would never have gone through half of what he had to have her. It wasn't just the sex either. That was almost the strangest part about it. He wanted her. He hadn't made any bones about that, or spent a lot of time agonizing on whether to seduce her or not. But he'd refused to give in to his own needs until he could make her agree. That was dedication! Realizing that the longer she stared at him the more she wanted to touch, she finally slipped out of the bed and went to bathe, more than half expecting him to wake up and join her. He didn't, but she had plenty of company in her thoughts. She went back over what he'd said to her, trying to focus on that rather than what he'd done, which wasn't easy. She'd been in such a state at the time she'd suspected she must have somehow misunderstood him when he'd said 'contract with us'. He'd been in such a state while she was questioning him about it that she hadn't been sure she could put a lot of faith in what he'd told her. It occurred to her rather forcefully, though, that Gideon hadn't been working alone any of the time. Jerico had behaved the same way toward her. She suspected poor Gabriel would have too except that he'd had a good bit more trouble controlling his own libido. And she'd been mad as hell when she'd questioned him and discovered he was under orders to tease only, not to please. 214
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They hadn't all been behaving that way just because Gideon had ordered it, or just for Gideon's benefit! Gideon had said 'us'. He'd changed that to 'me' when she'd asked him about it, but then he'd told her the law on his world required 'no less than two, no more than four'. Gideon was also the one who'd told her they had no mates and no hope of having one. Because there had been far more male cyborgs than there had been females! The company had churned out thousands as soldiers, god only knew how many more for construction and other hazardous jobs, to say nothing of those sold as pleasure bots. The demand for females hadn't gone much further than female pleasure bots for men and maids. Even if the company had succeeded in destroying a good portion of the cyborgs when they'd gone rogue, there would still probably be a hugely disproportionate number of males to females. So they'd enacted a law requiring the women to take two to four men if she contracted? Considering monogamy was still the most commonly accepted co-habitations, that was almost mind-boggling— especially since those societies that did practice multi-partner family units were primarily made up of one male and several females. They usually did that, though, because of a disproportionate ratio of female to male. Which, apparently, was what the cyborgs had decided to do. 215
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That was actually pretty deflating. Unfortunately, it wasn't just deflating. It hurt, too. Even though she'd told herself she knew Gideon probably wasn't capable of feeling affection, or love, she realized that, deep down, she'd convinced herself he felt something. All it was, though, was a ... Neanderthal male determination to have a female! The bastards! She stewed over that for a while, considered telling them all to go to hell. It dawned on her after a little while, though, that she'd already deduced there had to be many times more male cyborgs than females. And she was going to be stuck on a planet with them with no way to escape! Considering the way Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel had behaved, she couldn't imagine what it might be like to have three times that many fighting over who was going to get her. That horrifying thought quashed the vague notion circling around in her mind to teach the three a lesson by rejecting their offer. She wouldn't even have wanted to if not for the fact that it hurt, and it wouldn't have hurt if she hadn't felt anything for them—not the same way, anyway, she reflected. She wasn't going to do something stupid just to get even with them. Some courtship, she thought indignantly! On the other hand, they couldn't help it. She thought that was what had suckered her in to start with—this need she had to mother everybody—they were so needy. They didn't know it, but they were. 216
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Anyway, she couldn't overlook the fact that they were willing to fight each other for her at the drop of a hat. She would feel much safer having to live among the cyborgs if she had three that were perfectly willing, and able, to pound anybody that looked at her crossways into the dirt. She was still peeved about it! She discovered when she left the bath that Gideon had awakened and left. Feeling a little put out about that, she finally shook it off and looked around for her clothes. She was more than a little put out when she saw the uniform. She'd thought that tearing noise was the sound of the interlocking mesh closure. She hadn't realized that Neanderthal idiot had shredded the thing when he couldn't get it off of her! Dropping it to the floor again, she stalked to the door of the cabin and opened it. Gideon, she saw, was in his seat at the helm, Jerico and Gabriel standing behind him and they weren't making any attempt to talk quietly among themselves. "What are you doing?" Gabriel asked, puzzlement in his voice. "Looking for the contract," Gideon responded absently. "What contract?" Jerico asked quickly. Gideon lifted his head to stare at the two men blankly for a moment. As he did so, however, he caught sight of her. "The co-habitation agreement," he said slowly. "Did she agree? What did she say?" Gideon looked up at Gabriel uncomfortably. 217
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Bronte stared at the three men, feeling disbelief settle and twist in her belly. Despite the fact that she'd thought the three were conspiring against her, it was another matter entirely to find herself facing them and have all doubt removed. Gideon, she realized, looked uncomfortable because he'd ditched his 'comrades' the moment he'd seen the lay of the land. She was tempted to wait and see how he planned to get himself out of this one. On the other, she knew how this story was going to end—in the hold where all of their disagreements ended up. "She said you have to ask her yourself," she answered before Gideon had come up with a response, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. Jerico and Gabriel both whirled guiltily at the sound of her voice and froze like two hunting dogs that had just spied their quarry when they saw her standing in the doorway of the cabin completely nude. Gabriel recovered first, striding quickly toward her. Jerico was about two steps behind him and Bronte was beginning to regret the impulse to toss that challenge into a potentially volatile situation—as she so often did regret her impulses, and with good reason since they usually turned out badly. Just as she straightened away from the doorframe to run, Jerico threw one leg out and tripped Gabriel up. Gabriel hit the deck and slid toward her several feet, but as Jerico leapt over him, he managed to snag Jerico around one ankle. 218
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Caught as completely off guard as Gabriel had been, Jerico pan-caked on the deck within a few feet of her. Instead of trying to leap over him as Jerico had done, Gabriel leapt on top of Jerico, slammed his head against the deck a few times and then slugged him in the face with his fist for good measure. He beamed at her as he got to his feet. Shaking her head at him, wondering if the urge to giggle was a touch of hysteria or space dementia, Bronte preceded him into the cabin. He caught up to her, snagged her around the waist, and pulled her into his embrace, tangling one hand in her hair and tipping her head back to give him access to her mouth in almost the same motion. Dizziness swept through her at the heated possession of his mouth, disorienting her so thoroughly she scarcely realized they were still in motion until she discovered he'd walked her backwards until they bumped into a wall. The unrestrained eagerness of his mouth and tongue as he lay siege to her senses was as heady a drug as his essence, inundating her with heated pleasure, instantly resurrecting the smoldering embers Gideon had left behind. She hadn't thought she could be so quickly or thoroughly aroused after the heights of passion Gideon had taken her to, but she discovered she was wrong, that everything inside of her responded as eagerly to Gabriel as he responded to her. She was giddy and weak by the time he ended the kiss. Breathing raggedly, he pressed his forehead to hers, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. "You are so beautiful," he said hoarsely, leaning slightly away to allow his gaze and his hand to trail lightly down her body. 219
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The comment warmed her. At the same time wry amusement flickered through her with the reflection that a rise in desire seemed to have that effect on the eyes. He stepped slightly away even as she struggled to lift her eyelids to look at him, swinging her into his arms effortlessly. More than a little breathless over his maneuver, Bronte felt her heart quicken with anticipation as he strode to the bed with her, settled her on the soft surface and followed her down. To her surprise, instead of instantly ravishing her—as she'd actually hoped he would, he merely settled beside her and lay staring at her as if fascinated by her face. Finally, he lifted one of her hands into his, examining it with equal absorption. "Will you?" he asked finally, toying with her fingers almost nervously. "Contract with me?" he added when he flicked a glance at her face and saw she was merely staring back at him in surprise. Bronte sighed ecstatically. It was almost romantic! If it hadn't been for the bleeding cut over his eye, the reddened nose he'd hit on the floor when he fell, and the fact that he'd slammed Jerico's head into the floor, she thought it would've been even more romantic. Rolling onto her side, she smiled at him. "You're certain you don't want to torture a 'yes' out of me?" she asked teasingly. Doubt flickered in his eyes, his straight dark brows tenting above the bridge of his nose in that sad/confused expression that had always tugged at her heart. Her chest tightened as it struck her that he probably didn't understand teasing. It was tragic that they'd missed so much. 220
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In some ways they all reminded her of over grown children. She supposed, in some ways they were, because they hadn't gotten the chance to learn so many of the social skills developed during childhood. They hadn't even been among the fortunate ones that at least had faux memories to give them those tools. She lifted her free hand to brush a lock of inky black hair from his face. "Never mind, Gabriel. I was just teasing. Yes, I will contract with you—if you're sure this is what you want?" He shifted closer. Dragging her beneath him, he locked his gaze with hers. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I would ... be honored." He seemed absolutely sincere, and yet the comment made her uncomfortable. "I can't help but worry that this would be disastrous," she said. "You and the others have so often come to blows." He frowned at that. "We could apply for shift rotation, and then no more than one would be with you at the time," he said thoughtfully, and then added with the air of confession, "A soldier's pay is not that much, but then Gideon is an officer and he makes more—so you will not want for anything of comfort. Between the three of us—if you decide that you will accept Jerico—I am certain we can provide very well for you. "I have no programming for social skills, but I would get it if it becomes available. I have not had much opportunity to utilize my programming as a pleasure bot, but I am fully programmed and equipped. I can give you as much pleasure as the others. I am also a programmed soldier and have 221
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much experience in that, at least. On my honor, I will protect you with my life, always." Bronte didn't know why his careful recital of his assets made her feel like crying—after all that was a critical part of courting, convincing the one you wanted that you were worth having—except that he was so awkward at it, obviously didn't know this was the sort of things one demonstrated or found another way to subtly get the message across. She knew, though, that he'd misinterpret it if she gave in to the urge. "I will do all that I can to make sure you do not regret it, Bronte—if you will agree." She was going to cry if he didn't stop it! More to distract him than because her libido was still raging, she lifted her head to press her mouth to his. "Yes, Gabriel," she murmured against his lips. It had the desired effect—with benefits. It instantly diverted him to sex and he redirected her mind from its sentimental bent to a far more pleasant place. It took very little to reignite the fire he'd already started. She was hot and breathless by the time he ended the kiss and began the search for other delights. By the time he drifted from his exploration of her throat to her breasts, he'd thoroughly awakened every nerve ending in her body and she was hot and wet and desperate when he had satisfied his interest in her breasts and moved lower. She began to tug at him, trying to urge him to inter her. When he ignored that, continuing to explore her belly with his lips, she shifted to spread her thighs around his hips, arching her mound against his chest. Instead of seizing the 222
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opportunity she offered to sheath himself inside of her, he slipped lower still, pushing her thighs wide and covering her sex with his mouth. She sucked in a harsh breath when she felt the heat of his mouth on her clit. The faintly rough texture of his tongue as he strummed it seemed to force the air from her lungs. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, savoring the feel of him for many moments, feeling her body tighten, her senses expand and then focus on the delicious tug of his mouth. The sensations intensified swiftly to nearly unbearable. She began to moan instead of merely to pant for breath, to writhe and lift to meet his mouth. The sense of urgency and anticipation grew until she felt herself struggling to try to fight against the tide carrying her away. From one moment to the next she was torn between the desire to beg him to stop and drive his cock into her and the equal want for him not to stop at all. She did both, pulling at him to urge him to take her one moment, holding his head to her the next. And then the decision was ripped from her grasp. A keen cry tore from her throat as her body abruptly seized so hard it forced the air from her lungs and then began to convulse in hard waves as she came until she was screaming, so caught up in the rapturous spasms she was hardly aware of the hands that settled on her face. "Will you contract with me?" She managed to open one eye a crack and discovered Jerico's face hovering above hers. "Oh!" she gasped sharply as another wave hit her. "Is that a yes?" 223
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Mindless as she was at that moment, her brain seized on the only thing supplied that might end the distraction. "Yes!" she screamed. "Yes!" She slumped into grateful semi-consciousness as the spasms finally began to dissipate and Gabriel ceased to torture her clit and shifted over her. She groaned again as she felt his cock probing her and then thrusting inside of her. There was a dull, meaty thud and she opened her eyes, trying to focus them as Gabriel scooped her shoulders into his arms and began thrusting into her. Jerico was on the floor, but he noticed she'd opened her eyes and sat up again. "You will agree to contract?" he asked again, trying to wedge his head between her and Gabriel. "Yes!" she grunted out as Gabriel found his rhythm and began to drive into her in hard, deep thrusts. "I have the contract! It is only the basic form, but I have looked it over and I think this will do." Her eyes crossed as Gideon shoved Jerico aside and held up the tablet for her to look at it. "I ... can't ... read ... it," she grunted out testily in counter to Gabriel's thrusts as they forced the air from her lungs. He frowned. "Are you not done yet, Gabriel? Never mind. I will read it." "Oh god!" Bronte groaned, uncertain of whether it was more from irritation at the distraction or because Gabriel, prompted to hurry, was about to buckle her spine. Gabriel's ragged, desperate breaths near her ear drowned out most of the drone of Gideon's voice. Between that distraction and the fact that she discovered Jerico had merely 224
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stepped back to watch, she should have been too diverted to enjoy anything Gabriel was doing to her. Contrary to all logic, however, or maybe just because her body could not be distracted from enjoying it even if her mind could, she discovered she was climbing toward climax again a handful of seconds before it hit, crashing through her even harder than her first had. She squeezed her eyes closed, uttered a choked cry and then a series of high pitched keens as the waves rocked her. Gabriel shuddered, groaned, and climaxed on top of hers, settling weakly against her as the last shockwaves of his release went through him. Through the warming afterglow of pleasure, she heard Gideon's voice. ".... Automatically renewable after the full term of seven years if undisputed, void if disputed by either party. Will that suit you, Bronte?" Dragging in a decent breath, finally, Bronte cracked one eye open and struggled to focus on Gideon's face. "Wha...?" He knelt down. "Will this suit?" She opened her other eye, struggled to keep them from crossing and finally closed one eye again. "I missed the first part," she said with an effort. He frowned and looked down at the tablet irritably. "I will just hit the high spots. This is too much to read again. Unless you want to read it yourself?" "No," Bronte responded, beginning to recover enough to feel a flicker of annoyance. "Is there a clause for early 225
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termination in case one of the parties discovers they are completely incompatible with another member of the party?" Gideon frowned as he looked it over. "Yes," he said finally, obviously completely oblivious to her discontent. "One year." "Good! Now go away—both of you!" Jerico frowned, then slid a speculative glance at Gabriel. "He is done. Gabriel should leave and then I can ask you again about contracting with me without him to distract you." Bronte gave him a look, uncertain for several moments if he was serious or not. It dawned on her fairly quickly, however, than none of the three had any tact whatsoever, or any sense of humor. He was not only serious, he had no inkling that it wasn't welcome at the moment, and obviously neither he nor Gideon saw anything at all wrong with discussing business while she was being 'pleasured'. That was way more than just disconcerting. "No!" she finally responded implacably when Gabriel finally gathered enough energy to roll off of her. "I already told you I would. You don't need to convince me!" Sitting up with an effort, she scooted to the edge of the bed and put her feet on the floor. "I'm going to bathe," she finished weakly, wondering if her legs would hold her up long enough to do so. "We should sign contracts first," Gideon said. "I am not signing any damned thing stark naked and dripping come!" Bronte snapped. Gideon frowned. "It will only take a few moments and then it will be done." 226
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"This has to be recorded since we can't appear before a judge or anything, right?" Gideon nodded. "Then NO!" Gideon's face went taut with anger. "This is an order, sol...." Bronte shot to her feet, stalked over to him, and poked him in the chest with her index finger. "I am not one of your damned soldiers! You might as well get it through your thick skull right now that I am not going to follow orders! We will co-habit as equal partners or I'll have nothing to do with it and you can shove that tablet up your ass!" He looked taken aback, obviously was, because he didn't make any attempt to detain her as she stalked from the room and into the bath.
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Chapter Fifteen Gideon managed to ignore the accusing glares Gabriel and Jerico bent upon him for the first few minutes that he paced the length of the ship's mid-section and back again. The moment he became aware of it, however, his temper shot up several degrees. "You have something to say?" he growled, finally coming to a halt when it occurred to him they were offering him an opportunity to work off some of his nervous energy. "Yes!" Jerico growled back at him. "We had only just got her to agree to sign and now you have made her angry and she is not going to sign at all!" Since Gideon had just spent the past ten minutes trying to understand himself what she'd meant and still wasn't certain the comment diffused his anger somewhat. "She did not say she would not," he said uneasily. "She said she would not be ordered to do so." "But you did order her!" Gabriel pointed out furiously. "If she said she would not if you ordered her to, and you did, does that not mean she has changed her mind?" Gideon scrubbed a hand over his face. "That part has been worrying me also. She said we would be equal partners or she would not. I will tell her that we will be equal partners and then she will," he said decisively. He glanced toward the cabin door uneasily. "I think I will wait until she comes out and see if she is still angry." 228
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"She said you could shove that tablet up your ass," Jerico said thoughtfully. Gideon glared at him. "Well, I can not! And I do not want to if I could! It will do us no good there!" "I think it was what they call a 'figure of speech' or maybe slang," Jerico said after a moment. Gideon stared at him impatiently. "Well? What does it mean?" "That she is angry ... I think." Gideon gave him a look of disgust. "She did not have to say that to make me understand she was angry! She must have meant something when she said it!" "I will shove it up your ass myself if she says she will not contract now!" Gabriel growled. "Then she will be happy again and contract with me!" "You can try," Gideon snarled. "Mayhap I will shove it up your ass!" "I do not know why you had to order her at all!" Jerico said with rising anger. Instead of stalking over to Jerico and planting his fist in his face, which was what he wanted to do, Gideon resumed his pacing. "Because we passed the outer rim of the system nigh an hour ago! Command center will have picked us up by now and we will not get the chance to have the contracts signed if we do not do something quickly!" he bellowed angrily. "We must have several hours left!" Jerico said worriedly. Discovering a ragged nail, Gideon began to gnaw on it as he paced. "Three ... at most," he acknowledged. Successfully removing the offending nail, he spat it out, and examined the 229
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others. He had already gnawed those to the tips of his fingers, though. Disgusted, he dropped his hands to his sides again. "That is only until we dock, however. Command center will contact us as soon as we are in range, and then they will know about Bronte. For you may be sure that they will ask about the success of our mission. And when I report, as I must, then they will begin to make plans for her that does not include us! Or worse, they will instantly realize that we would have used the tactical advantage of having her with us and order us not to contract! If we have already signed the contracts they can do no more than throw us in the brig for a few months. "What is taking her so long?" he demanded of no one in particular, halting abruptly and swiveling toward the cabin door. He'd barely gotten the question out when the door opened and Bronte stepped out. She gave him a look. "I was trying to find something to put on. Someone, naming no names, ripped the suit I was wearing!" Gideon stared at her blankly. "You were not wearing...." Jerico and Gabriel turned to glare at him accusingly. "We do not have time to 'discuss' this now!" Gideon ground out surging forward to grasp Bronte's arm and lead her to the table where he had set the tablet. He discovered when he had set up the vid to record the event that she was reading it. Swallowing the urge to point out that he had already read it to her, he settled on the bench beside her, drumming his fingers on the table top while he waited impatiently for her to finish. She threw him a frowning 230
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reproach, glared at his fingers for several moments and finally sighed. He instantly had the uneasy feeling that sigh was somehow significant. "This contract is for seven years. They're usually only for five." He bared his teeth at her in the best approximation of a smile he could manage. "It is the standard contract." She frowned. He felt a cold sweat pop from his pores and resisted the urge to glance toward the forward vid screen only by a supreme effort. Finally, she shrugged and reached for the stylus. Gabriel and Jerico, hovering on the opposite side of the table, leaned forward to watch. Gideon glared at them. "You are blocking the vid," he pointed out coldly. Bronte slid the tablet to him. Grabbing the stylus with a sense of relief, he quickly scrawled his own name in the appropriate box—Gideon CS46721. He discovered when he replaced the stylus that Bronte was frowning at his signature. He sent her a questioning look as he handed the tablet over to Gabriel and Jerico to witness. "There is something wrong?" He couldn't quite interpret the look in her eyes when she met his gaze but it made his chest feel uncomfortably tight. She shook her head, turning to look at Gabriel and Jerico in much the same way. It disturbed him that he couldn't understand what that look meant but he resolutely dismissed it as Jerico handed the tablet back. "Now it is Gabriel's turn," he said, flipping to 231
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the next screen before he rose and changed places with Gabriel. Jerico looked as if he would object, but when Gideon shook his head, he settled into fuming silence, glancing behind them at the forward vid as Bronte scanned the second contract. They had just settled to sign Jerico's contract when the communicator squawked. Bronte jumped and Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel stiffened, their heads swiveling sharply in the direction of the speaker. "Approaching craft, identify!" There was a brief pause and then the command was repeated. Gideon and Gabriel exchanged a speaking glance. "Finish!" Gideon said sharply getting up and striding quickly toward the bridge. "Command center!" Gideon hailed the speaker. "This is Black Hawk tango two bravo six niner zero!" "Identify!" "Lieutenant Gideon CS46721, Cyborg Forces." "Mission status?" "Target extracted. ETA forty six minutes." He paused. "Mark." "Target status?" Gideon glanced toward the group at the table, meeting Bronte's gaze briefly. "Take...." Before he could finish what he'd been about to say, the proximity alarms went off. "Proximity alert! Proximity alert!" the computer announced. Gideon cut the alarm off. "Direction? Speed?" 232
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"Starboard, sub light," the computer responded. Even as Gideon dove into the command seat and grabbed the controls, however, something slammed into the craft so hard it pitched Jerico off the bench and flung Bronte over him. He caught her, wrapping his arms tightly around her as he skidded along the floor with the pitch of the ship. Bronte felt the shudder that rippled through the ship even perched on top of Jerico. Gabriel picked himself up and staggered toward the bridge, half falling into the communications seat as he reached the control center. "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Home base. This is Black Hawk tango two bravo six niner zero! We have been damaged! I repeat, we have been damaged." He glanced at Gideon after a lengthy pause. "Communications are gone." Gideon gritted his teeth. "The whole fucking tail section is gone." He glanced back at Jerico and Bronte. "Get her into the emergency seat before we hit the atmosphere. And then get back there and try to get the emergency lock down over that rear door. It is not responding." Gabriel bolted out of his seat. "Get the emergency lock. I will help Bronte." "Put her in my seat," Jerico said as Gabriel dropped to his knees and opened a small hatch, pulling a fixed seat from beneath the floor—the one they'd strapped her in to when they'd blasted off from Earth, Bronte realized. Gideon turned to look at Bronte. She saw the indecision in his eyes and she knew what it meant. The emergency seat 233
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wasn't nearly as safe as the others. "I'll be safer if Jerico is where he's supposed to be," she said quickly. He didn't argue with her and that scared her worse than she already was. She felt no better once Gabriel had strapped her into her seat. Even she could see that it wasn't nearly as sturdy as the other chairs, and besides that she had the pit beneath her the thing had been pulled out of. It didn't matter that Gabriel had shoved a floor plate over it and locked it down. She knew the hole was there and all she could think about was being sucked out of it. She managed to smile at Gabriel weakly, however, when he finished strapping her in and briefly touched her cheek to reassure her before he went back to his own seat. She hoped that was what he meant by it and not 'good bye'. "Atmosphere!" Gabriel barked. "In ten!" "I have got it!" Jerico bellowed back at him to the tune of a sudden metallic bang that made Bronte's belly clutch in terror. Whirling toward the sound, more than half expecting to see the ship disintegrating before her eyes, she felt a measure of relief when she saw that Jerico had pulled a pair of doors from the walls that looked far more substantial than the sliding door of the cabin and locked them together. Or ... where the cabin used to be. The wall and door were substantial or they would've crumpled already, she told herself. Unless Gideon had been exaggerating, she thought hopefully. 234
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She had a bad feeling that wasn't a 'trait' Gideon had either. The entire ship was shaking so hard she had to clench her teeth to keep from biting her tongue and they hadn't even hit the bad part yet. She wondered what the chances were of actually managing to land the ship with nearly a third of it missing. It probably didn't matter where she was sitting. "Three!" Gideon yelled. "Get up here!" He didn't have to announce when they hit atmosphere. The ship bucked so hard Bronte knew she would've gotten whiplash if she hadn't been strapped in. She screamed before she could stop herself, her mind instantly equating the hard slamming motion with hitting the ground. Her stomach went weightless and lodged in her throat. The sensation of falling didn't stop. She squeezed her eyes closed as the shaking intensified until her brain and eyeballs were rattling in her head. The pull of gravity felt as if it was going to crush her in her seat. Her heart, already laboring with terror, struggled, felt as if the weight pulling at her was going to make it explode. She focused on trying to breathe and trying to regulate her heart, closing her mind to the screaming sound of metal around her and the men's voices as they checked instruments, called out reading and fought the bucking bronco they were on trying to seize control. They were dropping like a rock. The air around her grew hotter and hotter. Bronte squeezed her eyes more tightly together, focusing harder to block out the fear that they would burst into flames. Some force buffeted the ship so that 235
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it lifted and then dropped repeatedly. The air speed Gabriel had been quoting to Gideon began to drop. It was hardly reassuring. They were still moving way too fast and she knew it, but she began to feel a faint thread of hope, despite the fact that the ship began to tilt further and further forward. "We are still dropping too fast!" Gabriel announced. "On my mark, fire the forward thrusters!" Gideon bellowed. Bronte opened one eye to see what was happening, too frightened to ask even if she hadn't been worried about distracting them. In the forward vid, she saw a spiral of greens and blues that made her head swim. Glancing at Gideon, she saw his arm muscles bulging from his grip on the steering yoke, saw the hard edge of a clenched jaw. "Short burst ... now!" The ship bucked again as if it had hit something, the front end pitching upward. Bronte held her breath, trying to keep from throwing up. Gabriel marked the air speed again. "Again!" Gideon said. "Short burst only. Jerico, where are we?" "Over the Darden sea." "I can see that!" Gideon ground out. "Coming up on a land mass." "What have we got?" "Sand ... if you put it down fast." "I do not think we have a choice." "Dunes—starboard ten degrees," Jerico announced. 236
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Gideon threw him a quick glance and leaned against the yoke as he struggled to alter course. "Three," Jerico called out. "Gabriel, fire all thrusters and see if we can slow this sonof-a-bitch down," Gideon ground out. The ship went wild, bucking and jolting so hard it jarred Bronte's clenched jaws apart and then slammed her teeth down on her tongue. Blood filled her mouth. "Impact in ten," Gabriel announced. Bronte sucked in a harsh breath, tensing all over. "Five ... coming in hard." "Hit the braking thrusts now!" Gideon bellowed. The ship lurched, bucked. Abruptly they slammed into something. The ship roared like a live thing as it crumpled around them. Bronte screamed as pain speared through her and then blackness swarmed over her. When she surfaced again, her ears were still ringing from the last roar of sound she'd heard. Flickering light moved over her eyelids and she opened them with an effort. Around her was a tangle of metal and vegetation. A leafy frond, stirred by air, or still shuddering from their impact, was bobbing above her, she saw, causing the flickering of light as it filtered the sunlight pouring down through the canopy above her. She closed her eyes again, searching for the pain she knew she should be feeling. As if she'd summoned it, it flickered to life, welled inside of her until it took an effort to breathe. "Bronte!" Her heart clutched at the sound of Gideon's voice. "Here!" she tried to call out, but the word only emerged as a thread 237
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of sound. She tried again, managed to lift her voice a little louder. She flinched at a sudden noise close by and more pain flooded through her. "Bronte!" She struggled and managed to open her eyes again as she heard him advance toward her through the rubble and then felt his nearness. His face was taut as he stared down at her. After a long moment, he reached to grasp her restraints. Vaguely surprised to realize she was still strapped in her seat, she tried to lift her hands to help him but discovered her arms were just too heavy to lift them. "Be still!" Gideon ground out, apparently having noticed her slight movement. She subsided, too tired to argue with him. "I'm so tired," she said, wondering why. "Only a moment and I will have you loose." More movement around her roused her enough to open her eyes again. Relief flooded her when she glimpsed Jerico and Gabriel. "We made it," she whispered. Gideon crouched down in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders and easing her slowly toward him. She screamed at the pain that lanced through her. He stopped instantly and Bronte gasped for breath as the pain slowly subsided. When she could open her eyes again, she searched for the source and discovered a piece of metal sticking into her. Mentally, she traced it. "I'm pinned to the seat," she said in surprise. Gideon gripped the piece of metal. "On the count of three I will pull." 238
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Bronte put her hand over his. "Leave it. I'm dying anyway," she said, feeling oddly calm about it and yet as certain of it as she had ever been about anything in her life. Her suit was already soaked in blood. She was fairly certain the metal had severed major blood vessels if not an artery. He caught her chin in a hard grip. "You will not die," he said through clenched teeth. "On the count of three, Bronte." Too tired to argue with him, she sucked in her breath, trying to brace herself. He snatched it out on two, snatching her breath with it and, blessedly, consciousness. Unfortunately, she was only unconscious for a handful of seconds. She came to as he pulled her from the seat, groaning at the pain that cut through her with each step he took. Dizziness swept through her and a sense of falling. Her back settled on a hard surface. When she opened her eyes she saw that all three men were bent over her, their expressions grim as they tore her uniform off of her. "'s alright," she murmured. "Doesn't hurt much ... least I got contracted first," she added, trying to infuse a little humor into the situation. "Do not talk," Gideon said harshly. "Save your strength." What strength, she thought tiredly? It was an effort even to breathe. She discovered that was partly because Gabriel was leaning against her, pressing her belly so tightly it felt as if he was going to shove her stomach through her back. "We need to get the bleeding stopped." Gideon glanced up at Jerico. "Find whatever you can in the wreckage." His hand was shaking as he brushed it along her cheek. "This is going to hurt like hell, Bronte." 239
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She opened her eyes and discovered he had one of the laser pistols in his hand. Gabriel caught his wrist even as he lifted it and tried to steady the sight. "This is too clumsy." Gideon jerked his head up to stare at Gabriel. "She will bleed to death if I do not stop the bleeding. This will cauterize the wound." Reluctantly, Gabriel released his grip. Gideon rubbed an arm across his face and for the first time Bronte noticed his hair was matted with blood. He focused on her stomach. She saw the barrel of the pistol waver. Abruptly, he tossed it aside. Glancing around, he snatched up a jagged piece of metal. Bronte sucked in her breath as he slashed it across his arm. Blood spurted from the artery he'd severed. "Gideon!" Ignoring her cry, he leaned over her, squeezing the arm he had sliced so hard the muscles in his arm stood out, shook as his blood flowed over her. "The nanos," he said harshly, glancing at Gabriel. Nodding, Gabriel glanced around until he found another jagged piece of metal and sliced his own open. They were going to die, too, Bronte thought, so distressed she felt tears well in her eyes, gather at the corners and then run down into her hair. "I have found the med case," Jerico said, racing up to them. He stopped abruptly when he saw what they were doing. Dropping the case he'd brought, he moved around to her legs. It was the last thing Bronte remembered clearly. Darkness descended over her. It lifted and fell, not like a 240
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curtain so much as waves as if she was sleeping and surfacing near consciousness and then drifting down again. Burning pain brought her more fully awake for a handful of minutes, just long enough to be thoroughly disoriented by the hands pulling at her, rocking her. Something soft tightened across the burning pain in her stomach and then they left her in peace for a few moments. "Now—while she is unconscious." Dread filled her when she heard Gideon's words but she didn't have time to brace for what she knew was coming— more pain. She screamed as they pulled on her leg, trying to tear off. Why wouldn't they just leave her alone? she thought wearily when she could think at all again. Thankfully, either they stopped torturing her or she lost any sense of pain. She sighed tiredly and drifted off again. She woke freezing, her teeth chattering so badly she couldn't seem to make them stop. It was dark—or she was blind—she discovered when she opened her eyes. Slowly, her eyes focused and she saw stars winking above her. Closing her eyes again, she searched for the pain and discovered that she hurt all over, that it was impossible to localize the pain, but it was duller, not the sharp, cutting pain that had taken her breath before. A shadow had fallen over her when she opened her eyes again. She stared hard, trying to pierce the darkness. "Drink." It was Jerico's voice. His hand settled beneath her head, lifted it. She opened her mouth when she felt the edge of a glass, or something cylindrical. Icy water cascaded into 241
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her mouth. She gulped and then choked and the water overflowed, running down her chin and then her neck. The coughing brought the pain up to a new level and she struggled to suppress the cough and the shivers that added to her misery. "She is cold." Two more shadows moved close. She heard a faint rustle as they crouched beside her. "What happened?" she asked through chattering teeth. A hand settled on her forehead and then stroked her face lightly. "The nanos stopped the bleeding, but we could not give you many. They are designed to speed to the area most damaged and close off the artery as quickly as possible to prevent death by blood loss. Since you do not have many, it will take a while for them to repair the damage from the crash." He paused. "Jerico, keep watch. We will keep her warm for now." Bronte hadn't realized she'd been covered until Gabriel and Gideon lifted the cover on either side of her, allowing a frigid breeze to blow across her bare skin. Then they settled the cover again and pressed lightly against her on either side. Their skin was nearly as chilled as hers at first, but after a few moments she began to feel them grow warm. Grateful for even a small amount of warmth, Bronte tried to roll closer and gasped as the movement sent a jolt of pain through her stomach and another through her leg. "Be still. You will only cause yourself more pain." "I know," she gasped. "I'm still cold." 242
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A hand moved over her shaking shoulder. "I will lift you. Just relax and do not try to help," Gideon said quietly. It was impossible to lay completely passive, but the moment she tensed her stomach muscles the pain intensified until she couldn't help. Gabriel shifted closer behind her as Gideon helped her onto her side. When he'd positioned her against Gabriel, he moved closer, sandwiching her between them. A sigh of relief drifted from her lips as she felt their warmth envelop her until she ceased to tremble and finally drifted to sleep again. Light woke her again. She lay trying to block it for a while, but her mind threw off the mists of sleep and began sifting through flashes of memory. This time she didn't feel pain until she tried to stretch. The movement didn't just create pain inside of her, though, it surfaced the memory of laying between Gideon and Gabriel. She saw what was left of the ship when she finally opened her eyes but it took her many minutes to figure out that that was what she was looking at. Most of both sides were missing. A large section of what had been the port hull was curled back. Wires and strips of metal and tubing hung down from what had been the ceiling. It wasn't until she spotted the chairs that she realized she was looking at the front end of the craft, or at least what was left of it. A portion of the floor of the mid-section was still attached. The nose of the craft was flattened, crushed back against what had been the control console until she had to wonder how Gabriel and Gideon had managed to walk away from it. 243
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The moment that thought clicked in her mind, though, a flood of images followed. She'd been in no state to note their condition, not consciously. Unconsciously, her mind had collected the images. They hadn't walked away without a scratch. Both of them had been torn and bloody, limping, moving stiffly in pain. And they'd still come to find her before they'd even tried to do anything about their own wounds. Twisting her head to search for them, she saw Jerico and Gabriel carefully sorting through the wreckage. There was no sign of Gideon and panic gripped her.
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Chapter Sixteen "Gideon!" Both Jerico and Gabriel whirled at her call. Dropping the items they'd found, they hurried toward her. Gabriel reached her first. "You must not call out!" he said, his voice harsh, urgent as he dropped to his knees beside her. Bronte's heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest. "Why?" Jerico and Gabriel exchanged a look. "The trogs will have seen the crash. They will be searching for us." Whatever, or whoever, the trogs were, Bronte had a feeling she didn't want them to find her if they made Jerico and Gabriel uneasy. "Where's Gideon?" "He followed the path the craft tore through the jungle to search for our weapons." Bronte frowned, battling the growing, nameless fear. "He went off alone? Without a weapon?" She could tell by the look on their faces that they didn't understand her alarm. "He took the laser pistol," Jerico supplied finally. She tried to sit up. Gabriel caught her shoulders to push her down again but it wasn't necessary. The moment she tried, fiery pain seared through her. She went limp, trying to catch her breath. "You must not move yet," Gabriel said gruffly. "The wounds have only begun to close. You will open them again." "What happened?" 245
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"We crashed." Bronte closed her eyes. She'd forgotten what it was like to get any information out of them, especially when they were trying to keep her in the dark, and she suspected they were. "Are you hungry?" She wasn't, but she nodded when Jerico asked anyway, knowing she should eat something. She wasn't just injured, she was so weak it took an effort to do anything at all. She knew she'd lost a lot of blood and she hadn't taken in food or water in a very long time. "We can not build a fire," Jerico said apologetically when he returned a few minutes later. "So there is no way to heat or cook food." Because of the trogs—who were probably out looking for them—and they couldn't leave because they were afraid to move her. They didn't have to tell her that. She would've known even if she hadn't been a doctor and well aware of just how bad her injuries were. She should be dead, she realized abruptly, not just weak and in pain. She'd been impaled by a flying piece of the disintegrating craft, pinned to her seat by it, and there was no doubt the internal damage would have to have been extensive when something that big had gone all the way through her. She would be dead except that Gideon and Jerico and Gabriel had risked their own lives to give her nanos, slashed their arms to force the microscopic bots to the surface and milked them from their bodies and into hers. As vague and mixed up as her memories were because of the shock, she 246
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recalled enough to know that they'd been injured badly enough to be in serious need of their nanos themselves quite aside from their own blood lost from injuries that had made sacrificing more to help her life threatening for them. She could see they'd finally gotten around to tending their own wounds after they'd done what they could for her, but she could also see that both Jerico and Gabriel were showing signs of a good deal of trauma. Aside from the numerous blood soaked bandages they were sporting, their coloring wasn't even close to their usual healthy glow. Both of them looked nearly as pale and washed out as she felt and she knew Gideon was in no better shape. Instead of taking the food and water Jerico held out, she lifted a hand to explore the place along her mid-section where she'd seen the metal sticking out of her. It was bandaged but even the light pressure of her hand made it hurt deep inside of her. Vaguely, she recalled being jostled until she'd felt like screaming, or crying because she'd been too weak by then to scream, and realized they'd been bandaging her wounds. And her leg. She lifted her head to look down at herself but discovered she was covered with the blanket. She knew, though, that her leg was broken, as well. They'd realigned the bone and braced her leg with something. She looked up at Jerico and Gabriel, feeling a mixture of gratitude and something else that was difficult to pin down. They'd saved her life—and Gideon. He was the one who'd thought to try to give her their nanos—because he hadn't 247
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been able to bring himself to try to use the laser to close the wound. Finally, offering them a smile since she couldn't speak for the knot of emotion closing her throat, she took the food Jerico was offering. It was some sort of bread. Gabriel lifted her head and propped something soft beneath it and she pulled off a small piece and chewed it carefully. It wasn't easy trying to eat flat on her back, but then she wasn't that hungry anyway. "We will stay close. If you have need of anything, keep your voice low. We will hear you and come." Setting the cup he'd brought with him within her reach, Jerico rose and left her. After flicking a gaze over her assessingly, Gabriel straightened and followed him and the two of them returned to sifting through the wreckage. She watched them while she struggled to swallow as much of the food and water as she could, trying to piece everything together in her mind. Something had hit the craft, something pretty big to have damaged it as badly as it had, a meteor undoubtedly, though she wondered how it had gotten so close before the proximity alarm had sounded. The system wouldn't have warned them at all if had been malfunctioning, she didn't suppose, but there most have been something wrong with the detection range. Either that or something had caused the meteor to abruptly change course. They hadn't gotten the chance to get out a call for help because the collision had destroyed communications. 248
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That explained why they were still here. The command center had to know, though, that the ship had been damaged. Surely they would be looking? Surely they would've been able to track the descent at least part of the way and have some idea of their general location? Unless they thought the ship had been destroyed? She dismissed the fear that caused her. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel would take care of her. Despite their rowdiness in general, it hadn't escaped her that the moment there was a threat, they'd instantly responded with cool headed military precision and they'd managed to get the craft on the ground without killing everyone on board. As little as she knew about piloting a craft, she knew that had been a hell of a feat in and of itself. They'd had almost no control over it, had had to improvise the usage of what they had left in ways it had never been intended. They might be flawed in a lot of ways, but she could not have been in better hands in the situation they were in. It was almost with surprise that she realized that she had absolute faith, not only in their abilities but in their dedication to taking care of her. The thing that worried her was that she was the one element in the equation that could bring about disaster. If they'd been acting strictly on logic, they would've realized that. Her injuries and her human weaknesses were a threat to their survival. True, they'd been badly injured, too, but they were not only many times stronger than even the strongest humans, they had nanos to help them recover many times faster from the severest injuries. 249
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She hadn't needed Gideon to tell her how hard it was to kill one of them. They were virtually indestructible. As long as they could prevent themselves from getting so much damage so fast that their nanos couldn't repair them quickly enough, and their speed, strength, and agility insured that, they couldn't under most circumstances. The crash might be the closest they'd ever come to reaching critical threat—certainly would have been if the trogs had been close enough to attack before they'd had a little time to recover. Without her to worry about, they could've been far away by now. Instead, knowing there was a threat out there, they were forced to wait until they thought it safe to move her. Or they had chosen to wait. She wondered if that was because of their orders to protect her or if personal choice had figured in to it at all, but she didn't want to examine that too closely. She wanted to think at least a part of it had been because it mattered to them, that she mattered to them. The threat could only be indigenous life, probably primitive, which also probably translated to dangerous savages. Gideon had been in touch with the command center before they'd lost communications. This had to be their destination world, and yet they'd gone down beyond the civilization the Cyborgs had created, a very long way, otherwise they would have seen some sign of a rescue party by now and Gideon and the others wouldn't be worried about being attacked. 250
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They weren't worried for their own sake, she realized. They were concerned about protecting her if there was an attack. If they were concerned for themselves, Gideon wouldn't have gone off alone, virtually unarmed, and Gabriel and Jerico wouldn't have been standing guard over her completely unarmed except for whatever makeshift weapons they could grab up. Which meant she was even more of a threat to their safety. They were not only going to be slowed by her, they were very likely going to be forced into a confrontation because of her, possibly by overwhelming numbers and very likely by savages better armed than they were. Weakened and injured as she was, she knew it could take her weeks or months to recover, even with the help of their nanos—if she ever completely recovered from it. And she couldn't dismiss the fact that the nanos hadn't been designed for human physiology and might not be up to the task of fixing her even if there were enough to repair the damage. She didn't want to think about the possibilities of permanent, irreversible damage at the moment, though. She had enough to worry about. Like whether or not the nanos would be able to prevent infection from killing her or if the rod had so severely damaged her intestines she would die slowly of the poisons seeping into her body, or if there'd been any other vital organ so damaged it couldn't be repaired. And saying she actually 251
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survived, her reproductive organs were still in tact enough to have children. They hadn't said anything to her about that, not directly, but she'd overheard enough to know that that was their single most powerful motivation for wanting a mate—her—the hope that they might be able to have off-spring. If it came to that, she had wanted a child, or perhaps two or three. She'd even obtained a license to reproduce, which had granted her permission to have her birth control surgery reversed. The fact that she hadn't managed to find anyone she'd wanted to father a child hadn't changed that. She'd expected to find a man, eventually, that met her standards— or came close. Unwilling to dwell on those depressing thoughts, she struggled to shift enough to watch Gabriel and Jerico work, chafing at not being able to do anything at all to help. She realized after a little while that their main focus was on recovering as much of the things from her office as they could find. Noticing she was watching, they began to bring the things closer and form a growing pile. It occurred to her after a while that they were prioritizing what needed to be taken. "How are we going to get all of this back to civilization?" she finally asked Gabriel. He paused. "We can not leave anything of importance here. The trogs will take what they want and destroy the rest." Dismay filled her. They were going to be bogged down not only with her but all this, too? "I can manage without most of 252
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this," she said decisively. "Focus on the instruments and medicines. Forget the books—I know what's in most of them anyway. Forget the files and the larger pieces of equipment. Chances are they're too badly damaged to be of any use anyway. Most of it was fairly delicate electronics. Even if it looks like it might not have too much damage, it probably has." Nodding, looking vastly relieved, Gabriel returned, discussed it briefly with Jerico and they began sorting the pile they'd already collected. Gideon returned late in the afternoon. Bronte was so glad to see him she had to fight the urge to weep with relief. Seeing she was awake and watching him, he tossed two long, gleaming blades to Jerico and Gabriel and strode toward her purposefully, crouching beside her and examining her carefully with his gaze. Bronte took her own inventory. If he'd been wearing bandages at all, he'd already discarded most of them. Dozens of dark pink patches on his chest and arms, legs, face and neck told of newly closed wounds. One on his thigh and the place where he'd cut himself to help her were still bandaged. There was a cut extending across his forehead from his hairline, as well. He was wearing something she'd never seen him wear before. Something like a belt crossed his chest from shoulder to waist and seemed to extend to his back. Above his left shoulder, she saw a metallic handle of some kind. He had tossed two long blades to Gabriel and Jerico. Undoubtedly, that was what this was, a sheathe to carry his own blade. 253
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Abruptly self-conscious about her own appearance, she averted her gaze, wishing she could just pull the cover over her head. "I must look terrible," she said uncomfortably. His gaze flickered over her face. "Far better than yesterday," he said. "It is good that I did not yield to the impulse to secure you in Jerico's seat. That side took the brunt of the impact and I do not believe you would have survived it." Considering the battering she'd taken, she thought he was most likely right. It occurred to her even as she realized that that it was not mere chance that her side of the craft had been spared the brunt of the impact. "It took the brunt because you made sure it did," she said. A flicker of discomfort crossed his features. "It was a logical decision. Given that I had little time to assess the situation, I feel that I made the only decision I could have. Jerico and I were more likely to survive than you, and I knew that if we did not you would have Gabriel to take care of you." A knot of emotion hardened in her throat. "It didn't occur to you, I suppose, that I might not want to survive if you didn't?" He frowned, giving her a strange look. "I would have grieved if anything had happened to either you or Jerico, whether you believe it or not. I'm very glad that you're alright." Confusion, doubt, and pleasure flickered across his features in rapid succession, and then more doubt. "Why?" he asked curiously. 254
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Dismay filled her. She didn't know why she'd interpreted everything he'd done as signs he cared about her when she knew better, knew he was still far more a creature of pure logic than emotion. Not only did he not feel any of the things that had begun to grow inside of her, he didn't understand why she would feel them. Instead of trying to answer his question and possibly embarrassing herself more, she changed the subject. "Is that a ... knife you have strapped to your back?" He frowned, obviously not happy that she'd ignored the question, but he allowed the subject to drop. "Of a sort. It is called a sword." "You had those on the ship?" "We always have them with us, though they are only used, or mostly, in confrontations with the natives of this world." Bronte eyed the thing doubtfully. "I think I'd rather have a laser pistol." A faint smile curled his lips. "You could not wield a sword. They are far heavier than the pistols—and nigh as long as you are." She gave him a look. "I'm not that short!" His smile broadened. "Not quite. But I am that tall, and this blade was designed for one such as I am." "I still think the pistols would be more effective," she said, mostly because she didn't like the idea of anyone getting close enough to any of 'her' men for them to use the lethal looking blades. "That is because you know nothing about what we must deal with. The trogs swarm when they attack and, most 255
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often, they are upon you before you know that they are there. The pistols are of no use, or very little, in such an attack, and I would far prefer to meet blade with blade—for that is what they use—than to find myself with nothing but my bare hands to fend off their blades." She stared at him unhappily at that, almost sorry she'd gotten that much information out of him. It couldn't be worse knowing the danger of the situation, though, than not having a clue until she found herself in the middle of such a battle. Not that she thought anything could prepare her for such a thing, but the information was certainly inspiration to do all she could to help avoid the possibility. When she said nothing else, he took the edge of the blanket covering her and flipped it back. She was horrified when she saw herself. Her body looked like one massive bruise. Dried blood was smeared over most of her body that wasn't covered with bandaging and clotted in the fabric that had been used to bandage her, as well. She was going to be a walking horror even if she recovered she thought dismally as she took in the dozens of small cuts they hadn't dressed. She bit her lip as he pulled up the bandage around her middle and studied the wound. When he was satisfied, he shifted downward and studied her leg and then covered her again. Without a word, he rose and crossed to Gabriel and Jerico. "We will give her the remainder of daylight to rest and mend. I do not like that we must move her so soon as even that," he added, lifting his head to scan the area, "but this is a poor defensive position at best. The only advantage at all is 256
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that it is clear enough they can not come too close without our knowledge. But we have no coverage for her at all. "I have found a small cavern in the cliffs a half day's walk down the coast. It is a much better defensive position and will be more secure for her, also. I believe we can defend it long enough to allow her time to mend beyond danger and then, if we are not picked up in the meantime, we will make our way to the city by way of the coast as long as we can follow it. The trogs are not fond of water and will stay as far from it as possible, I think." "You do not think they will come for us?" Gabriel asked. Gideon shrugged. "It is possible, but I will not wait upon it. They will almost certainly be convinced that there is nothing to find. If we had not had communications open at the time we were hit they might have been more inclined to think we had survived. In any case, you are aware the ship had no locator to prevent our enemies from tracking us. They will not be able to locate us without a great deal of searching and we are many clicks from the point where we would have disappeared from their screens. They will be searching the sea." He turned away from them after that to study the things they'd recovered from the wreckage. "Bronte said those things were not of great importance. We have gathered those she said were important here," Jerico said. Gideon lifted his head to look at her for a long moment and finally returned his attention to Jerico and nodded. "She will know. Make a pile of next in importance, as well. If we 257
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get the chance and it seems feasible, we will return for it and carry it to the cavern to be retrieved later. I found a few useful items as I was looking for the swords. I left them in the cavern. There is no fresh water nearby, though. We will need to carry as much of that as we can and also food. I want to limit the number of times we have to leave the cavern to get either. The more times we risk it, obviously the more chance the trogs will see and will follow. I do not want to have to defend the place if we can avoid it. There is too much chance that Bronte could be hurt if we have to fight." Make me feel worse, why don't you? Bronte thought. Not that she thought he'd intended for her to overhear the conversation. In fact, she knew he hadn't realized the low voiced conversation would carry so well or he wouldn't have gone to the effort of lowering his voice. She'd heard enough, though, to get the general idea that things weren't looking up for them right now and she was the biggest cog in the wheel. She chafed over it, but she was fairly certain she couldn't get up without help, and even if she managed it she was liable to tear something fragile loose that had only begun to mend and make things even worse. She worried over it until she fell asleep again. When next she woke, she saw that the sun had shifted a good distance in the sky. She also discovered she had a problem. She ignored it as long as she could, but it seemed acknowledging it to begin with had only focused her mind on her discomfort until it couldn't be ignored anymore.
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This was where the patient was presented with a bedpan and expected to forget they'd ever had anything like privacy ... or dignity. She thought she'd rather die. It was stupid, of course. The chances were they wouldn't think anything at all about it, but it was how she felt about it that was bothering her. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she watched until she managed to catch Gabriel's eye and motioned him over. "I have to go," she said uncomfortably when he knelt beside her. He looked at her curiously for a moment and finally lifted his hand to her forehead. It took her a moment to figure out he thought she might be delirious. "We will go soon," he said finally, almost soothingly. She must have a fever, but she was certainly not that feverish. "No. I mean ... I have to relieve myself," she said urgently, embarrassed to even have to ask for help. Comprehension hit him and he looked around. "I will find something." Bronte grabbed his wrist before he could rise. "Take me into the woods just a little ways," she said pleadingly. "I can manage." He frowned. "No, you can not." "Please?" He looked torn. "Gideon would lob my head from my shoulders if I were to do anything that foolish, risked harming you for no reason at all. And I would let him because I would deserve it." 259
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Her chin wobbled. "Well, I don't need to go then." "You should not be embarrassed...." "Maybe I shouldn't, but I am!" she said testily. "Never mind. I'm fine. Really." He didn't look convinced but he rose and left. She should've known he'd rat on her, she thought angrily when she saw him stop to speak to Gideon. Gideon lifted his head, stared at her a long moment and then strode purposefully across the clearing. She pulled the blanket over her head. He snatched it down and looked at her. He did not look amused. "You are not being at all reasonable." She set her jaw, but it occurred to her after a moment that he'd said they would leave near dark anyway. "We're leaving soon anyway, aren't we? I don't see that it's all that unreasonable to ask for a little privacy to ... uh ... you know, when we'd be going soon anyway. And then we could just go ahead and leave. And that would be better, right? To go a little sooner?" He frowned, but thoughtfully. "I feel up to it," she added. He gave her a look that told her he didn't believe that for a moment. Finally, he nodded, though—a clear indication of how anxious he was to move, she thought, not that she'd so easily talked him in to it. "We will gather up what we mean to take, and then I will allow them to go a little ahead and help you." Bronte stared at his back in dismay as he rose decisively and left. Irritation quickly replaced it. The thick skulled thing! 260
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As if she wanted him to watch her any more than the other two, she fumed! She was not going to be able to perform with an audience! Her anger lasted until he picked her up. As carefully as he'd positioned his arms before he lifted her, she nearly passed out. In fact, the pain that went through her was such that for several moments she wasn't certain if she would throw up or pass out first and she was still in the grips of both when they cleared their campsite and Gideon stopped, lowering her carefully to the ground. She fought a round with the pain, nausea and dizziness. "I need to sit up," she managed to say when she finally caught her breath. "You can not do that now." She struggled for breath. "I can't ... do what I need to without using my stomach muscles either." She looked up at him pleadingly. "Please, Gideon." He stared down at her angrily for several moments but finally knelt and helped her to sit far enough upright to brace herself on her elbows. She had to leave it at that. She couldn't sit up any straighter and she felt like she was going to pass out as it was. "Now, go away," she said when she'd fought off the faint. "No," he said implacably and resolutely turned his back, folding his arms over his chest. She glared at the back of his head for a moment but discovered she just didn't have the energy to fight him any more. Holding her blanket up as a shield, she coaxed her bladder into cooperating. Fortunately, she was able to escape 261
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the run off, but the entire incident was humiliating and exhausting besides. By the time Gideon had wrapped her in her blanket again and picked her up, she was nauseated, faint, embarrassed, and tearful. He glanced at her in frowning inquiry several times when she kept sniffing and finally, she looped her arms around his neck and dropped her head onto his hard shoulder to hide her face. "I hate being sick," she muttered childishly. His arms tightened around her fractionally. "You will be well soon." She doubted that. She felt like she'd have to die to feel better. She was almost sorry her determination to have a little privacy had prompted her to bully them into letting her have her way. As carefully as Gideon carried her, every step he took jarred her and caused her more pain. Her leg was splinted and he supported it the best he could, she knew, but even the slight jarring from his stride was agony and that paled by comparison to the pain in her abdomen. She was sorry she hadn't passed out before. She began to recite a litany in her head to try to keep from groaning out loud—Just a little further. Just a little further.... Just kill me now. Just kill me now.... The sudden scream that tore through the jungle around them made the hairs all over her body stand on end. Gideon stiffened all over and went perfectly still, twisting his head in first one direction and then another. A volley of similar screams followed closely on the heels of the first. 262
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"Gabriel! Jerico! Behind me!" he ground out, launching into a ground eating stride that instantly diverted Bronte to the only thing in her world that mattered at the moment—pain. Her heart was thumping with terror but she couldn't think beyond the pain that was burning her alive. She'd begun to think she might have her wish, at long last, and faint when they abruptly burst from the jungle growth onto a wide sandy beach. Crossing it until they neared the water's edge, Gideon lowered her carefully to the sand. As he straightened and turned, he reached behind his shoulder and Bronte heard the ring of metal as he pulled his sword from it's sheathe. Through the gathering darkness of twilight and the descending darkness of loss of consciousness, Bronte looked up to see that Gideon, Gabriel, and Jerico had formed a semicircle around her, swords drawn, their feet braced in a fighter's stance.
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Chapter Seventeen "If I give the signal," Gideon said in a grim voice, "I want you to take Bronte and carry her out into the water, Gabriel." Bronte heard his voice as if from a great distance. The darkness had grown so profound, however, she couldn't see anything. Giving up the fight even to hold her head up, she dropped her head against the sand and closed her eyes. The screaming that had followed behind them as they rushed from the jungle grew louder. She could feel and hear the thump of feet against the ground as the trogs raced across the beach toward them. Unable to bear the suspense of not knowing what was coming at her, Bronte opened her eyes again. The darkness had lifted a little, just enough to wish it hadn't. A horde of horrible gray skinned humanoids was racing from the edge of the forest, their blades lifted as they ran as if they fully intended to hack all four of them to pieces. Almost as one, Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel advanced toward the trogs, putting more distance between her and themselves. Gideon pulled his laser pistol from its holster with his free hand and fired at the oncoming pack of screaming demons, eliciting screams of a different tone altogether as it cut through their chests, or heads, and the stench of burning flesh wafted over the beach. He'd managed to bring down nearly a dozen before they were too close for the pistol to have much effect any longer. Dropping the pistol back into its holster as Gabriel and Jerico met those in the forefront, he 264
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swung at the first to reach him and took his arm off at the shoulder. Bronte squeezed her eyes shut as a stream of dark liquid shot from the wound. She discovered she couldn't block the sight, however, nor could she bear to lay helpless in the sand and not watch. When she opened her eyes again, a half dozen more trogs were writhing and twitching on the sand, or lying perfectly still. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel were all covered in blood but she couldn't tell if any of it was theirs. They didn't move as if they were injured. They continued to lay about them with the swords tirelessly, cleaving off whatever part of the body their swords made connection with—heads, arms— sometimes hacking them in two at the waist or cleaving them from shoulder to breast bone. Slowly, inch by inch, they fell back and Bronte realized then why they'd advanced on their attackers—to give them more room to fight. If they had to drop back much further, though, she feared they were going to stumble and fall over her and it didn't bear thinking on what the trogs would do if any one of them went down. Bodies already littered the beach in a thick layer and blood soaked into the sand and formed puddles, and they had shown no sign of backing down, apparently under the impression that they were a strong enough force to take down only three cyborgs. Or they were just that vicious—too insane with blood lust to know or care that the three men had already cut their numbers by more than half. It took all Bronte could do to struggle up on her elbows. If she hadn't had fear driven adrenaline pumping through her 265
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she didn't think she could've managed even that much, but the sheer ferocity of the trogs was terrifying. She knew she had to move. None of the men could stop fighting long enough to help her and they had dropped back by now until she knew any moment that one of them was going to stumble over her and lose his footing. Grunting with effort, she dragged herself a few inches, stopped to rest, and clawed at the sand again, heaving backward a few more inches. Every movement was sheer torture, the burning, tearing sensation inside of her reaching a point where she was no longer even conscious of the battle, unaware of anything except the fiery pain and the need to move. She was too exhausted from the effort even to react when a hand caught her shoulder and stopped her. "Bronte, stop! You will tear open your wounds!" Relief flooded her when she realized it was Gideon. "They're gone?" "They are gone ... for now," Gideon confirmed, carefully slipping his arms beneath her and lifting her up against his chest. She couldn't even find the energy to lift her arms around his neck or hold her head up. It fell against his shoulder. He shifted her slightly to support her head as it lolled weakly to one side. "You should not have tried to move," he ground out angrily as he began to walk briskly along the water's edge. "Was afraid," she gasped tiredly. "We would not have allowed harm to come to you." She frowned, too tired to argue with him. "Afraid for you," she mumbled. 266
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He stopped, staring down at her face for a long moment before he began walking again. She wanted to ask him if he was hurt, or if Gabriel or Jerico had been hurt, but she yielded to unconsciousness instead. As welcome as it was, it didn't last. It was full dark when she became aware again and she thought for a little while that she was still blinded by semi-consciousness until she noticed the stars. They were still moving. The roaring sound in her ears was the ocean crashing upon the beach. Beneath that sound, though, she could detect the steady, comforting beat of Gideon's heart. He must have noticed she'd roused. "It is not much further." She nodded, then recalled her last thought before she'd passed out. "Are you hurt?" "The blood is not mine." Bronte frowned but supposed that was an answer. "Are Gabriel and Jerico alright?" He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Yes." "They're hurt," she said, instantly noticing the lapse. "They are wounded, yes, but they are alright." She tipped her head, trying to see them. All she could make out, however, was a deeper shadow among the shadows. Gideon slowed and finally stopped. "What is it?" Jerico asked in a near whisper. "Bronte wants to know if you are alright." There was silence for several moments. "Yes," he said finally. "Gabriel, tell her you are alright." "It is no more than a flesh wound. I have had far worse." 267
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Gideon ground his teeth. "But you are alright," he prompted. "Yes. It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch...." "Shut up, Gabriel!" Gideon hissed, beginning to move again. Bronte smiled against Gideon's chest in spite of her abject misery and her certainty that all three of them were wounded and trying to hide it from her. They were walking, she reasoned, and still able to annoy Gideon. That must mean they weren't hurt too badly. They left the beach a few minutes later, climbing over rocks Bronte thought, when she noticed what looked like a wall rising up from the beach, though she could still see very little and wondered how they could see to move over the rocks. The sound of crashing waves grew near deafening. Sprinkles of water pelted her, raining harder and harder down on her for a time, until the blanket around her was soaked, and then they passed through some sort of opening that dulled the roar of the ocean. Relief flooded her when Gideon finally settled her on a smooth surface. Almost immediately much of the pain began to dissipate, the pressure on her leg easing now that she could finally settle it on a flat, unmoving surface. It was cool within the cavern, though, made cooler still by the nearly constant wind that gusted into the mouth of the cave and the wet blanket around her. "Try to keep her warm, Gabriel, while Jerico and I find wood for fire." 268
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Gabriel settled beside her and shifted close enough to share his warmth. She wanted, desperately, to roll onto her side and cuddle closer, to pull more of his warmth into her, but she couldn't find the energy or the courage to face the increase in pain she knew that would cause her. Instead, she lay as still as she could hoping she would cease to hurt so much once she'd gotten warm and lain still long enough for the discomfort of being carried so long to ease off. Gideon must be in agony from having carried her, she thought dully. He hadn't asked either of the others to carry her, though. She wondered if it was just a high tolerance for pain, an ability to simply block it out, or if he'd just endured because he thought it might hurt her more to shift her to someone else. Or maybe, in spite of what he'd said, Jerico and Gabriel were both hurt too much to carry her? She twisted her head at that thought, trying to peer at Gabriel in the gloom. She couldn't see any more than a faint gleam along his skin as it caught the little light that filtered inside the cavern, but she thought he was looking at her. "How is your wound?" "It has closed." His hand brushed her face. "You are warmer?" She was shivering. "Y-yes," she lied through chattering teeth. He let out a sound of impatience. "Gideon and Jerico will be back soon. It will be safe enough to build a fire in here. The light can not be seen except from the sea—and the wind will carry the smoke away." 269
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"And the waves will wash away your footsteps along the beach," Bronte added. He stroked his hand along her cheek again and then shifted, very carefully covering her upper body with his and supporting himself on his elbows. "Better?" Bronte sighed as his warmth filtered through her. His body blocking the bursts of air through the cave mouth would almost have been enough even without his warmth but that was very welcome. She wanted to crawl under him. "Yes, much. It can't be very comfortable for you, though." She felt his lips curl against her cheek as he dipped his head to rest it lightly against her face. "I am comfortable ... except...." "Except?" she prompted. "This does not feel at all the same as the times when Gideon and Jerico and I have had to share body heat." The comment surprised a snicker out of Bronte. "I should hope not!" She felt him smile against her skin again. "You think that I am trying to be humorous?" "Succeeding." "Mayhap, but I did not mean it as you think." She turned her face to nuzzle it in the crook of his neck, enjoying the contact as well as his scent. "How did you mean it?" He was silent for so long she'd begun to think he wouldn't answer. "I am not at all certain," he said finally. "It is different, that is all I know." "How does it make you feel?" she asked quietly. 270
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"Good," he said promptly. "Not as good as when we are fucking, but very good." It hurt to laugh, Bronte discovered. He shifted his weight to one arm and then lifted his free hand to stroke it lightly over her shoulder and arm. "I like to hear you laugh, even if you are laughing at me because I am such an uncouth brute I do not know how I should act or the right things to say." Bronte's amusement vanished. "Don't think that, Gabriel— any of that." "It is alright." "It isn't alright. You are not an uncouth brute and you ... almost always say and do just the right thing. I only laughed because you were thinking of sex and we're both half dead." "I was not thinking about sex." He paused. "Only a little. I like this, too." "Good, because cuddling is all I can manage right now." "Cuddling?" "Mmm," she murmured drowsily. "It's what a man and woman do when they want to be close but they aren't having sex." "I like the sex, too." "I know," Bronte murmured, curbing the urge to giggle. She was half asleep by the time Gideon and Jerico returned. They set about making a fire at once but Bronte curled her fingers along Gabriel's waist when he would've moved. He subsided and she felt guilty for holding on to him when she knew he was probably cramped from holding the 271
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same position for so long. She released her grip on him. "It's alright. You should get up and check your wound." He ignored the suggestion, staying until Gideon and Jerico had built a small fire and begun to sort through the things they'd brought in search of food. "Go eat," she said finally. "I know you've hardly eaten anything all day." He shifted far enough away to study her face, grazing her chapped lips with his thumb. "I will get you some water." She was thirsty, so thirsty she could barely gather any moisture into her mouth. She nodded, turning to watch the men as they prepared a meal and heated it. It was obvious this was something they weren't unfamiliar with and for the first time she wondered about the life they'd led as soldiers. From what Gabriel had said, they'd had to huddle together to share warmth on more than one occasion. They must have taken part in the battle for Xeno-12, she realized abruptly— one of the most disastrous campaigns of the Hu-Sho Galaxy war. She frowned as she tried to piece together what she remembered about that war, which had ended about the time she'd graduated, but she hadn't really followed the news. It had seemed so far away, so unrelated to her life. She'd been too young, then, to care much about politics—she still avoided politics as much as possible, except now that she was older it was because she did care, but felt helpless to change anything. She did remember hearing about the disaster on Xeno-12, though. The government had dropped almost a quarter of a million soldiers on that frozen world, ill equipped to start with, 272
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and then failed to get supplies to them. Almost half the soldiers had died before the supply ship finally arrived. Even as carefully as she'd distanced herself from all the war talk, the criminal negligence of the government that had led to the deaths of so many hadn't been something she could divorce herself from. And as disinterested as she was in politics in general, nobody had been able to ignore the riots of rage that followed when the news vids hit the airwaves. That had been ... years ago, though, at least ten, she thought, or maybe a little less than that? They wouldn't have been old.... She broke off that thought as it hit her that they were cyborgs. They had probably been created for that war. When, she wondered, had she stopped thinking of them as cyborgs at all? It wasn't that she'd forgotten they were. It was simply that she'd accepted that they were and at the same time ceased to think of cyborgs in terms of machines created by man and begun to think of them only as men. They were men, not machines. It didn't matter how they'd come into existence. "You were sent to Xeno-12," she said. Gideon lifted his head and stared at her for a long moment. "We were. It was the last campaign we fought as soldiers of the Confederation." When Bronte finally managed to drag her gaze from his, she saw that both Gabriel and Jerico were studying her, as well. They must be wondering how she'd deduced they'd fought in that campaign. Or maybe they were just wondering why she'd asked? 273
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She averted her gaze after a moment, feeling—guilty, as if she was directly responsible for that horror. Maybe she was at that. Maybe everyone who did nothing was just as responsible as everyone who'd brought about that disaster? She supposed they were. She didn't know what she might have done that might have effected the outcome but she should've tried. Everyone should've and if they had, maybe then they could have kept it from happening. And maybe not. But she would at least be able to salve her conscience that she'd tried. It wasn't just the war that had caused riots across several galaxies. It was the war that had turned the cyborgs rogue— those who survived. There'd never been a public accounting of how many of them had died on Xeno-12, but if the confederation had dropped several hundred thousand soldiers, they'd dropped twice or three times that many cyborgs—at least. Maybe there'd been something there, on Xeno-12, no one knew about? Some micro-organism that had infected the cyborgs and brought together just the right elements to set off evolution? There must have been something about the situation that had set off the change. Or maybe it had been nothing more than a coincidence that it began on Xeno-12? Maybe it was something that had already begun when they'd been shipped out from the company to that wasteland? It seemed unlikely anyone would ever know for certain, unless the designers had figured it out before they destroyed 274
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the recorded evidence of their complicity and set out to destroy the cyborgs to finish the cleanup. Jerico distracted her from her thoughts when he approached her and settled beside her with a steaming cup. It smelled like chicken broth. It was probably something they'd 'invented' from the dehydrated foods they'd brought along, but it smelled wonderful. Even though she hadn't thought she was hungry, Bronte's stomach immediately began to beg for food. Setting the cup down, Jerico lifted her shoulders and settled her on his extended leg for support. Bronte looked at him questioningly. "You will be able to drink this better in this way, I think," he responded to the question in her expression. Not a lot better, she thought wryly, but she certainly couldn't drink lying flat of her back and she was afraid to try to sit up on her own when every previous attempt to use her stomach muscles to sit up had resulted in agony. On the other hand, he hadn't eaten anything. She pointed that out. "I will eat when you have drunk this." She nearly dropped the cup when she tried to pick it up. She didn't know how he'd managed to bring it to her without burning himself, but she knew if the contents was as hot as the container it would burn all the way to her stomach if it didn't burn a hole in the bottom. "It's too hot. Why don't you go eat and come back and help me when it's cooled?" He ignored the suggestion, blowing on it to cool it instead.
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She watched him surreptitiously, her mind still on what she'd just discovered, wrestling with the temptation to ask more. "There is something distressing you?" he asked finally. She frowned. "I knew that you were soldiers and that all of you had been involved in a good bit of fighting. I just hadn't considered what battles you might have been involved in." She saw he was frowning faintly, but she couldn't tell what thoughts might be running through his mind. "We have much fighting experience," he said finally, offering the cooled soup to her. "Three years fighting for the Confederation in the Ho-Shu galaxy war on the moons of Galpo in the Neavia system—Ralo and Ben-Tavo. Two years on Xeno-12. For one year after we had left the forces of the Confederation, we remained on Xeno-12 with the resistance army. We fought as mercenaries in the army of Juda-Fal in the Maccan system for another four years, SEY (standard earth years) and then when the hunters began to stalk us, personal skirmishes with death squads on many worlds in the years after that, until we joined the Cyborg Forces—now two years ago. "You should not have been frightened that we could not protect you from the trogs. It is true that they attack in large numbers, but we are far stronger and far more skilled and experienced fighters, fully cognizant of effective battle strategy and cool headed enough in battle to carry out the execution of proven tactics, whereas they are disorganized and too crazed with blood lust in the heat of battle to use their heads. 276
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"Not that they are equal in intelligence with us anyway, but they can not even use the intelligence they have when they allow themselves to be blinded by such chaotic emotions as rage and excitement." Bronte was so unsettled by his calm recital of the horrors they had lived through that it was several moments before she realized that he'd completely misinterpreted the reason for her curiosity and the reason she'd struggled so hard to get away from the fighting earlier. It explained so much that she hadn't really understood before—especially their propensity for violence. No wonder they were so prone to settle disagreements with their fists! They had never known anything else. The wonder of it was that they were sane at all! Or capable of any kind of gentleness—and they were. Even at their roughest, they'd never hurt her when they could easily have done so inadvertently if they hadn't been very careful with her. It also explained why Gabriel and Jerico, as capable as they seemed of making their own decisions, inevitably bowed to Gideon. Gideon had led them through innumerable battles, earning not just implicit trust, but forming a bond between the three that had been forged in blood and could not be broken. Except by her, she realized. Gideon had wanted her badly enough he had been willing to break that bond if she was bent on breaking it. She didn't know that Gabriel and Jerico had been equally willing, but the fighting among them certainly seemed to suggest that. And she was suddenly very glad that she hadn't been put in the position of coming 277
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between them. Nothing good could come of breaking that kind of bond. "I wasn't afraid that you couldn't protect me," she told him finally. "I suppose I should have been, and probably would have been except that I was in no condition to focus on much besides the pain. "It's hard to be afraid of dying when you're in that much pain," she added wryly. "All I could think about was that if one of you tripped over me and fell you could be overwhelmed and killed before you could get up to protect yourself. I was just trying to stay out of the way." He frowned thoughtfully and finally nodded. "There was the possibility. I had not considered that, but the fighting was close. You still should not have concerned yourself and tried to move. That part was not wise when your risked damage to yourself. If one of us had fallen, the others would have been warned and would have adjusted their stance accordingly." She stared at him sadly, feeling her chest tighten. "Jerico—I didn't do it because it was a 'wise' decision. I didn't want any of you to be hurt." He nodded. "Yes. I understand, but even if only two had been left, you would have been safe. We had slain many by then." Bronte bit her lip, but shook her head. "No, Jerico," she said gently. "You don't understand. I know it's hard for you to understand, but I care about you and Gideon and Gabriel." He looked surprised and then pleased. "Because we are bonded by contract? I found it in the wreckage. Gideon said 278
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that we must if possible else we would not have the file for official recording and the council might decide to dispute it." She frowned. "I wouldn't have contracted to begin with if I hadn't already felt bound to you three by affection," she tried again. He looked stunned, almost spilled the last of the soup down her neck. "You feel affection?" Bronte thrust the cup away. "Yes." He thought that over. "It was something we did?" She couldn't help but chuckle. "A lot things." "How does this feel?" he asked curiously. Bronte felt her smile slip. She sighed. "Maybe you'll feel it one day, too, and then you'll know." He nodded, looked for several moments as if he would question her further and then instead helped her to settle on the ground again and went to eat. Bronte stared at nothing, focused on trying to quash the hurt. It didn't matter how many times she told herself that she was searching for something that wasn't in their make-up, she still expected to find it. She still believed, or maybe just hoped, that it was there, that it just needed to be coaxed forth and nurtured. She had to accept, though, that it wasn't and probably never would be, that they just weren't capable of feeling any sort of fondness at all. Could that void really matter, though, if she came to love them? Wouldn't it be enough to have a life with them and know they were devoted to that life? To share passion? The passion alone was more than she'd ever expected to find in a relationship. They would be faithful, she thought, and industrious. Every relationship was flawed in 279
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some way and people still managed to make them work—at least for a while. There was always the incompatibility clause if she discovered she was too miserable to live with it, she reflected morosely. It was going to be a struggle to try to adjust in a lot of ways, she realized. She couldn't help but find a lot of their confusion funny, but Gabriel had made it clear that, even while he didn't fully grasp what there was about it that she found amusing, he knew why she thought it was funny. She didn't want to hurt them by constantly pointing out failings they were already aware of and sensitive about. It was going to be hard dealing with their idea of resolving disputes for that matter, but she'd already grown far more accustomed to it than she would've thought she could. And Gabriel had promised that they would rotate their shifts, which should make things more peaceful even if she did feel guilty about them sacrificing their companionship to be her companion. And then there was the problem of getting used to living with three different men when she wasn't used to living with even one. Even if they were in and out, she would still have to deal with that. Typically, she'd jumped before she'd really thought everything through, she realized in dismay. She'd been so caught up in the passion they shared, though, and so bowled over by their ruthless determination to have her, and so focused on her own need to be needed, she had barely even considered the practical side of such a relationship. Beyond 280
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acknowledging that she was in a position where she would have to chose mates among them and the wisdom of having protection, she hadn't even considered the mundane but absolutely essential economics of the arrangement—which Gabriel had thoughtfully pointed out. Under the circumstances, it was impossible to ignore the fact that her decision had been almost purely emotional. She'd known that, physically, she found them tremendously appealing, and also on an intellectual level. She'd also known she was drawn to them because they seemed to need her in a way they weren't even conscious of. She'd accepted that she was fond of them. But when she'd risked reopening her wounds, and thus death, she hadn't been thinking about anything but protecting them. She hadn't thought about what it might do to her if one of them fell on her. She hadn't thought about anything beyond her fear that she would get one of them killed. She was afraid that meant she'd become a little more than just fond of them.
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Chapter Eighteen It took a good bit of arguing to convince the men, or more specifically, Gideon, because he was always the one who made the final decision, that she needed to try to get up and move around if she was ever going to get her strength back. It didn't help that it hurt so much even to try that Bronte wasn't that keen on doing it herself and or that trying to move around was complicated by a broken leg. On one level, Bronte knew what recuperation was like—the physician's viewpoint—but she'd never had any major illness or injury in her life and it was totally different from the patient's viewpoint, she discovered. She knew everything she should do. She just didn't want to and had to struggle to make herself do what she needed to. She was out of depth beyond that. She didn't treat major problems even as a physician. She monitored her patients' health, treated minor injuries and illnesses, but everything beyond that went to a specialist in the necessary field, and besides that, she wasn't familiar at all with nanos and had no idea what they might be doing to her. They had never been approved for human use except under extreme, lifethreatening situations and even then the physicians ruled out every other possibility first. Part of it was a fear on the physicians' part that it would render them obsolete—so they weren't enthusiastic about using them at all and had in fact gone to great lengths to make certain using the nanos didn't become commonplace. 282
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Part of it, though, was a fear in patients and physicians alike that the microscopic bots might go rogue or otherwise malfunction and create more problems than they solved. Because, once they were released it was damned near impossible to recapture them. Even a complete blood transfusion couldn't remove them all because they were determined to stay and 'fix', and interpreted efforts to remove them as attacks upon the body. They would fight first to keep the blood from being extracted at all and then, once they realized their host was receiving an infusion equal to what was being taken, they would rush to the infusion site to monitor the blood coming in. And then they would figure out what was going on and 'hide'. Efforts had been made to correct that particular programming nightmare, but not with any success. It seemed to be an either or situation. They could be programmed to repair as needed, in which case they were absolutely dedicated to searching out and repairing, or they could be programmed to repair one thing only and they might or might not. They had to have AI either way and if they'd been programmed to correct some problem that would create another, or fail to completely correct the problem, they would simply wander around aimlessly trying to 'compute' data they considered illogical. The fact that hers hadn't been programmed for humans at all made her distinctly uneasy. She couldn't complain. She was still breathing and she certainly wouldn't have been if the men hadn't given her the nanos. She knew better than to believe she'd just miraculously recovered from the sort of 283
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wound that usually resulted in a slow, horrible death if untreated very quickly, and sometimes even if it was. She was alive because of the nanos. She just didn't know what else they might decide to do once they'd finished repairing the damage from the crash. She discovered one thing as soon as she recovered enough to notice anything besides her discomfort. The nanos repaired her vision. Not surprisingly, she'd lost her glasses in the crash. She hadn't missed them because of her injuries, but she supposed she'd become so used to them it had just taken her mind a while to catch up to the fact that she saw perfectly clearly at a distance without them—either that or the nanos had just gotten around to repairing her vision. She wasn't sure which because it was a while before she noticed. Once she did, though, she was naturally delighted. Now, even without her glasses she could tell whether she was looking at Jerico or Gabriel when before she'd had to study their movements and individual characteristics to be sure because their hair was so nearly the same color and they were close to the same height and weight. That hadn't been a problem with Gideon, naturally, since he was fair, but now she could see him better, see a lot of things she hadn't noticed before because of the blurring. The down side was that she noticed the faint scars all over all the three men that she hadn't really been able to see that well before. Not that she thought the scars detracted from their appearance in any way, but their dangerous, painful existence was written on their bodies. It brought home to her 284
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as nothing else, not even Jerico's recital of the battles they'd fought, that the horror of war and death, pain, and the ever present possibility of dying themselves was their way of life— all they had ever known. Before. She was determined, despite her qualms, to change that. Maybe they didn't want what they believed they did—a home life—because they'd never had it and just thought it sounded like something they would want, but she decided to do her best to make them glad they'd chosen her to try. Before she could even try, though, she had to regain her strength so that she could be a mate to them, provide the things a woman traditionally brought into a house to make it a home. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel not only didn't like the fact that she was determined to get up and move around, though, she discovered that it bothered them—deeply. As soon as she would begin her struggle to rise they would stop whatever they would doing, stare at her as if holding their breath to see if she would collapse again, and then disappear as if they couldn't bear to watch while she struggled with the crutch Gabriel had fashioned for her. It depressed her. She could see why they would be appalled at such weakness when they were so physically superior. She could even understand that her painfully awkward gate was probably a serious turn off sexually. And it still hurt and it still made her angry. It made her wonder if they'd begun to have doubts about convincing her to join with them to begin with, maybe even begun to entertain the idea of 'losing' the contracts on the way back. 285
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They weren't without flaws themselves—close—but not flawless, she thought with a mixture of anger and hurt. And it wasn't as if they weren't aware of those flaws. The main difference between her perspective and theirs, she realized, was that they didn't care for her. If they had, they would've been able to overlook the fact that she was less than perfect. They would've at least tried, just as she was struggling to accept their flaws. She supposed, all in all, it was a good thing that their behavior angered her because it also bolstered her determination to prove to them that she was still worth having. She was going to recover. Maybe she would have scars she hadn't had before, but the cuts and gashes, even the two worst, seemed to be healing remarkably well. She was fairly certain there wasn't going to be anything hideously ugly that she was going to feel like she had to hide just be attractive. Bronte's first order of business was a bath. Unfortunately, the first few times she 'got up' the most she could manage was to sit up for a few minutes and at that she had to have help. That was enough of a chore that she contented herself, at first, with the pleasure of being able to actually sit up to eat. By the end of the first day, though, she'd gotten to the point that she could sit up without being helped upright and stay upright for a long while before she had to lie down again. Since it looked like that bath she wanted was another day or so down the road, she convinced Gabriel to find something to hold enough sea water for her to dabble in until she felt a little cleaner. The sea water wasn't nearly as pleasant for 286
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bathing as fresh water, she discovered. She felt almost as sticky and uncomfortable when she'd finished as she had before she started. Overall she felt better, though, and she thought she must look at least a little better. She couldn't get to her legs. She couldn't bend over enough to reach and she couldn't bring her legs up close enough to grab them. Toward bed time, though, she finally bullied Gideon into removing the splint they'd made so that she could examine the break to see what progress there'd been in healing. The wound where the bone had torn through the skin had completely closed, she discovered with happy surprise, and the fresh pink skin was already lightening. Gideon surprised her by bringing water and bathing her legs for her and for the first night since she'd been hurt, she was not only able to cuddle without a lot of physical discomfort, she could cuddle without worrying that she stank. She decided the next morning that she was ready to tackle getting up. If she'd had a bed to sleep in she might actually have been able to accomplish that by herself—probably not— but she might have. Getting up from a supine position to a standing position when she could only bend one leg wasn't possible, not as weak as she still was. She'd managed to get on her hands and one knee before she realized that, though, and by the time she looked around for help, she discovered everyone had disappeared. She lay down to rest from the effort and wait for somebody to reappear. And she waited. 287
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Finally, realizing they must be fully occupied elsewhere and that she couldn't just call for help without the danger of the trogs hearing her, she looked around the cavern for something to use to help her get up. Spying a stone roughly the height of a chair, she decided to see if she could lift herself onto it and then get to her feet. The challenge was getting to the stone to start with. She hadn't realized when she started just how far away it was in terms of strength. She had to stop and rest about halfway, and then, when she'd dragged herself the rest of the way, she had to rest again before she could start trying to figure out how she was going to lift her ass from the floor to the top. Gideon, she discovered, had returned at some point— discovered it when she began fighting to get up on the rock. "What are you doing?" he demanded, striding to stand over her and glare at her. She was too tired to have much energy for anger but she sent him a look of resentment anyway. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He studied her a moment and then the rock. "Trying to climb onto the rock. I see this. I just do not understand why you want to sit on it. The floor is more smooth." Bronte let out an irritated huff. "I don't want to sit on the rock. I want to get up. I can't stand up without help, though." His expression hardened. "You are injured. You need to rest." He meant well, Bronte decided. He just didn't understand that just resting wasn't going to help her get better. "If I 288
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don't get up and try, I'm not going to get stronger. I'll get weaker." He looked unsettled by that comment, and then suspicious. "This is not only because you do not like for me to help you 'go'?" Bronte reddened. "No," she said testily. "It's because I'm a doctor and I know that I have to work to get better." He still didn't look as if he believed her but he finally knelt, looked her over for a moment as if trying to decide how to get her on her feet without hurting her and finally caught her beneath her arms. Relieved she wasn't going to have to try to put rock climbing to the test, Bronte placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed up with her good leg as he lifted her. She thought for several moments after she stood that she was going to faint. "I knew you should not try this," Gideon said angrily. "You are too stubborn for your own good." "No," Bronte said faintly. "Well, I guess I am a little stubborn, but I meant this isn't stubbornness. And it is a bad sign to feel so lightheaded, but it means I should've been trying to get up before, not that I shouldn't be trying now." His expression said he didn't believe her but obviously there was just enough doubt in his mind that he was willing to go along with her determination. "Now I need to walk a little," she said once the dizziness had passed. Tightening her hand on his arm, she took a step and dragged the leg she couldn't bend. He walked beside her, supporting more of her weight, probably, than she was while 289
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she struggled to take a dozen steps. His expression was taut when she finally asked him to help her down. "Now you will be ill again," he said tightly when she lay limply on the floor, fighting for breath at the little bit of exertion. "Now I'll be better," she argued. "Will you help me walk again later?" He looked torn. "Rest now. We will see." "It would be easier without the splint," she said tiredly. "The frame broke. I do not think it will mend as quickly as the flesh." Bronte opened her eyes to peer at him blankly for a moment before she realized he had no familiarity with bones. "It will, and it isn't that I'm not grateful that you realized it would have to be lined up again and held in place—I am. I would've been crippled if you hadn't. I'm just complaining because it makes it harder to walk." He nodded but he seemed anxious to leave so she didn't try to keep him any longer. It was no easier the next several times she forced herself to walk and she had no idea whether she was making any progress at all. She ached worse that night. Gideon fumed when he noticed, but thankfully kept his thoughts to himself. By the next day, though, she felt stronger. She didn't ask him or either of the others to help her walk. She crawled over to the rock and then up onto it, rested briefly, and then used handholds along the cave wall to pull herself into a standing position. She was sweating from the effort but so pleased with herself that she grinned broadly at Gideon in spite of the 290
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furious glare he sent her when he discovered what she'd done. "I got up by myself!" "I see that," he growled. "You could have fallen." She frowned at him. "Don't be such a grouch. I didn't fall, and I was strong enough to get up by myself." He relaxed slightly when she pointed that out. "Even so, do not try that again. I will come and help you up and help you walk until you are stronger. Or Gabriel or Jerico can help you if they are here and I am not." Spoilsport, she thought irritably, refusing to allow his disapproval to ruin her good mood. "If I had a crutch, I think I could start walking without any help." He frowned. "What is a crutch?" She wasn't surprised he didn't know what a crutch was. "I need something that would reach from the floor to just beneath my arm to help me balance and still keep my weight off the injured leg—something straight. And it would need to be strong but not too heavy," she said hopefully. He looked her over as if he was gauging her length and finally left again without a word. Just before dark, Gabriel brought her a crudely wrought crutch made out of what she thought might have been a young tree, except it had a crook at the top that slipped perfectly beneath her arm. She was so happy, she caught his face in both hands and kissed him. She'd only meant to give him a peck of affection, but not surprisingly he wasn't familiar with that. As soon as her lips made contact with his, he responded with an open mouthed kiss that assured her she was well on the road to recovery. She sat back dizzily and smiled at him. 291
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He smiled back at her. And then Gideon, who'd witnessed the whole thing, stalked across the cave floor and slugged him on the side of the jaw hard enough Gabriel sprawled out. "What did you do that for?" Gabriel demanded furiously as he sat up. "You do not touch Bronte until she is well!" Gideon growled. Gabriel looked uncomfortable but still angry. "I only kissed her, and she kissed me first!" Bronte reddened guiltily when Gideon sent her an irritated glare. "You are not well enough for that!" She glared back at him. "It was only supposed to be a kiss of affection for making the crutch for me!" Both men stared at her uncomprehendingly. "Like the cuddling?" Gabriel finally asked. Pleased that Gabriel had made the connection so quickly, Bronte smiled at him. "Yes. Like the cuddling." "I do not know what this cuddling is, but I do not want you cuddling her either!" Gideon said testily. "I was keeping her warm!" Gabriel snapped indignantly. "Oh. Why did you not say that? Never mind. Do not keep her warm either unless you have your cock in your loincloth! I will cut it off and shove it up your ass if I catch it any where near her cunt!" Bronte watched him stalk away with a mixture of indignation and ... pleasure at his thoughtfulness. She thought that was what it was, concern for her well being. She 292
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decided to interpret it that way anyway. It had made her feel as if he was protecting her because he was worried about her and that was all that really mattered. She had to fight both Gabriel and Jerico off of her the first time she tried to use the crutch. She'd waited until Gideon wasn't in the cave to try because she'd known he would be determined to help. "Thank you, but no," she said firmly. "I have to do this myself." They hovered anyway, convinced she couldn't—which only made her more determined to do it. Instead of looking relieved when she'd managed to stand using only the crutch for support, they only looked more angry and upset and doggedly followed her step for step as she took her first practice run with the crutch. Every time she wobbled, they threw their arms out to catch her until she was a nervous wreck and cussed them out and tried to run them off—tried, because they refused to leave or to stop following her around. She finally returned to her sleeping spot and settled again, more because they were getting on her nerves than because she was already tired—although she was. She waited to try again when she was alone in the cave. When she'd decided she'd gotten the hang of it, she used the crutch whenever she felt like getting up and moving around, but either it still got on their nerves or they just found it disturbing to watch her hobble around. Every time she got up, they would tense, as if expecting they would need to dive to catch her, and then when she'd walk from one side of the cave to the other and back again, they would watch her for several moments and then turn and stride from the cave. 293
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She was relieved at first that they'd decided to leave her alone and let her work out her muscles to strengthen them, but she couldn't help but notice that all of them were tense and on edge when they watched her and then would disappear for hours. She didn't have a mirror, which was probably a blessing, but she didn't need one to know she must look awful, and unattractively awkward when she tried to walk. She hadn't seen anything to groom with since the crash and knew her hair must look like a rat's nest by now. She bathed the best she could, but she never felt clean because she didn't have soap and nothing to dry off with afterward or to cover her nakedness except the same dirty blanket they'd recovered from the crash almost a week earlier and that was beginning to smell badly enough she would've considered burning it if it wasn't all she had to cover up with. They still looked as fresh and well groomed as ever! Either they'd found fresh water and were taking advantage of it, or they were bathing in the sea and maybe finger combing their hair while it was wet, because it didn't look as wild as hers felt. As soon as the men returned and settled to putting together a meal, Bronte pushed herself up with the crutch and hobbled over to the fire. "I need a bath," she announced baldly, addressing Gideon since she knew damned well it wasn't going to do any good to ask either Gabriel or Jerico. They'd just go ask Gideon themselves and tell her no if that was his verdict. "Gabriel, bring water for Bronte." 294
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Bronte frowned. "No! I mean a real bath, like getting in water, not slopping it over me!" He gave her a look. "There is no bath." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Then where have you been bathing?" "In the sea." "Well, that's where I want to bathe." "No." She would've stamped her foot if she'd had more than one good foot to stand on. "Why not?" He looked her over. "With the sun on it, your hair will be a beacon for any trog within seeing distance. And the water is cold and rough. It will beat against you and you are not strong enough to stand against it. Until I am sure you are ready to travel, I will not risk you being seen." It was almost more irritating that he had a reason for denying her than it would've been if he'd been unreasonable about it. If he was just being a tyrant, she could've at least had the satisfaction of telling him he was an asshole. "It's almost dark," she pointed out instead. "Once the sun is down...." "The water will feel more cold because there will be no sun to warm you and the sea will still be rough." She fumed. "I'd be alright if you carried me out. It's only rough close to the shore." He gave her a look that was a mixture of amusement and irritation. "It will still be cold." She curled her lips in a half smile. "But you can warm me." 295
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The look he sent her that time warmed her on the spot. He dismissed the interest her comment had sparked almost at once, however, shaking his head. "You are a stubborn woman, Bronte." "But you'll take me?" she asked, unable to hide her excitement. "Yes. I will take you ... And then I will beat you if you get sick from it!" "Yes!" she exclaimed happily. He looked amused. "You like the idea of me beating you?" She gave him a look. And then it dawned on her that he was teasing her! She stared at him a long moment, feeling a smile tugging at her lips. "That depends on what part of my anatomy you were thinking about pounding on." He looked confused for a fraction of a second, then enlightenment dawned. His gaze slid over her with heated speculation. "You are not that well," he said finally. "Bathe first and then eat?" she asked hopefully. He rolled his eyes, but glanced out the opening of the cave. The sun was just setting. He set what he was doing aside. "Gabriel, you and Jerico will stand guard on the beach," he said decisively. Moving to Bronte and taking her crutch, he set it aside and then lifted her into his arms and carried her out. "We should wash the blanket, too." "Tomorrow. You will have nothing dry to wrap in if we wash it now." 296
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She wrinkled her nose. "It's starting to smell like something that's been in an animal pen." "You will not mind that when you are cold." She would. On the other hand, he was right. Even with the almost constant wind off the sea it probably wouldn't dry before she was ready to sleep and a stinky blanket was better than no blanket. The water was cold. She sucked in an involuntary breath when he'd waded out far enough that it began to lap at her buttocks. He sent her a piercing look at the sound, but she resolutely clamped her teeth together. She was beginning to get uneasy about how deeply he was walking when he finally stopped and began to lower her slowly into the water. It was sheer torture. At first it was hard to decide if she was colder beneath the water or above it. He held her against his body, though, once her feet had finally touched the soft, shifting sand beneath the water and after a few minutes she began to feel warmer. Pushing at him until he gave her a little more room, she began to rub her hands over her body, wishing she had soap so that she would feel cleaner. "I will be so glad when we get home," she said absently. She discovered when she looked up at him that Gideon was watching her with a strange look on his face. "What?" He swallowed hard and looked away. "I look forward to reaching the city, as well." She studied his face searchingly. "What's wrong?" He looked uncomfortable. "We do not have a house," he said finally. "Gabriel, Jerico, and I have always stayed in the barracks when we are here. There seemed no reason to have 297
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more. We will find a house once we return, though, or built to suit ourselves." Bronte frowned. Somehow she thought the lack of a house was only part of what had unsettled him. "Where will we live until then?" He gave her that same strange look, but this time he smiled and moved closer. Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek. "We will find a place." He paused. "It seems ... strange to think of having a home. I had not thought beyond convincing you to sign with us. I do not think I really believed you would or I would have planned. I do not ordinarily overlook such important details." Bronte smiled and moved closer, settling her cheek against his chest. "It wouldn't have helped if you had planned. We would still have to find a place to live," she said, turning her head to kiss his chest. He ran his hands over her back, molding her against his length. For a moment, he merely held her. Finally, he caught her shoulders to steady her and stepped away. "I am not certain that I can manage only affection at the moment," he said huskily, then seemed to think it over. "I can. My cock can not." Bronte chuckled, but his comments stirred desire within her, too—for the second time that day. Undoubtedly, she thought wryly, she was getting much better. After a moment's hesitancy, where she wavered between the urge to tempt him and the realization that she wasn't in any shape to be having sex even if she did want it, she returned her attention to scrubbing herself the best she could with her 298
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hands and then wet her hair and scrubbed her scalp. When she'd rinsed it out the best she could, Gideon moved around her until he was behind her, urged her to tip her head back and used his fingers to sort the tangles as her hair floated in the water. It was not only surprisingly effective in bringing order to her wild locks, the water made it easier to untangle the snarls. She was shivering by the time they reached the beach and, as Gideon had said, grateful for the blanket even though it didn't smell particularly appealing. "Tomorrow," Gideon said as they finally settled to eat. "We will leave."
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Chapter Nineteen Bronte woke to the sound of the men packing the gear that they'd recovered from the crash. Seeing her stir, Gideon separated himself from the others and approached her. She saw he was caring a garment such as they wore and blinked at it sleepily before sending him a questioning glance. "It is not much, but better, I think, than nothing," he said gruffly. "We tore the uniform from you to attend your injuries." Smiling her thanks, Bronte took it and struggled to get to her feet. She saw his hand clench as he watched her and sent him another questioning glance when she'd finally managed to stand. "It bothers you, doesn't it?" she asked uncomfortably. He lifted his brows. "That I'm ... such a mess now." He frowned, a flicker of uncertainty flashing in his eyes. "That I'm ... awkward and scarred." "Yes," he said. "It ... disturbs me a great deal that you were hurt. And more that you do not want my help." The hurt that had pricked her eased. "You don't think I'm ugly?" He sent her a startled look. "No. I think you are beautiful." She smiled at him tentatively then, wondering if he was only saying it to make her feel better. But then she realized Gideon didn't lie. He withheld the truth. He might say only a partial truth, but he'd never lied to her. "It's not that I don't 300
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want your help, you know," she said more easily as she focused on trying to figure out how to put the loincloth on. "I just need to do as much as I can for myself." He knelt when he saw she was having trouble figuring it out, took the loincloth from her, and put it on her, adjusting it so that it fit snugly around her hips. "I know this ... to regain your strength, but also because you are strong willed and want to do things yourself." He frowned. "It made me feel ... necessary when you needed my help, and not so much now." When he looked up at her, his gaze snagged on her breasts. He reached to cup one in each hand, massaged them gently and then withdrew his hands. "We need to cover these pretty things, as well," he said, his eyes gleaming with both amusement and desire. "Else Gabriel and Jerico will be tripping over their feet." Bronte lifted her head to look at them when he said that. Both men were glaring at Gideon. "And you would not?" Jerico finally said, irritation evident in his voice. Gideon slid an easy grin in their direction. "Nay! I am more surefooted than either of you. I would stop to look, and then I would step." He frowned as he straightened and looked around. "I think we must sacrifice a piece of the smelly blanket unless either of you wish to donate your loincloth and go about with your cock and balls swinging." Bronte chuckled. "That might distract me." Gideon, who'd just reached down to snag the blanket, looked up at her and grinned. "In that case, mayhap we will all donate." 301
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She laughed but shook her head. "I wouldn't want your pretty things to get sunburned." "There is that," Gabriel agreed, sounding mildly disappointed as he turned away at last and focused on stirring up the fire from the night before to heat food to break their fast. Gideon held up the blanket and studied it a moment and finally tore a section from one end. Removing his sword, he cut a slit in the center of the piece and helped her slip it over her head. Bronte stared down at it doubtfully. It covered her, but it wouldn't long if the wind caught the open sides. Using her teeth to start a tear, she pulled a couple of narrow strips from the bottom edge, tied them together, and then tied the piece around her beneath her breasts to hold the sides together. While they ate, Gideon outlined the plan. "You will take point, Jerico, since Gabriel was last to watch and will not be as alert. I will carry Bronte and you, Gabriel, will bring up the rear. We will make better time if we follow the beach as long as possible, but it is more narrow here than I had thought because of the cliffs. We will most likely have to climb the cliffs when the tide comes in." He looked at Jerico questioningly when he'd finished. "I did not have much time to study the terrain," Jerico said. "But I am certain you are right. We will have to climb. The rocks extend mayhap fifteen or twenty clicks southward from this point." "How long do you think it will take us to get to the city?" Bronte asked. 302
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Jerico frowned and sent Gideon a questioning glance. "We do not know this area well," Gideon said. "We have spent far more time building our city than mapping this world. There is more of this world unknown than known to us." Uneasiness settled in the pit of Bronte's stomach. She'd suspected they must be a long way from civilization or someone would have found them by now—it'd been a full week by her reckoning since they'd crashed. But she'd been certain it still couldn't be that far. They'd recognized the sea. "We could be a half a world away," she said numbly. "We could," Gideon agreed, "but we are not. The ship entered the atmosphere only a little off course." "Five degrees," Gabriel supplied helpfully, earning a glare from Gideon. "...And drifted more as we came down." "But ... five degrees! So high up that could be thousands of miles!" Bronte exclaimed in dismay. Gabriel looked uncomfortable. Bronte glanced from one man to the other. "You needn't be glaring daggers and poor Gabriel!" she said tightly. "Don't you think I would have noticed anyway?" Gideon's lips tightened. "We do not have precise calculations." "Are we even on the same continent?" "Yes," Gabriel, Jerico, and Gideon said almost at the same moment. Bronte studied their expressions for a moment. "How many continents are there on this planet?" she asked suspiciously. 303
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Gabriel glanced at Gideon and decided to hold his peace. "One," Gideon finally admitted with great reluctance. Bronte stared at him for a long moment, but finally subsided with the reflection that knowing before wouldn't have changed anything anymore than knowing now did. She was still irritated that they hadn't told her. She supposed it might be their idea of 'protecting' her. She swallowed her irritation with an effort. "So if we follow the coast we're bound to find the city, right?" "We do not need to follow the coast to find our way. We will follow the coast because it is less likely that we will be attacked by the trogs. You may have noticed from their smell that they are not fond of water." "It doesn't mean we'll be safer by the water just because they stink," Bronte said testily. "We will," Gideon said implacably. "They can not swim and they are terrified of the water." "You know this because?" "We are soldiers. We are too far from the Confederation to concern ourselves with them beyond maintaining a small army to defend ourselves from the unlikely possibility of a random attack. Unless we have business that takes us into their territory there is little need for our services in that respect. We are no more welcome to the natives of this world, but we have taken what we need and now we must defend it from attack. Many times now, we have dealt with them." Bronte stared at him in dismay as it sank home that she hadn't completely appreciated their 'livelihood'. She'd only been thinking in terms of the dangerous lives they had led, 304
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hadn't considered that that wasn't something in the past that, while awful, was no longer a threat. She was going to be worrying about them every time they left on a mission— forever. How did women deal with the uncertainty of never knowing when their man left if he was coming back? "Are they crazy?" "They are of low intelligence, extremely territorial, and ferocious." She nodded absently, her mind still wrestling with fresh anxieties. She might've been half dead at the time of the attack, but she hadn't been so out of it that she hadn't noticed the trogs were fierce to the point of insanity. Their stupidity in attacking cyborgs might have been understandable in the beginning, before they'd had the chance to figure out what they were dealing with. Obviously they did know by now, though. They were just laboring under the impression that they could still take them if they threw enough bodies at them. The banter that had lightened her spirits only a little earlier hadn't lifted them enough to combat the thoughts the conversation had stirred up in her mind and she didn't feel nearly as hopeful as they gathered their belongings and headed out. She had to be carried. As much as she hated the fact that she was an added burden, it wouldn't help them for her to be hobbling on her crutch. She would've slowed them down traveling on her own steam if she'd been whole. As it was, they would have to travel at a snail's pace with her walking. 305
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Knowing that didn't stop it from chaffing her. Knowing they could have traveled much faster, probably wouldn't be in nearly as much danger without her, wore on her spirits even more. "If you could find a safe place to leave me, you could travel faster without me," she said, tentatively voicing her thoughts aloud. Gideon sent her a look that questioned her sanity. "I'm just saying—if you look at it purely from a logical standpoint it would make more sense to leave me—go quickly to find help, and then come back for me." Gideon's lips tightened. "No." Bronte looked at him indignantly. He was in his 'unyielding' mode and once he reached that plain his reasoning was the only one that counted. "It's just something to consider...." "It is not." "Why not?" "There is no safe place to leave you," he said tightly. "One could stay with me and the other two go on." Gideon expelled an irritated breath. "I do not care how reasonable it may seem to you—or even if it is logical. I will not leave you. You may argue all you please. I will not change my mind." Bronte huffed. "It will take a lot longer to make this trip if one of you has to carry me all the way." He gave her an indecipherable look. "It could take forever, Bronte, and it would not matter. Without you there would be no reason to journey." She ruminated over that for several minutes, trying not to allow herself to take that the way it had sounded. "Oh," she 306
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said finally as it dawned on her that she had misinterpreted the remark, "the mission. I forgot." "You are my woman now. Protecting you is the only 'mission' of any importance to me. I will allow no other consideration to take precedence over that." Bronte blinked at him in surprise. A smile curled her lips as it sank in that he really had meant his remarks the way she'd thought. Tightening her arms around his neck, she dropped her head to his shoulder. "That is ... so sweet!" she murmured. She felt a frisson of surprise ripple through him. "Which part?" he asked curiously. She nuzzled her face against his neck and then gave him a light peck there. "All of it." His cheek creased in a smile. "Then why were you giving me your stubborn face?" "Because I thought you were just being unreasonable." "And now I am not?" "No, you still are. I just like why you're being unreasonable." He chuckled. The sound warmed her as much as his comments had. "I will be certain to make such remarks as often as possible if they please you so much." "Only if you mean them." "I would not say something that was untrue." "I know. That's one of the things I love about you." He almost missed a step, but recovered quickly. She was a little disappointed that he didn't ask her to elaborate. A good thirty minutes passed in silence before he broke it. 307
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"There are other things?" Bronte couldn't prevent a smile, but since she still had her head on his shoulder she knew he couldn't see it. "What?" she asked, pretending she had no idea what he was asking. "You said that it was 'one'?" Resisting the urge to chuckle, she made a point of thinking it over. "Mmm," she finally responded. "Yes, definitely one of them." "But there are others?" he persisted. "Mmmhmm," she made the sound of agreement, thoroughly enjoying teasing him by that time. He was silent for several moments. "What?" She was tempted to pretend incomprehension, just to see how long it would take to provoke his temper, but she decided she'd teased him enough. "Pretty much everything." "You can not name anything," he said, his voice so carefully neutral she realized with dismay that he didn't believe her and he was disappointed because he didn't. Oddly enough, though, when she settled to study it over, she realized she couldn't think of anything specific. It defied a break down into a list. It was just the way he made her feel and that was too nebulous to put into words. Everything he said or did made her feel safe, special, desirable, or beautiful, or all of those things at the same time. The only specifics that came to mind sounded far more like lust than affection, and she didn't want to give him that impression. It finally occurred to her, though, that it wouldn't just be easier to give him that kind of list, it would be easier for him to understand. "I think you're handsome," she offered finally. 308
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He twisted his head, trying to see her expression and she lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. Doubt seemed to war with relief in his eyes as his gaze flickered over her face. "You do?" She smiled faintly. "Very handsome." He looked pleased. She lifted her head until her lips were near his ear. "And you have a beautiful cock." He stumbled again. "It feels ... wonderful when it's inside of me." He ground his teeth. "Stop it, Bronte." She chuckled huskily. "Or what?" "Or I will throw you down and fuck you senseless." She laughed. "Promises, promises." "It is a promise, woman ... When you are better." That couldn't be soon enough to suit her. She was sick of being an invalid. As much better as she felt, she was still so far from completely recovered it had begun to feel as if she would never feel the same again. It was exhausting and uncomfortable to be carried. She shuddered to think what misery she was inflicting on Gideon. His strength and endurance were nothing short of amazing, but as strong as he was, as stoically as he endured, she knew he had to feel the strain and he felt pain just as she did. Climbing the cliff was a nightmare. She couldn't climb it herself and Gideon couldn't climb carrying her in his arms as he had been. She had to loop her arms around his neck and hang on his back and she didn't even want to think about how hard that made it for him to climb, quite aside from the fact 309
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that his arms and shoulders must feel as if they were going to fall off already from carrying her for hours. He didn't object when she suggested that maybe Jerico or Gabriel could carry her a while, which she couldn't help but think was significant. They'd been walking the rim of the cliffs for nearly an hour when they heard the sound Bronte thought was going to figure in her nightmares for the rest of her life. The screams of challenge were blood curdling. Jerico promptly set her on her feet and the three men formed a semi-circle around her as they had before, swords drawn as they waited for the horde that had burst from the edges of the forest with the first cry. Bronte divided her attention between the trogs and the drop at their backs. There was no fortunate circumstance of discovering a nice wide path down. The cliffs were nearly sheer at this point not even offering much in the way of hand or footholds if they had to retreat. The only option they had would be to leap from the top and hope they landed in water deep enough to keep them from dying, and even that was doubtful. She was certain they must be forty or fifty feet from the water's surface. If she survived such a fall, her healing leg wouldn't be able to withstand the impact. There was no retreat that she could see along the cliffs either. The rocky ledge still stretched out in both directions as far as she could see. Coldness gripped her as she realized they were in a fight or die situation. The trogs seemed to have no interest in taking captives and they couldn't flee even if they wanted to. 310
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As before, Gideon drew the laser pistol and used it to take out as many as he could. Unlike the first time, however, the pistol ceased to fire before he'd killed more than a half dozen. Tossing the now useless weapon aside, Gideon's face was grim as he settled into a fighter's stance and waited for the first to reach them. Bronte glanced down the cliff again as cyborg blades of steel rang against the blades of the trogs. She was pretty convinced that she couldn't have climbed down if her leg hadn't still been in a splint. With it, she had no chance at all. Jump, she wondered as the battle began to slowly inch toward her? She couldn't bring herself to do it and turned to watch in horror as Gideon, Gabriel, and Jerico swung their blades with fatal, seemingly tireless precision, facing first one opponent and then another, shifting each time one of the trogs tried to dart past them to get to her. Blood flew in every direction, spouting like fountains from the trogs as the cyborgs hacked them to pieces, flying off the blades of their weapons as the swung them over and over until bodies and body parts formed gruesome piles all around them and the trogs were falling over their dead to reach the cyborgs. Bronte surveyed the drop again as the circle closed more tightly around her, knowing the moment of choice was nearly upon them. "Do not even think about it!" Gideon growled. Bronte jerked all over, more unnerved that he'd spared the time to glance at her than she was that he'd correctly interpreted her indecision. 311
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"Close ranks!" he bellowed directly behind that order. Instantly, Jerico and Gabriel stepped closer and Gideon stepped back. "Put your arms around my neck as you did before!" Gideon snapped as he bent down for her to reach around his shoulders. "And hold tightly." She didn't even think to argue with him although she would almost have preferred to jump without him. Actually, not. She didn't think she could make herself jump. At least if Gideon jumped with her she wouldn't have to make the choice. Throwing her arms around his neck, she locked them as tightly as she could and prayed she could hold her grip when they impacted with the water. To her surprise, he crouched even lower. She bent with him, holding tighter. She almost lost her grip when Gideon, instead of whirling and leaping from the cliff, sprang almost straight up. "Behind them!" he bellowed as he launched himself skyward at breath taking speed. Bronte's stomach didn't just go weightless. It couldn't decide which way to pitch. They soared over the stunned, gaping trogs as if Gideon had suddenly sprouted wings. Almost as if time had slowed, she turned her head to rest her cheek against Gideon's shoulders and saw Gabriel soaring beside them, higher, almost spinning as he slashed at the men now below him as he passed over their heads. Sheer awe flooded her at the sight ... and then they landed. Gideon absorbed much of the impact with his legs, allowing them to bend, and the abrupt stop still jarred Bronte loose. She sprawled on the ground at Gideon's feet. 312
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Jerico and Gabriel, unencumbered as Gideon had been, landed several yards further away, but they whipped around almost before they had touched down and raced forward as Gideon bounded over her, landing behind her. Bellowing their own war cries, they charged the trogs, who'd just discovered they were now trapped at the edge of the cliff. She thought the trogs would have fought even more ferociously if they'd had the time to overcome their shocked surprise. They didn't. The cyborgs had executed the maneuver so swiftly and charged that the primitives barely had time to turn to meet them, and no time at all to realize how closely they were to the cliff's edge. Three went over immediately, shoved off by those trying to break their forward race and turn. Another five fell over as the 'rear guard' suddenly discovered they were in the forefront of the battle and tried to avoid being impaled on the cyborg swords. Within a matter of minutes, Gideon and Gabriel and Jerico had dispatched the rest, some with their swords and others by seizing them and pitching them from the cliff. Bronte lay where she'd fallen, watching them with a mixture awe, relief ... and pride. As wonderful as she'd thought they were before, watching the absolute beauty of their fluid movements, seeing their skill and agility and strength was like watching the finest of athletes perform seemingly impossible feats. And these wonderful, absolutely amazing men thought she was special! Luckily for her they weren't nearly as discriminating as they should have been. 313
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Her pride and joy dissolved, however, as she descended enough to notice that they hadn't moved. They were still laboring for breath, standing, but in a way that she finally realized denoted determination to remain on their feet. It was hardly surprising, and yet it made her heart clutch in her chest. She examined them more carefully with her gaze, searching for wounds. She could see nothing, however. They were so spattered with blood there was no way to tell how much was theirs, if any, but she knew they couldn't have come off from the encounter totally unscathed. As remarkable as they were, they'd been injured in the crash just as she had, and then fought a standing battle against the trogs, and now another one. Even if they hadn't sacrificed some of the nanos that helped them heal so rapidly to save her, the nanos had had far more to deal with in a very short time than she thought would be 'normal'. The thoughts had no sooner formed in her mind that the urge hit her to rush to them and check them to reassure herself that they weren't badly hurt. She couldn't 'rush' anywhere, though. She couldn't even get up because she'd had to abandon her crutch to hold on to Gideon. She tried anyway. Seeing her efforts, Gabriel looked around for the crutch and Gideon and Jerico strode toward her and crouched to examine her. "You were hurt from the fall?" Gideon asked, looking her over searchingly. Bronte's chin wobbled at his concern for her when he'd nearly gotten killed—they all had. She shook her head. "You're hurt," she managed finally. 314
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He stared at her for a long moment. "It is nothing. I am more tired than hurt." Even admitting that much told her it was worse that she'd thought. "If it's no more than a scratch it's too much," she said, bursting into tears. Gideon and Jerico exchanged an uneasy glance. "She is unsettled from the fighting," Jerico said finally. "I am not unsettled by the fight!" Bronte said angrily, mopping at the tears with the back of her hand. "Yes, I am! But I'm upset because you're hurt! Let me see where you're hurt," she demanded. Gabriel had arrived by that time. The three men exchanged speaking glances that annoyed the hell out of her. "It is nothing more than a nick here and there and you could not see it for all the muck," Gideon said reasonably. "I want to look anyway," Bronte said fiercely. Shrugging, Gideon lifted his sword to sheathe it. As he did, Bronte spied three gashes along his side across his ribs, another on his chest and one on his belly. There were more on his arms and hands and even a couple on his thighs. As he'd said, they were 'nicks', none of them deep or long but all of them had drawn blood. Gabriel and Jerico looked as bad— like pin cushions and even though none of the cuts looked life threatening, together they'd let a good bit of blood, probably more than they could afford given the fact that they'd barely had time to recover from the last blood letting. No wonder they were so tired. It wasn't just exertion. It was from blood loss. 315
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It frustrated her that she couldn't even get up to attend their wounds, couldn't at least bathe them off and fuss over them. "We should go now," Gideon said when she'd finished examining Gabriel's wounds. "I think I'll walk awhile," she said. "I'm sore from being carried." Gideon stared at her for a long moment and finally nodded, looking down at the blood and even more disgusting flecks of flesh clinging to him. "We will bathe in the sea once we have crossed the rocks." She hated for him to think she didn't want him to touch her because of the mess, but she was not going to let any of them carry her when she could see they were going to have a hard time carrying themselves. Besides, they would have to move slowly if she walked and that would give them a little rest, not as much as actually sitting down to rest, but at least they wouldn't be pushing themselves to hurry. Without feeling any qualms about it at all, she began to complain about being tired as soon as they'd reached the beach again and asked if they couldn't rest for a while if Gideon was determined not to make camp yet. He didn't like it. She could tell he didn't. He kept scanning the cliffs and the edge of the woods while she scanned him to make certain his wounds had closed. Finally, he turned to look at her assessingly. She felt his gaze, knew as she saw his expression out of the corner of her eye that it had dawned on him she usually didn't complain and that he was wondering if she was really 316
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too tired to keep going. She ignored the look examining Gabriel and Jerico carefully as they returned from bathing. To her relief, she saw that most of their wounds had closed. Gabriel had a long gash on one thigh that was still bleeding sluggishly. She thought it was the fact that it was an almost horizontal slash that made it gape slightly. Tugging him down by pulling on his wrist, she examined it more closely. It wasn't deep, but the wound needed staples to close it, she thought worriedly. After looking around hopefully for something to use, she finally tore a strip from the front flap of his loincloth, pushed the wound together the best she could with her hands and then tied the strip of fabric around his thigh. She didn't think it would hold it together well, if at all, but it made her feel better to at least try. He glanced at Gideon when she'd finished and when Gideon only nodded, sprawled on his back beside her and closed his eyes. Gideon had said he had the last watch the night before, she remembered. It was no wonder he looked so tired when it had been so long since he'd rested. After studying him a moment, Bronte yielded to the urge to touch him, stroking his face soothingly. He smiled faintly but in a moment his face relaxed and he began to breathe heavily with sleep. She looked away from him as Gideon settled on her other side, her gaze going instantly to the cut she'd noticed on him that was still bleeding. The slash across his ribs wasn't even as deep as Gabriel's, but because it was almost completely horizontal gravity was working against the industrious little nanos. He caught her face in the crook of his hand, tipping 317
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her face up for his inspection. "It will close," he said finally, lifting a finger and rubbing at the worried line between her brows. Releasing her after a moment, he settled on his side on one elbow looking up at her. She gazed back at him questioningly for a moment and finally reached for him, tugging until he finally settled his head in her lap. He released a deep sigh, closing his eyes as she stroked his temple as she had Gabriel's. After a few minutes, Jerico sat down behind her. His back bumped hers and she tipped her head to glance back at him. He nuzzled the side of his face along hers for a moment and then returned his attention to his watch. Cramped and uncomfortable as she was, and despite the ordeal they'd just endured, or maybe because of it, Bronte felt a blissful peace settle inside of her. Amusement flickered to life as it dawned on her she was sitting like a blissful idiot among some of the most deadly men in the universe. It was a little like sitting in the midst of a pride of lions and petting them as if they were kittens.
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Chapter Twenty It was one of those moments when one's mind connects dot to dot, wandering idly from one thought to another until a wholly unexpected picture emerges. Bronte was exhausted. They'd been traveling for more than a week, stopping to sleep—although no one else got even nearly as much sleep as she did since the men took turns standing watch—eat, and occasionally just to rest for a brief time. She knew she didn't have nearly as much reason for her exhaustion as the men did—and they didn't even look half as exhausted as she felt. Occasionally she would walk for a short period to stretch her legs and give them a break from carrying her, but mostly they carried her. And she was healing well. She thought if it wasn't for the splint on her leg she could've walked more and hardly held them back at all—except she couldn't take the splint off yet and dragging one heavy, stiff leg wore her out fairly quickly. Then, abruptly, while cataloguing her ailments and wondering why she was so fatigued, it dawned on her that she hadn't had her period even once since she'd been captured. Her heart performed a little two-step when the thought hit her. Mentally, she stopped, rewinding, and then going back over everything in her mind, but she knew even before she did that she wasn't mistaken. She was prone to put that little monthly disability out of her mind as soon as it wasn't a problem anymore, but she'd been captured with only the clothes she stood up in—nothing else. She wouldn't have 319
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had her period and then blithely dismissed it if it had presented a real 'problem' like it would have if she hadn't had feminine products to get her through it. Excitement followed that thought and then died just as quickly. She couldn't be pregnant. She might have been, but there was no way she could still be pregnant after the crash. She'd been injured too badly, lost too much blood, and the site of her injury had been close enough to cause trauma to her reproductive organs, might even have totally destroyed one of her ovaries. She'd feared that possibility at the time, she remembered. She would've miscarried. Even if that metal rod had miraculously missed everything of vital importance, the shock to her system would've been enough to cause her to miscarry. Her memories directly after the crash weren't reliable. Probe them though she might, she couldn't recall anything that indicated vaginal bleeding. Her stomach had hurt, naturally enough—she'd hurt all over—but there was no way to distinguish, now, if there'd been anything beyond her actual injuries causing pain. She couldn't remember anything like the cramping that she should've experienced with a miscarriage. She still hadn't started, though, and it had been weeks now since the crash. She didn't know what to make of it, but she found that she couldn't summon even a flicker of hope that something wonderful and miraculous had happened to her. Fear 320
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dominated her mind. All she could think of was the impossibility of being pregnant and the likelihood that something terrible was going on inside of her. She'd never thought she was a pessimist. She was more inclined to go the other way, but she was a physician and she was a realist in that respect. God only knew what the nanos, encountering a ruptured ovary, had decided to do to 'fix' it. It was bad enough the nanos had been designed for cyborgs, but hers had been designed for male cyborgs. She hadn't considered that before. "Are you ill?" Bronte sent Gideon a wide eyed look at that question, wondering if he'd noticed something she hadn't. "You have turned as pale as death." Bronte blinked rapidly at that, her mind scurrying around for some explanation other than the truth. "I ... uh ... It's nothing, really. I just had a little dizziness." That much was the truth, anyway. She felt faint with fright and a sudden urgency to examine herself to see if she could tell anything about her abdomen that might explain what was going on inside of her. Gideon frowned, studying her face searchingly. "Why would you feel dizzy if you are not ill?" There were times, Bronte reflected, when Gideon's sharp eyes and his ... obsession with her well being weren't at all welcome. She supposed it was a little of everything, not an obsession—his sense of responsibility, his orders, and the fact that she'd nearly died and hadn't recovered the way he 321
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thought she should—probably the last most of all. He couldn't be accustomed to seeing anyone laid low for such a long time. But it was still really annoying at times—especially now. She sent him a weak smile. "I just remembered I'd left something on the stove when we left Earth," she said jokingly. Typically, that sort of joke went right over his head. He frowned at her speculatively for several moments. "What thought would affect you in that way?" Bronte's jaw went slack with surprise. "It was nothing. Really," she added when he looked unconvinced. "Do you think we might be getting closer to the city?" He gave her a look. "We are one week closer than we were before," he replied dryly. "Do not change the subject." "Then do not ask me something I don't want to talk about," Bronte said testily. His face tautened with anger. She could see he was wrestling with his temper. After a few minutes, he seemed to tamp it. "If something was wrong you would tell me?" "If I knew something was wrong." "Then this thing that worries you is something you think might be wrong?" When had he become so perceptive? It dawned on her abruptly that she'd overheard him say once that he was very good at observing. She hadn't really given that a great deal of thought, but it occurred to her that he'd had a very long time to study her, if that was what he'd been doing, and to begin to understand her. 322
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Realizing that he wasn't going to give up easily, she dropped her head to his shoulder. "I'm just tired," she muttered. "If it is nothing, then why is it that you do not want to tell me?" She released an exasperated sigh. "Just ... leave it alone, Gideon. Please. When I've worked it out in my head I'll tell you." She could tell he was still irritated—actually angry, she supposed, because she'd teased him about it until she'd convinced him it must be something really bad. And the worst of it was she was afraid he was right. **** One fairly minor skirmish with the trogs, which was minor because they had only happened upon a handful that were apparently out hunting, and one week later, Bronte was more convinced than ever that something was wrong. The lack of a period she could've dismissed on a couple of counts—weight loss, trauma, or even mental stress. Something was definitely growing in her belly, however, and it seemed to her that it was growing way too fast to be something delightful. She'd lost a noticeable amount of weight, to her anyway, everywhere except in her belly. She couldn't tell whether it was actually larger than it had been before or if it only looked like it was because she'd lost weight elsewhere. That didn't matter, though. What mattered was that it should be smaller like the rest of her and wasn't—which meant it was growing, but she couldn't tell how fast. 323
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At the very outside, assuming there was any possibility of pregnancy, she couldn't be more than two and half months into gestation because it hadn't been longer than that since she'd had sex with Gideon the first time. It seemed farfetched that she could've gotten impregnated then. It only took once, of course, but the odds seemed astronomical to her that everything would've come together to make it happen right then. After some hopeful consideration she finally decided that nothing fit to make it a pregnancy. She'd had sex several times with both Gideon and Jerico, but that had been later on and she certainly shouldn't have been showing if she was less than two months. Poor Gabriel wouldn't even have been in the running if it was a possibility. She hadn't had sex with him but twice, and the only time she'd had penetration was right before the crash. Not that any of that mattered. The chances were that none of the three, no matter how hopeful they might be—or she was, for that matter—would ever have been able to impregnate her. She wouldn't have been nearly as frightened if she'd been any where near civilization where she could get help. But not only was she not, they had no idea how long it might take to reach the city. It could be months more and she might not have months. It was inevitable that they would notice their 'beautiful' Bronte was beginning to look strangely misshapen. The top Gideon had made for her from the piece of blanket covered 324
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the rounding mound. She had to bathe, though, and Gideon was convinced she still couldn't bathe alone. For that matter she was convinced of it. The splint made her so awkward she was afraid she'd drown if he, or one of the others, wasn't there to keep the current from carrying her off so she didn't really make any attempt to assert herself and demand privacy. She wasn't certain who noticed it first, but she finally realized they had when she caught first one and then another staring at her belly, or rather sliding glances in that direction. She wasn't so conceited she mistook it for sexual interest. She would've liked to have thought so. It was hard living among three extremely attractive men without thinking about sex, particularly when it was three men she also happened to be mated with, and with whom she'd thoroughly enjoyed fucking. She would've liked to think that the drought brought about by her injuries bothered them at least as much as it did her. She was sure it did up until her belly began to change shape. Then, she wasn't so sure. For days after the first look she'd encountered, Bronte pretended she didn't notice them staring at her and they pretended they weren't staring. It was Gideon, as usual, who took charge of the situation. She'd finally decided to remove the splint and check the progress of her healing. The bone, she discovered, had knit. She couldn't tell anything for certain without a scan, naturally, but to her hands it felt whole and she couldn't detect any pain from pressure that might indicate that it was 325
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still weak. Cautiously optimistic, she'd finally decided to try putting a little weight on it to test it further and used her crutch to stand and walk a little way. There were twinges, but nothing that seemed to indicate she still needed the splint. "Are you certain that you should be doing this?" Gideon asked, rising from the fire he'd built and crossing the sand to stand next to her. Bronte looked up at him and then glanced at Gabriel and Jerico, who were busying skinning and cleaning the animal they'd killed for food since they'd pretty much run out of the food they'd brought with them. Neither of them were looking at her, but she had a feeling this had been a group decision. They had a way of ganging up on her and then sending Gideon to play 'bad guy'. She faced Gideon again. "I'm testing the leg," she said finally. "It feels healed enough to walk on it." He frowned, but thoughtfully. "It has had time?" Bronte chewed her lip. Under ordinary circumstances, the answer was no. "It seems to have had time," she compromised. "This means it should not." "I think the nanos helped it heal more quickly. I examined it. I'm not going to risk breaking it again." He looked unconvinced. "Alright!" Bronte said testily. "I'll put the splint back on ... for a few more days. But after I take a bath." He nodded, satisfied. "I will bathe with you while Gabriel and Jerico set up the meat to roast." 326
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Bronte was a little irritated until it occurred to her that she wouldn't have her splint on and that opened up possibilities. As much as she appreciated the fact that Gideon had seen to it that none of them tried to initiate sex while she'd been recovering, she felt well enough now to test that, too. Setting her crutch down, she held most of her weight on her good leg and undressed. Gideon scooped her up before she could even consider trying to walk without the crutch and carried her into the water until it was waist deep on him before lowering her to her feet. Disengaging herself from his hold, she stepped away from him when her feet had touched the sandy bottom. The buoyancy of the water supported her enough she wasn't concerned about her leg even if she'd been premature in taking the splint off and she was anxious to clean up and see if she could coax Gideon into remembering she was a woman, not just an invalid. She still mourned the lack of fresh water and soap to bathe, or even the type of cleansing units she'd had before she left Earth, though she'd not only gotten used to bathing with water, she'd discovered she liked it. Bathing in the sea was different. She enjoyed that, too, but it didn't leave her feeling clean like fresh water and soap. It was probably the heavy salt content, she thought, and very likely she still would've felt sticky even if she'd had soap, but she liked smelling clean and feeling clean not just thinking she must be clean if she soaked in water long enough and scrubbed her hands over herself. 327
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The water wasn't at all kind to her hair, either. It wasn't as glossy and soft as it had been before, but she wasn't sure the water was entirely responsible for that. Her hair was lighter and she knew that was from the sun. She suspected the sun's rays had damaged her hair just as it had her skin—lightening her hair to a brighter, less subtle red and darkening her skin. Not for the first time, she wondered about her all over appearance. She hadn't been beautiful before and she knew damn well nothing that had happened to her had improved her looks. It had Gideon's, she thought as she studied him surreptitiously, and he hadn't even needed it. His skin had darkened to a more golden color and his dark ash blond hair had lightened to a paler blond and the sharp contrast had added a unique appeal all on its own. Like her, he'd also lost weight, but it had only seemed to give him a leaner more muscular look all over and it made his face even more appealing—stronger, more angular, more masculine somehow—made all three men look even more virile. He never really relaxed his guard anymore. On the ship, he and Gabriel and Jerico had seemed to spend most of their time squabbling and carousing like rowdy teenage boys. From the moment of first threat, though, they'd gone into rigid military mode and now, even when they appeared to be relaxed, they weren't. They never allowed themselves to get distracted by a difference of opinion as they had before—in fact, there didn't seem to be a difference of opinion. They worked together almost as if they were of one mind. 328
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But then maybe it was just that, as soldiers, they each knew their role in the scheme of things? Gabriel and Jerico were the foot soldiers and Gideon the leader they looked to to decide the best course of action and the best usage of their skills? It was outside their roles as military men that they were adrift and uncertain. What everyone else considered the 'real' world was chaos and confusion for them and it made them feel awkward and unsure of themselves because they didn't know what to say or how to behave. She liked both sides. Before, she'd felt as if they needed her. Now, she felt completely protected by them and she realized with a touch of surprise that they'd created the perfect symbiotic relationship—from her viewpoint, anyway. They met all of her needs. She wasn't as certain as she would've liked to be that she met all of theirs. It was important to her, though, to do her best to give them what they needed just as they gave her what she needed. They probably didn't need the outlet sex gave them nearly as much now as they had when there'd been too little to excise all their excess testosterone. Since the crash, they'd had almost more ways to expend it than they could handle— fighting for their lives, and pushing their bodies to the limit in physical expenditure, and having to hunt for food to supplement their dwindling supplies. It had been a conscious decision not to approach her for sex out of consideration for her injuries, she knew, but she thought the other things had made it easier to exert that self-control. 329
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She needed it, though. It wasn't just that she wanted it, wanted to feel the pleasure they could give her. She needed the reassurance that they still wanted her, still found her desirable. She got that assurance the moment she moved closer to Gideon. The surge of the sea around them bumped them lightly against one another in an imitation of the sexual act and his cock rose hard against her in response. To her consternation, though, he grasped her hips, holding her slightly away from him even as she tried to initiate sex by stroking her hands along his body. Desire filled his eyes, darkening them, but there was a question in them, as well. "I do not think you are as well as you believe," he said gruffly. She ignored the twinge of irritation that comment elicited. "Who's the doctor here?" she murmured, leaning closer to nibble at his chest with her lips. "If I believed it was the doctor making the decision based upon skills, I would not doubt, but you have none of the things you need to test to make an informed decision, so I do not think it is the doctor making this decision. And, while I am no physician, I have more experience, I am certain, with wounds. I know how those wounds should have affected you and how you should have progressed in recovering, and you came far closer to dying than I liked or expected and have taken much more time to recover than I anticipated. "As much as I would enjoy fucking you until you were screaming with pleasure, I would far rather wait until I am 330
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certain that would be the results and not further injury that would take more time to recover from." Bronte's irritation mounted. "I feel well enough." "But you do not know that you are." Thoroughly annoyed by that time, Bronte let out a huff of anger and turned away from him. He caught her, pulling her back against his body and holding her. "It is not that I am not tempted," he murmured huskily near her ear. "But I can not trust that I would be as careful of you as I needed to be, because I can not remain in control of my desires when we come together. I have tried and all that it has taught me is that no amount of determination to hold onto my control will make a difference. I still lose my ability to reason. "And I am not the only one who wants you or who has a right to want you. As much as I would like to ignore Gabriel and Jerico and only concern myself with my desires, we can not make this agreement between us work if we do not consider every partner equally. "If I do not consider the danger to you, I can not expect them to. And while I might be able to be careful enough of you to do this, they will also expect to have you, and I trust them less than I do myself. In battle, I trust them implicitly. With you, I do not. I know that they would not want to hurt you, would never deliberately hurt you, but they are accustomed to being told what they can and can not do." Mollified, Bronte ceased trying to pull away from him. Not that it had done any good to try except to let him know that she wasn't willingly allowing him to hold her. 331
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It was annoying, though, that he always seemed to be right, always made her feel as if she was being unreasonable. Maybe because she was much of the time, but then that was because emotions tended to be unreasonable and she couldn't help being governed by them anymore than he could help that he didn't have them to govern him, but had cold, hard reason instead. The temptation to see if she could push him beyond his control was thrumming through her, though, in spite of the fact that even she didn't think she was up to having sex with all three of them. It was unfair. She knew it was, but she didn't especially care about being fair at the moment. While she was considering how little she cared about the fairness of getting her way at the moment, Gideon stroked a hand across her belly and cupped the mound there. "What is this?" There was no surprise in his voice as if he'd just realized there was a rounded mound there when there hadn't been before. He'd taken advantage of her distraction and proximity to examine what had been bothering him for some time. Her heart thudded uncomfortably, but this time not with desire. Bronte swallowed against the sudden knot in her throat that was a combination of fear and reluctance in having to face something she didn't really want to face. "I don't know," she said finally. "It is not ... right, is it?"
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She gnawed her lip for a moment. "I don't think so," she admitted reluctantly. "But as you pointed out, I don't have any way to check." There was anger in his voice when he spoke again. "When did you think that you should tell us?" She broke his hold on her and turned to look at him angrily. She'd been scaring herself with horrible possibilities for weeks and the anger and accusation in his voice broke the dam she'd been trying to hold. "When I knew something to tell you!" she snapped. His lips tightened. "You believe you do know!" he growled accusingly. "Can I not even trust you to guard your health? To uphold the terms of our agreement and keep us informed of things that affect all of us?" It made her angrier that he was right—again—that she couldn't even defend her behavior. They did have the right to know if her health was an issue that could affect all of them, and she had been willing to risk sex when she had no idea what was going on inside of her beyond the fact that she didn't hurt anymore. She just hadn't wanted to think that having sex might cause more damage than her body could take. "So I'm in breach! Throw the damned contracts away for all I care! You might as well, because I'm pretty damned sure the crash destroyed any chance I might have had to have children and I probably can't have sex either because I'm totally fucked up! You could hire anybody to do what I can do now! "And I don't care if it was unethical not to tell you before. You know now. I've told you in plenty of time to just throw 333
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the damned contracts away and you won't even have to go to all the trouble of taking me to court for breach!" She would've loved to have delivered that speech and then stalked away without giving him any opportunity of a rebuttal. Unfortunately, there was no stalking anywhere when she was breast high in sea water. Particularly since Gideon, as furious as he was, wasn't about to let her try it. He did let her have the last word, though, mostly, she thought, because she'd so thoroughly pissed him off he couldn't think of anything to say. Scooping her up into his arms despite her furious resistance, he stalked to the beach, set her oh so carefully on the sand, and then strode away. He didn't stop until he'd reached the edge of the woods. She didn't think he would've stopped then except that everyone's attention was caught by a sound all of them had begun to think they would never hear again—the sound of an engine.
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Chapter Twenty One Bronte was so stunned when she turned toward the sound and saw a craft heading directly toward them, or at least toward the beach, that she simply stared at the thing dumbly as if she'd never seen one before. Jerico brought her back to awareness by dropping the blanket around her shoulders and pulling it snugly around her. The look of censure in his eyes took her aback. "There will be men on board." Bronte blinked at him in surprise. It was the first time he'd behaved the least bit jealous or possessive toward her and it hadn't occurred to her that he felt that way about her—not that she'd realized she was still stark naked. She'd been too shocked to think. "I was just surprised," she said uncomfortably. "I didn't think...." His gaze flickered over her face. Some of the tension left his expression. "I will carry you into the edge of the forest to dress." Nodding jerkily, Bronte took the clothes he handed her and looped her arms around his neck when he bent to pick her up. As little time as it took to cross the beach and dress, the craft landed while she was dressing. She heard the engine die and moments later the voices of strangers. She couldn't see anything. She hadn't gone far into the woods, but Jerico took care to block her from the view of the men exiting the craft and that ensured that she couldn't see either. 335
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He examined her critically before he picked her up to carry her back. That look unsettled her almost more than the first. She'd always thought of Jerico as the 'easy going' one. She didn't know what to make of this heretofore unseen side of him until she noticed the speculative gazes of the men they approached. It would've been easy to guess they were military only by their bearing, but the uniforms certainly seemed to cinch the identification. The discussion, whatever it covered, was over by the time she reached the men. Without a word, she was carried into the craft. Jerico settled her into a seat and helped her with the restraints and within a few moments everyone was aboard and the craft rose from the beach. Her stomach knotted with terror the moment she felt the craft rise. She hadn't had time to consider how frightening it would be to climb into another ship of any description after their crash. It was probably just as well, she thought wryly, and yet she hadn't even had time to brace herself, or to try to focus on 'good' thoughts, or give herself a pep talk. All she could think about as she heard the engines roar to life and then rev until she could feel the vibrations running through the ship was those minutes that seemed like days when they'd been falling. Struggling against hysteria, she focused her panicked mind the best she could on trying to breathe slow breaths, curling her fingers into the arm rests. Jerico had left her once he'd adjusted her safety harness. She glanced around hopefully for Gideon or Gabriel and discovered that neither of them were seated close to her either. The stern, unyielding faces of complete strangers was 336
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all that met her gaze. Reluctant to allow anyone to notice how terrified she was, Bronte turned to look through the viewing window near her seat, but looking out the window didn't help at all. Her panic rose as the craft did, threatening to engulf her. She could hear fragments of conversation around her as the men who'd found them questioned Gideon and the others about the crash. The noise of the ship itself, however, combined with the roaring of blood in her ears and her rasping breaths to chop bits and pieces from the dialogue and that made it impossible to follow what they were saying even if she could've focused enough of her mind on the conversation for the task. Once it reached the goal altitude, the ship skimmed the air so fast the world outside the window blurred sickeningly. She closed her eyes against the dizzying sight, struggling against nausea as well as fear then. She began to cramp after a while from the rigid tension that held her entire body. It wouldn't take long, she told herself. No matter how far they still were from civilization, it couldn't possibly take very long when they were traveling at such a speed and directly toward their destination rather than having to follow the winding course nature allowed them to follow. Soon, she could be really clean again, sleep in a bed instead of on the sand, shivering half the time even with a man on either side of her to help to keep her warm. She would have access to medical equipment even if there were no doctors to help her—she knew if they had a city, they would have to have some sort of medical facilities. 337
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Those thoughts eased her stress over the flight more than thoughts of creature comforts had. Soon, whatever it was that was wrong with her, she'd know, and not knowing was more scary than knowing would be, she assured herself. Even if knowing still meant she couldn't do anything about it, she thought it was the suspense and the unknown that was most frightening. It was night by the time they arrived. That wasn't surprising since they'd already stopped to make camp for the day and prepare a meal as they usually did before dark because once they'd begun to have to supplement their food by hunting, they'd also had to have fire to cook it, and Gideon didn't allow fires after darkness fell. It had been dark, though, for several hours by the time she saw the lights of the city. Four hours, maybe, flying? It could've been as little as two, she supposed, because she was a nervous wreck and not in any condition to judge, but even if it hadn't been but two, that meant they'd still been probably a thousand miles from civilization, weeks more of walking if they hadn't been picked up. It must have been a military patrol, she decided. She hadn't heard them say, but it didn't seem likely they'd been out looking for them. Then again, they might have. They could've found the crash site and have been looking for them since. If they'd found anything to indicate there were survivors and decided to look, Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel had left a trail of trog bodies behind them as evidence of their passing. It couldn't have been too hard to track them. 338
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She was so weak with relief when the ship finally landed she didn't think she could've walked if she'd had to. To her dismay, however, it wasn't any of her men who helped her from the craft. Instead, one of the soldiers scooped her up and leapt from the craft, catching her so by surprise she only had time to look around for Gideon and the others, to catch a fleeting glimpse of them and then the door closed and the craft rose again. "What's happening? What's going on?" "You are in need of medical attention. I am taking you to the med center." Bronte peered at the man in the dim artificial light. She couldn't tell much about him beyond the fact that his profile was lean and uncompromising. Cyborg, she thought, feeling her stomach tighten into a little harder knot. "But ... what about the others? My companions, Gideon and Jerico and Gabriel?" "They will be debriefed." Bronte stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Debriefed?" He didn't volunteer anything at the questioning lilt to the word, didn't even glance at her. "What does that mean?" she tried again. "Questioned." "About what?" "The crash." "Oh." Anger displaced some of Bronte's uneasiness. "They're not even going to let them rest first?" He looked directly at her for the first time and Bronte's stomach executed a little flip flop, partly from surprise, but 339
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mostly because he far more handsome than she'd expected. Were any of the cyborgs not handsome, she wondered? She must have been brain dead when they'd put her on the ship not to have noticed him before. But then, she hadn't really looked at any of the men. Jerico's display of jealousy had been enough by itself to discourage her from looking with any interest, but she'd known if Jerico felt that way then Gideon and Gabriel certainly would be and she hadn't wanted to arouse their sense of possessiveness. And, once she'd gotten on board, she hadn't been able to focus on anything but her fear of flying. "They are soldiers. They know what to expect." She wished she did. Beyond what he'd told about the med center, she had no idea what to expect. Her companions hadn't enlightened her, but she hadn't particularly worried about it because she hadn't expected to be separated from them. Realizing she wasn't likely to get anything from him that was going to ease her mind, she allowed her curiosity to divert her and looked around. It was too dark to tell much about the city. There was some artificial lighting along the streets, but only a sprinkle here and there that illuminated small patches of building and street, signs mostly and there weren't very many of those. In some ways, it looked very little different from any other city she'd ever seen—except the notable dearth of artificial lighting and signs, and the fact that there didn't seem to be a great many people moving about the streets. 340
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Maybe it was later than she'd thought? Or maybe it was just that this particular area wasn't frequented that much at night? The buildings, not surprisingly, were all new looking and yet she noticed as she began to focus on her surroundings that most of the structures had a good bit of ornamentation about them—surrounding doors and windows, edging the roof lines and, in the cases of multi-storied buildings, delineating one floor from the next—more reminiscent of ancient structures she'd seen in the cities than modern architecture. It struck her as odd, at all, that they would've modeled their structures along the lines of centuries old Earth architecture instead of the sleek, practical, and ultra conservative modern buildings of the times and stranger still when it dawned on her that the architects of the city were cyborgs. She would've thought they, being creatures of logic far more than humans were, would've been more inclined to build strictly utilitarian structures. It couldn't be avoided that they hadn't, that, by some odd quirk, they'd gone to great lengths to beautify everything around them. Otherwise everything was as neat and orderly as she would've expected, and yet far more so than one would see in a city built and occupied by humans. There were no stray bits of trash here and there—discarded containers or partially eaten food tossed aside, no overflowing trash containers, no stray animals wandering around to scavenge ... or homeless human scavengers. There were no detectable defects in workmanship in anything that she saw—no slightly off kilter curb or leaning 341
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signs. The streets, curbs, and sidewalks were arrow straight from what she could see, the buildings too—the lines of windows, and doors, and walls were absolutely perpendicular. Even the ornamental designs were absolutely symmetrical— every leaf, flower, curlicue, and animal carved in relief was even, precise. There were no vehicles along the roads, no sign that the roads were used for vehicles. She supposed they must have them, else why the roads? But undoubtedly the roads were primarily for servicing vehicles, not personal ones, because she didn't see any and even if it was late, it seemed that she would. Aside from that, the craft had set them down at the edge of the city. The soldier had already carried her several blocks. Her mind had wandered from that thought to wondering where the base was that Gideon and the others had been taken to when she noticed the soldier turn and head directly toward a building several stories taller than the others around them. This one had the definite characteristics of a med center. Wide sliding doors opened to a brightly lit waiting area that was deserted except for the man she could see seated at a desk just inside. The man looked up disinterestedly as the doors opened for them, did a double take and then stood up. "This is the earth doctor of children," the man carrying her announced as the receptionist came around to greet them. She supposed he was a receptionist. He was dressed in a medic's uniform—no name tag. "A human?" 342
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The soldier turned his head to her and allowed his gaze to flicker over her face. "Yes. A human female, injured." Bronte was about to object—she was mostly healed, after all—but she didn't doubt she was suffering some malnutrition from their limited diet, exposure since they'd had no shelter, exhaustion, and god only knew what else. He didn't ask her name or give her his any more than the soldier had. Obviously they weren't prone to waste a lot of time with frivolous social chatter. "I'm Dr. Bronte Nichols." Both men stared at her blankly, almost as if a dog had suddenly talked. If she hadn't already guessed that neither of them hailed from the Hunter class, she knew it then. "And you are?" "Medic Brent MCS78206." "Master Sergeant, Caleb CS95031." Bronte looked from one to the other in surprise as they both spoke almost at the same moment. "I will take her to the examination room." "I will take her," Caleb responded coldly. "I am ordered to keep her within sight." Uneasiness moved over Bronte as the two men stared at one another. There was nothing challenging about the expression of either, and yet she had the distinct feeling there was a latent battle of wills in progress. Finally, the medic turned, passed through another set of double doors, and led them to a room just a few yards from the entrance. "You will undress," Medic Brent informed her as he passed the examination table and moved to the control panel of the scanner at one end. 343
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It was standard medical procedure and yet the moment Bronte realized that Caleb had every intention of monitoring the proceedings discomfort settled over her. She stared at him for several moments after he'd settled her on the examination table and withdrawn to a position near the door, assuming 'parade rest'. He stared back at her unblinkingly. Mindful of how angry Jerico had been at the possibility of anyone else seeing her naked, Bronte looked around a little hopefully for a hospital gown. There wasn't one. There wasn't even a sheet on the examination table. She saw when she turned to look at the medic that he was waiting for her to comply. "There aren't any gowns?" He exchanged a look with the sergeant, seemed to consider it for a moment and then replied, "No." She wasn't ordinarily terribly self-conscious, particularly not in respect to a medical examination. She was abruptly acutely conscious of the defects of humans in general and her in particular, however. The cyborgs, due to superior genetics, were as perfect as the city they'd created, virtually flawless. She'd been a long way from perfection before the accident. She shuddered to think how far she was from physical perfection now and she didn't especially want to expose it for them to examine it. Somehow, though, she didn't think she had a choice, and beyond that she knew she needed medical attention. Sucking in a shaky breath, she focused on removing her makeshift garments and lay down on the table, staring up at the ceiling and trying to block out the certainty that both men were looking her over with eyes that missed nothing. 344
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The medic set the scanner and took up a position in front of the vid as the instrument began its trek down her body. Surreptitiously, Bronte watched his face, although what she thought he might give away of his thoughts she had no idea. Professionals in general were trained to keep their thoughts to themselves to keep from alarming a patient unnecessarily so it wasn't at all likely that the medic would give anything away even if he saw something. And, considering he was a cyborg, it was only that much less likely he would be horrified by anything he saw. The scanner stopped at her toes. "First scan complete," the computer announced. The scanner began the back scan. Bronte's thoughts shifted abruptly to the one thing that had been worrying her for weeks. Try though she might to keep her thoughts from affecting her, she felt her heart rate pick up with anxiety a split second before the computer announced it. "You have nanos," the medic said. There was no noticeable nuance of surprise in his voice but the fact that he'd announced it at all meant he was. Bronte swallowed with an effort against the dryness in her throat. "Yes. I was hurt in the crash. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel all contributed some of their nanos to keep me alive." "They have repaired the damage from the crash." They'd also, to her certain knowledge, repaired her defective eyesight. When he stopped the scan over her abdomen, she waited for him to tell her what else the little bastards had been up to once they'd run out of things to fix. 345
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Despite her certainty that he wouldn't give anything away, he did. She just wasn't certain what his expression denoted as he studied the screen with frowning intensity. "Gestating," he finally said slowly, flicking a glance at Caleb. Bronte followed the direction of the medic's gaze, stared at the taut faced soldier a moment and looked at the medic again while that slowly sank in. "Are you sure?" she demanded, tensing to sit up to look at the monitor herself and then forcing herself to relax again. The medic looked at her strangely. "I am certain. There are three. This makes it difficult to ascertain time elapsed." Bronte stared at him blankly. "Three what?" His face went taut, his lips tightening. "Cyborg/human fetuses." Bronte thought for several moments she would faint. She closed her eyes as the shock rolled over her in a cold wave. Instead of fainting, however, she burst into tears, sobbing loudly in spite of her efforts to stem the excess of emotion. It was ridiculous, she knew, to get so emotional over relief, but she'd worked so hard to convince herself that she had to face the likelihood that something was terribly wrong with her it was as if the abrupt lifting of her certainty of horrible death had broken the dam holding back everything she'd tried not to feel. "I don't understand," she wailed when she finally managed to find her voice. "The crash ... how could I still be pregnant when I was hurt so badly? I was sure even if I had been that it would've been terminated by the injuries." Needless to say, the medic couldn't answer that question any better than she could. She discovered, though, when 346
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she'd mopped the tears from her eyes so that she could see that the medic and the soldier had retreated to the hallway outside the examination room. It occurred to her abruptly that they probably thought she'd come unhinged from everything that had happened. She tried harder to regain control over her emotions but it seemed beyond her. The dam had broken and she had no control over the emotions pouring out. She more than half expected the medic to dash for a sedative, but then she realized that probably wasn't something they would keep on hand. They weren't human. She doubted they'd ever dealt with hysteria. Eventually, it leveled out on its own. She wasn't certain if that was because she'd exhausted the pent up emotions or if it was the realization that the two cyborgs were discussing her, but when the soldier abruptly turned and disappeared, she leashed the tears and began to regain some semblance of calm. Apparently heartened by that, the medic re-entered the room. Grabbing up her clothes, he thrust them at her and then pulled the scanner away so that she could sit up. Revolted as she was at the necessity, she used one edge of the material to mop her eyes and nose since no one had thought to give her a tissue. She almost started crying all over again at the sense of misuse that caused her. She was among cyborgs, she thought miserably. No one was going to understand or empathize with her situation.
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The medic waited until she dressed herself—or maybe he'd just been waiting until she appeared calm enough to understand him. "The injury to the supporting structure of the leg has left that area weakened, but there is new growth of cells there and it appears that it will grow stronger as these cells reach maturity. There is also a great deal of new cell growth in the other area of injury, and the new cells have also not reached full maturity. These will also be weak until they do mature fully. There is some overall dehydration which will require drinking liquids to replenish." Bronte nodded, feeling pretty much divorced from everything around her as her emotional turmoil left her. The soldier reappeared in the doorway. "I am to take her to her quarters if she is not in need of medical assistance." The medic nodded. "I can not see anything to indicate that her natural healing abilities and the assistance of her nanos require interference. They are slow to do their job, but they are performing adequately. She will need to use caution in the use of the leg until it has grown stronger." Bronte couldn't help but think he sounded almost disappointed. Caleb approached her. His gaze was on her face, but he spoke to the medic. "She should not be allowed to walk to her quarters then?" Bronte glanced at the medic. "I need to walk on it to build up the strength."
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He considered it. "Short distances only to begin with. If you are building strength, then you must use it only a little at first." That, apparently, settled it as far as Caleb was concerned. He scooped her off the table. Exhausted from her outburst, Bronte struggled with the urge to slump against him for a few minutes and then decided she was just too tired to care what he would think about it and dropped her head to his shoulder as they left the medical center again. She was too tired to think, either. All she wanted was privacy, a bed to lay down on ... maybe a bath and food, but she wasn't as interested in either of those at the moment as she was the bed and time alone, and that was the limit of her interest in her quarters. He took a new direction when they left the medical center. This one passed through a section of the city where people were stirring, she discovered. They stared. She didn't know if it was because the soldier was carrying her like a child, or if it was because they knew, somehow, that she wasn't a cyborg ... or because they didn't pass any women at all. Uneasiness pierced her apathy, however, when she noticed and she tightened her arms around the man's shoulders, hiding her face against his neck, wishing she could vanish altogether. By the time she'd decided they'd passed beyond inspecting eyes and lifted her head to look around and see if she was right, they'd traversed the blocks of the business area and entered a residential section. Halfway down the block, the man turned onto a precisely perpendicular walkway lined 349
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with, of all things, flowers, and was approaching a smallish structure that looked like it must be a single family unit dwelling. It looked too big for one, and too small to accommodate living quarters for more than three or four individuals. Mounting several steps, he crossed an open, sheltered area and entered. Bronte looked around curiously when he set her on her feet. "These quarters were assigned to you," he said, lifting his head and glancing around to encompass the large room with his gaze. "This room is set aside for entertaining guests and relaxation." He paused long enough for her to examine the furnished room briefly and then strode to a doorway opposite the entrance. Feeling strangely detached and bemused, Bronte followed him. "There are two sleeping chambers," he continued. "One on either side of the hallway and a private bath off of each of those." He gestured toward the doors on either side of the short hall, waited until Bronte had peered in both doorways and then continued to the rear of the structure. "This area is for food preparation, dining, and relaxed entertaining." Bronte looked at everything he pointed out, trying to absorb what he was telling her. "A male doctor was anticipated so although care was taken to provide comfort, it is not likely this will suit your needs, but it is all that is available at the moment. When you choose mates, they will provide a domicile large enough to 350
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accommodate a family unit. The office where you will work is in the med center. You will be allowed time to rest, but it is hoped that your health will allow you to begin working within a few days." Her mind snagged on the comment about mates. She'd already opened her mouth to inform him she'd contracted when sudden doubt stopped her. If he didn't know that when he seemed to have been well informed of everything else, then Gideon hadn't told them yet. The argument she'd had with Gideon just before they were rescued abruptly flooded her mind. She hadn't meant it, though. She'd only said it because she was afraid they wouldn't want her anymore if they found out something was wrong with her. They had to know she hadn't meant it! "Are you hungry?" The question distracted her from her thoughts. She met his gaze for a long moment and looked away, glancing around the food preparation area. "There's food?" "The domicile was fully prepared for your arrival. There will be clothing for you in the larger sleeping chamber. I will prepare food while you bathe and dress." She didn't know why he'd want to do that, or why he would've been ordered to do so, she supposed, but the suggestion that she bathe and change hit fertile soil. Nodding absently, she turned and moved carefully back down the short hall. She didn't realize he'd followed her until she'd pulled the makeshift top off and turned around to discard it. 351
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A jolt went through her when she saw him standing in the doorway of the bath. He looked her over frankly and then crossed the room to inspect the window. "Unattached females are generally quartered in a secure location," he said by way of explanation as he turned to her again. That statement, as coolly as it was delivered, carried connotations that pierced her apathy. "Am I safe here?" she asked uneasily. "Yes. I am to guard you and to report any unauthorized attempts to enter your quarters. We are only ten minutes from the barracks. Assistance can be summoned quickly if deemed necessary." Oh that was really comforting! "Why would you need assistance?" she asked uneasily. "I should not." She crossed her arms over her breasts as it finally filtered into her mind that his gaze hadn't lifted to her face since he'd turned to look at her. The movement seemed to break the spell. He met her gaze. "Why do you think you might need help?" "I do not." Frustration joined her anxiety. "What threat are you guarding me against?" she tried again. "Hopefully none." "Why do I need a guard at all, then?" she demanded, beginning to wonder if he wasn't there to protect her at all but rather to keep her prisoner. 352
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He tilted his head curiously. "Because you are a female ... and you are a person of primary interest to the people besides." Trying to communicate with the cyborgs was a little like beating one's head on a brick wall. They spoke absolutely directly to every question without elaborating one iota and actually providing any information. Either they just didn't grasp the subtle nuances beyond the specific question, or they deliberately ignored them. "Are you going to stand over me and watch me while I bathe?" she demanded testily. Something flickered in his eyes. As quick as thought, she saw a flash of desire, and then it was extinguished just as abruptly. "I can if you wish it." Her lips tightened. "Well, I don't wish it!" He nodded and strode from the bathroom. She waited until she heard sounds from the food preparation center and then removed the loincloth and examined the bathing unit. Like those on the ship she'd grown accustomed to, this also used water. After adjusting the temperature, she stepped beneath the spray and simply stood allowing the water to pelt her for a while before she finally, reluctantly, looked around for soap to wash with. The scent was delicate, cleaning smelling and pleasure welled within her as she took up the bathing cloth provided and scrubbed herself thoroughly and then washed her hair. As good as it was to feel really clean, the longer she stayed the more drained she felt of emotion and energy. She was almost tempted to curl up on the floor of the unit and go 353
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to sleep. Rousing herself finally, she shut the water off and got out. Too weary to make much of an attempt at drying, she patted the drying cloth over herself haphazardly and wandered back into the sleeping chamber to look around for the clothes Caleb had mentioned. There was a clothes locker built into the wall next to the bath that was large enough to walk in to. About a dozen medical uniforms had been hung in a neat, precise row—and all of them were big enough it didn't take a great deal of thought to figure out they'd been meant for a man—her father. There were other garments folded neatly on shelves. Deciding it must be underclothes, she took the garments out and examined them. There wasn't much to them, she discovered, but it was easy enough to see that one triangle of fabric was intended to cover her genitals and the double 'patch' like garment was for her breasts. She was studying the swatch of cloth she was apparently expected to cover her femininity with when Caleb returned to check her progress. She covered herself with her hands instinctively when he appeared in the door way. "Uh ... these don't look very familiar," she said uncomfortably. "They are designed to enhance the womanly figure. This goes here," he said plucking the triangular shaped garment from her hands and pointing to her mound. "This covers these pretty things." Bronte's jaw went slack with stunned surprise when he casually reached out and cupped a breast in either hand. He'd already withdrawn his hands, however, by the time she 354
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recovered enough from her shock to consider slapping his hands away. "I will help you." Bronte snatched the garment out of his hands. "I don't think so! I can figure it out by myself—could, if I wanted to. I think I'd just as soon wear the uniform without them." "The uniform will not fit. It is male clothing in any case. These were brought when we reported that a female doctor had been brought instead of a male as expected." Bronte's eyes widened. "I'm expected to wear only this?" "There are skirts, as well," he informed her pulling one from the shelf and displaying it. She could've read a book through it—both sides! "What is that for?" "Allure." Somehow, if everything the men had told her was true, she doubted the women needed to worry about enhancing their femininity by going around the next thing to naked! They could've looked like ... trogs and she was pretty sure the males would still have been just as interested. "I think I'll wear the uniforms anyway," she said mutinously. "My men wouldn't like me wearing anything like this," she added pointedly, tossing the skimpy garments back on the shelf and grabbing one of the uniforms. "Your men?" She didn't look at him. She was too busy climbing into the jumpsuit. Caleb was a gorgeous male. There was no doubt about that, and she could see he was way more interested than just a little. She didn't want to tell him about the contracts because she was worried that they might get into 355
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trouble, and because she had this awful fear that Gideon might have taken her seriously when she'd suggested he throw the contracts away. But he needed to know that she was taken and off limits. "I contracted with Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel before we ... uh ... crashed." He was frowning, she saw, when she finally glanced at him. "There is food," he said instead of acknowledging what she'd told him or responding to it in any way beyond the frown, which could've meant anything. She didn't know why it unnerved her. She decided she wasn't really up to another attempt to pry information out of him, though. It would be better anyway, she decided, to talk to Gideon and the others about it before she ran her mouth and, possibly, got them into trouble—or embarrassed herself. She needed to talk to them and make sure they hadn't taken what she'd said literally. He'd fixed food for both of them, she saw when she'd followed him back into the preparation area. Two plates full of steaming food, two place settings, and two glasses awaited them on the dining table. Taking the chair he pointed out, she studied the abundance doubtfully, wondering if he thought she needed that much food. It tasted surprisingly good. She wasn't certain if that was because she was so hungry, because she'd had nothing but reconstituted food or unseasoned wild game for so long, or if he was just a very good cook, but it was delicious and she ate far more than she'd thought she could. By the time she'd 356
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eaten all she could hold, all she could think about was crawling into the big bed waiting in the sleeping chamber. Thanking him, she got up and did just that.
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Chapter Twenty Two "Guard!" Gideon bellowed when he ran out of patience. "There is news about my woman?" The man standing at attention at the door that led from the cell block ignored him. "Asshole!" Gideon ground out. The man turned to glare at him at that and Gideon parted his lips in a feline grin that lacked any humor. "I did not know that was your name!" "We have been here ten hours!" Jerico snarled. "There would be news by now about my woman!" "You do not have a woman!" the guard said coldly, curling his lips at them in a way that made all three men surge against the door as if they could reach him. "Do not be an asshole!" Gabriel growled. "They took her to the med center to check her. Just tell us that Bronte is alright!" The guard went back to ignoring them and after a few moments, Gideon pushed away from the door and began pacing. Jerico and Gabriel alternated between threats and bribes for a while longer and finally gave up, as well. Moving to the stacked bunks at one end of the general holding cell the three of them occupied, they sat down to watch Gideon pace. "I have never cared for the brig," Jerico said after a while to no one in particular. "It seems to me that they go to a great deal of trouble to make the cells as uncomfortable as possible. I can not imagine why anyone would manufacture 358
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beds designed to be uncomfortable. Does this seem logical to you?" Gabriel stared at him thoughtfully. "The brig on Ben-Tavo was not half bad," he replied after a few moments. Jerico frowned. "That one was a pigsty!" he spat. "You are thinking of the one on Ralo." Gabriel glared at him. "I know which one I am thinking of!" "Well you are light here," Jerico retorted, tapping his head, "from too many blows to the skull plate! That one was worse than the brig on Paq-312!" Gabriel punched him in the mouth. Jerico reeled backwards, caught himself, and sat up again, spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor. "Knock it off!" Gideon ground out. "We agreed not to bring up Gabriel's head wound and he is entirely recovered so there is no point in doing so!" Jerico looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I still think it is Ralo that you were thinking of," he muttered after a moment. Gabriel frowned. "Why do you think they have put us in the brig, Gideon?" Gideon stopped pacing and stared at him for a moment. "We wrecked the ship, Gabriel." Gabriel's brow cleared for a moment before he frowned again. "That is not at all reasonable. We were not doing anything we should not have. It was an accident." Gideon shrugged. "I had thought it likely that we would end in the brig for convincing Bronte to contract with us, but 359
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they have refused even to acknowledge that, so it can not be that." "You did not say that before!" Gabriel said indignantly. "Did he tell you that we would have to spend time in the brig for his plan? Because I am sure he did not tell me!" Jerico thought it over. "I do not recall that he did, but that is hardly the point, Gabriel! We almost always end in up the brig when we follow Gideon's plans. You know that!" Gideon stopped pacing and turned to glare at them. "We almost never end up in the brig because of my plans!" Gabriel and Jerico exchanged a speaking glance. Gideon's lips tightened. "Name one!" "Now," Jerico and Gabriel said in unison. "Besides now," Gideon said irritably. Jerico and Gabriel frowned thoughtfully. "There was the time on Lockmead when you thought that it would be a good idea to borrow the Major's vehicle to visit the whore house in the village so that we could see what it was like to have a woman pleasure us for a change," Gabriel said presently. "And the time when you suggested that we see what getting drunk was like and ended up clearing the bar...." "Never mind," Gideon ground out, stalking to the door of the cell again. "Guard! Three months pay! Only call the med center and see what they have found out about my ... Bronte!" "Three months!" Jerico exclaimed. Gideon didn't glance at him. "One each." "You might ask!" Gabriel said indignantly. 360
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Gideon turned to look at him. "You do not want to know about Bronte?" "Yes, but...." "Six!" Gideon offered when the guard didn't even turn around. The guard turned to look at him that time. "We have four each coming to us. Just find out what the med tech discovered." The guard's lips curled. "You crashed the ship—one of the fastest we have. They are not going to pay you." Gideon frowned and turned to look at Jerico and Gabriel. "Do you have any credits saved?" "I have a month," Gabriel offered. Gideon looked at Jerico. Jerico shrugged. "I do not have more than half a month." Gideon's lips thinned. "What have you spent your money on?" he demanded. Jerico gave him a look. "You know that I was courting Rose." "And look where that has gotten us!" He turned to the guard again. "Four months credit," he offered. "You are wasting your breath," the guard said. "You are to have no outside contact at all until they have finished debriefing you." Gideon stared at the man in disbelief for several moments and finally slammed his fist into the door. Turning away from the door, he began to pace again. "It is her belly?" Jerico asked after watching him for a while. 361
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Gideon stopped to stare at him absently for several moments. "She was afraid," he said finally. "She would not tell me what she was afraid of." "You think it is something very bad?" Gabriel asked. "She would not be afraid unless it was!" Gideon snapped angrily. "You do not think the med tech could fix this problem?" Gabriel pursued worriedly. Gideon considered it for a moment. "Yes," he responded after some thought, looking mildly relieved. "She was not as worried. She believed that it was something that could be repaired, and she would know. I am certain of that. She will be alright," he muttered to himself. "You may be easy in your mind then," Jerico said. Gideon glared at him. "I would be easy in my mind if I knew. I do not like only thinking a thing is something but not knowing!" "Logically...." "Do not speak to me about logic, Jerico!" Gideon growled. "Not when it concerns Bronte! You know she can not be trusted to do the reasonable or logical thing! One can only trust logic when it pertains to things that have no will to behave illogically! And even if not for that, there is always chance. "What were the odds, do you think, that we would be struck by a meteor that would do so much damage to the ship? One in a million? One in ten million? Or that the proximity censors would fail? Or the alert? I am not certain which failed, only that there was no warning and no reason 362
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that either should fail at all! It is no wonder that they believe we are responsible for the crash." "I do not like leaving her alone," Gabriel put in after a time. "I do not like that she may not be alone!" Jerico retorted heatedly. Gideon seized him by the throat and hauled him off the bunk. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded. Glaring at him, Jerico tried to pry his hand lose. When that failed, he punched Gideon in the gut. Taking advantage of Gideon's slackened grip, he slammed his forearm against Gideon's and broke his hold altogether. "I mean that she is out there and we are in here and we can not prevent anyone who pleases from courting her!" "She would not consider them. She is contracted with us!" Gabriel said angrily, bounding off the bunk himself just as Gideon, who'd abruptly remembered that Bronte had suggested breaking the contract, slammed his fist into Jerico's mouth. Jerico staggered back several feet, caught himself and swung at Gideon. Gideon ducked and Jerico's fist connected with Gabriel instead. Within moments the three of them were trading insults and fists. The stamp of a dozen running feet penetrated the red haze of battle moments before the cell door was jerked open. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel exchanged a brief look of triumph and, their eyes filled with unholy glee, turned on the guards detached to break up the brawl. The melee lasted a good twenty minutes, but since the men had already expended a good bit of energy on each 363
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other and the guards outnumbered them two to one, the outcome wasn't unexpected. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel were dragged from the general holding cell and tossed into individual cells. Jerico wavered on his feet for several moments after he'd been thrust into his cell and finally fell face down on the narrow bunk. "This is good," he muttered against the mattress. "Now that I am relaxed, I believe I can sleep." Gideon settled on the edge of his bunk, massaging his jaw with one hand and his bruised mid-section with the other. Gabriel looked around his cell and finally staggered to his bunk and fell in it. After a few moments, he muttered, "I would sleep better if I could cuddle Bronte." Gideon turned his head to glare at his friend across the way but finally decided to ignore him and lay down on his own cot. Staring at the ceiling, he tried not to think about whether or not Bronte had meant it when she'd spoken of breaking the contract. **** Bronte roused every time she heard the unfamiliar tread close by. Sometimes, if she couldn't see who it was, she'd lift her head and look around. If it took no more than cracking an eyelid, though, she didn't bother to move. She was too groggy to feel like wrestling with why Caleb might feel the need to check on her, or to check the windows, but since she recognized him she wasn't alarmed. She was thoroughly disoriented by the time she woke. 364
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As she drifted lazily between total awareness and the urge to go back to sleep, she realized she felt better than she could remember feeling in a very long time. She just didn't know why. Her mind began to churn with memories, though, and finally brought her fully awake. The room she found herself staring at looked completely unfamiliar, and she allowed her gaze to wander over the unrecognizable features and furnishings until she finally recalled ... everything. She wasn't dying from some life threatening growth in her belly brought about by confused nanos. She was pregnant! A tentative joy budded inside of her at the thought before it wilted under the sudden realization that the medic had said three. Maybe she'd misunderstood him? That was taking the good news just a little too damned far! It would explain why she'd had a noticeable bulge so quickly, though. He'd definite said three, she thought, trying to decide whether that was good news or not. She'd wanted a baby— emphasis on a—not a—litter! She couldn't believe she'd been so caught up in her relief to discover the news wasn't what she'd expected that she hadn't really registered what the medic had said about the babies. Her lips curled slightly. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel were going to be stunned. The smile fell. They hadn't come back from the barracks yet. It seemed to her that they would've had time, that they 365
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would've been anxious to find out about her. Surely, they would've finished talking to whoever they had to talk to and come to the med center and found out where she was? It was daylight outside. She couldn't begin to judge the time of day, but it didn't look like weak early morning light. "You are awake?" Jolted from her thoughts, Bronte sat up, discovering in the process that she didn't have a stitch of clothes on. Grabbing the cover, she yanked it up and eyed Caleb suspiciously. "I don't remember undressing!" "You did not." He didn't even have the grace to look the least bit embarrassed or contrite! "Then how did I get undressed?" she demanded. "I undressed you." She gave him a look, wondering how she could possibly have slept through that. Jog her mind though she might, however, she couldn't really recall anything after she'd eaten except crawling into the bed. "Why did you do that?" He tilted his head curiously. "You did not wish to wear your uniform to sleep?" Her lips tightened. "I would've taken it off if I'd wanted it off!" He nodded. "This is an Earth custom? It seems unnecessarily restrictive." "It is not an Earth custom—at least ... Well, some people sleep in sleeping clothes." "Do you?" "Ordinarily not." 366
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"Then this is no problem." "It is a problem!" "Why?" "Do you always undress women while they're too out of it with exhaustion to defend themselves?" A slow grin curled his lips, making it impossible, despite her irritation, to ignore the fact that he was really exceptionally handsome. He was fair, though, like Gideon, and she decided it was because he reminded her of Gideon. Not that he looked anything like Gideon, but he was fair. "I have not had the opportunity before." "I thought you were supposed to guard me?" "Yes." She frowned at him. "Did they tell you just to help yourself and do anything you wanted to?" His dark brows drew together thoughtfully, as if he was vaguely confused by her question. Finally, his brow cleared. "No. But they did not say I could not look." Bronte pursed her lips irritably. "Well! I hope you enjoyed it!" she said indignantly. "I did, thank you." She reddened, trying to decide whether to laugh or throw something at him. She decided it would be better to ignore him. Flopping back onto her pillow, she pulled the cover over her head. "How long did I sleep?" "Twelve hours, seventeen minutes ... more or less." Bronte sat up again and stared at him. "I was asleep that long?" she gasped, staggered by the information. 367
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"More or less. You roused, but you did not wake. There is food. Medic Brent said that I must see that you eat and drink as much as you can and rest. You have rested. You must eat now." She didn't want to eat now. She'd been asleep for twelve hours! Gideon and the others should've been back by now. "Where are my companions?" He frowned. She wasn't certain if it was because she'd called them her companions and he didn't like it, or if there was something he didn't want to tell her, but she was afraid it was the latter. "They are being debriefed." That had to be wrong. "Still? Do you know that? Or do you just think they must be?" He crossed the room and opened her clothes locker, studying the clothing inside. "I know this," he said coolly, selecting the feminine garments she had ignored the night before. "I'm not wearing those!" "All women wear these ... unless you wish to return to the med center to work?" "I want to go and find my companions!" "You can not. They are being held." That sounded worse than the debriefing. "Held?" "Yes." "Define held, damn it!" "They are prisoners until it is decided whether command is satisfied with their report or not." 368
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Bronte stared at him in dismay for several moments before she could even think of anything else to ask. "What for? Have they been charged with something?" "Yes," he answered, handing her the clothes he'd selected for her. Bronte glared at his hand for a moment and finally snatched the clothes from him. "I'm going to see them. I need to talk to them." "You will not be allowed to speak with them ... or to enter the brig to see them." Bronte wrestled with that information for several moments and finally drew a shaky breath, trying to fight down her anxiety and think. "Is it about the crash?" "That is one thing." "But ... that was an accident! Something hit the ship! How could they be blamed for that?" "Command will decide if they are to blame." "I was there! I know what happened. Couldn't I talk to whoever is in command and explain?" "You will be called upon to do so." Relief flooded her. "When?" "I do not know. When they are ready, they will summon you." She wasn't happy with that. She wanted to go right that moment and clear everything up. She needed to talk to Gideon and make him understand she hadn't meant it about breaking contract. Well, she had, but it wasn't because she didn't care. It was because she did. She'd been nearly as afraid that she 369
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wouldn't be capable of being a true companion/mate to them as she had been that she was dying. She'd been afraid that they'd be as disappointed in her as she was in herself. And she'd thought it would be much better to break the agreement herself than to hold them to it when they might not want to be held, or to force them to break it themselves because she wasn't capable of holding up her end of the agreement. Aside from that, she missed them. They'd been her constant companions for months and far closer with her, even though they hadn't been able to have sex, since the crash. They'd slept close to her every single night, sharing their body heat to keep her warm and comfortable. They'd tended to her as if she was child, carried her, fed her themselves when she was too weak to manage it on her own, bathed her—helped her 'go' even though she'd hated not being able to manage on her own. It didn't matter anymore if they weren't capable of feeling the same things she could. It didn't matter if they couldn't actually feel love. They felt loyal, protective, and responsible, and they acted accordingly. It might not actually be love, but it felt like it. It was close enough to make her love them. She ate because her body said she needed food even though her spirit said she didn't and because she realized it was more important than ever to make sure she had a good diet. Even if they were hurt and angry with her, she knew they'd forgive her when they found out about the babies. They wanted a family. 370
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Two of them were bound to be disappointed, though, she realized, feeling her hopefulness plunge, and that was most likely to be Gabriel and Jerico—certainly Gabriel. They'd only had full penetration the once right before the crash, and she was sure she must already have been pregnant then, several weeks along at least, and that meant only Gideon or Jerico could've fathered the babies. It was strange that she had three. It was possible, but it seemed unlikely that she would've released three eggs at once. She hadn't been trying not to get pregnant, but she hadn't taken anything to increase her fertility because she hadn't even been dating anyone when they'd taken her. The interference of the nanos must have caused the cells to divide, she decided, which meant she'd lost one. Cells always divided evenly. She could still lose more. It was going to be very crowded and they were going to be vying for what they needed. She could lose all of them. She tamped that thought. She wasn't going to borrow trouble again! The med tech would've said something if there'd seemed to be anything wrong. She wondered if she was far enough along to determine paternity, and then wondered if she should find out even if she could. Who ever had fathered the babies would want to know, but she hated the idea of disappointing the other two— especially Gabriel. He always seemed to get the short stick, no matter what. She decided to go to the med center when she'd finished eating. She didn't especially feel like working yet, but she 371
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didn't think she could just sit around twiddling her thumbs and worrying about her companions' plight without going crazy. It was also a good excuse to get rid of the 'alluring' women's clothes Caleb was determined for her to wear. The men's med uniforms had disappeared, she discovered, removed by Caleb no doubt while she was out of it and replaced with uniforms closer to her size, which explained some of his comings and goings while she was trying to sleep. He insisted on carrying her. She reminded him that she needed to walk and that she could judge for herself when she'd had enough. He informed her that she was doing plenty of walking around her quarters and would be once she got to the med center and that was enough. When the med tech said there was no further reason for concern, then he would not interfere. She let that go. He wasn't going to be around long enough for that to be an issue. As soon as she was called to testify, she'd explain everything and they'd let Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel go and then she wouldn't need a guard. She'd have them. She really hadn't intended to do anything at the med center except examine the offices set aside for her use and try to find out how she could get them to allocate what she needed for it. Like her personal quarters, though, she found a fully equipped office, right down to a receptionist and med assistant—both male, which didn't surprise her. What surprised her was that there were several women waiting with babies. 372
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They all had the same complaint—the infants were weak, unable to talk or walk, uncoordinated, so stupid they drooled on themselves, toothless, and, in fact, incapable of doing anything at all as far as they could see besides crying and relieving themselves. They weren't even capable of feeding themselves. She thought the first report was a hoax, or a strange joke. She realized very quickly, though, that these women were cyborgs. They didn't joke, especially not about something as appalling to them as what they'd reported. After informing the mother that the baby was not only amazingly strong for an infant, but exhibited every sign of being exceptionally intelligent, she had the woman wait and went and checked her other patients. There was nothing wrong with the babies, at all. The problem was with the mothers. When she'd finished examining all of the babies, she brought all the women back into the reception area and conducted a brief parenting seminar. She wasn't prepared but she explained the basics of care, handling, and feeding their infants, explained that it was normal that infants were helpless, not an indication that something was wrong with them, and told them to come back in a week and she would have a place readied where she could give them more training. When the women had finally left, she informed her receptionist to see what he could do about finding additional room for future parent training sessions and asked him if he knew how to contact any women who were expectant 373
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mothers since she thought it was important for them to learn as much as they could before they had their babies. She was almost surprised the first babies had made it at all considering the women didn't seem to have any clue of what to do with them, but she supposed it was because the babies, like their parents, were exceptionally strong and intelligent. It couldn't be avoided that the cyborgs had thought they'd needed a specialist for their babies because they thought something was wrong with them, when, in fact, there was nothing wrong them and they would probably never need her. The babies, she had discovered when she examined them, had nanos of their own to protect them from pretty much anything that could be thrown at them, and if the nanos couldn't 'fix' whatever problems arose, she doubted she would be able to. She hoped the cyborgs weren't going to decide they had no use for her when they realized that all she could contribute was teaching the mothers the proper handling and care of their infants. It didn't seem to be anything they were going to realize very quickly. Every day she went to her office she found more women waiting for her, some expectant and others carrying infants. And not just women and babies. The new or expectant fathers arrived with the mothers and infants— great, hulking dangerous looking brutes that looked far more panic stricken than the women did whenever an infant was thrust at them. 374
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Obviously, though, they either took fatherhood very seriously, or their women expected them to take fatherhood very seriously and they couldn't bring themselves to deny their women whatever they wanted. The entire household arrived to be instructed on the care of the smallest member of the family unit, which meant that she quickly had three or four times as many men than women and had to make arrangements for parenting classes three times a week, and then five to keep the groups small enough to give them individual instructions. Caleb watched her as assiduously as her companions had, although he was obviously there to guard her from other males, not the threat of trog attack. She knew he must have orders, but she couldn't help but think he stretched the parameters of those orders whenever it suited him. He could've guarded her from outside her office. Instead, he spent most of his time in the waiting room, except when she and her assistant went into any of the examining rooms. Then, she would discover him standing directly outside the room when she came out again. She didn't know if he had a particular reason for distrusting her male assistants or not. There was no shortage of women for them to lust over in her office. There might have been a shortage overall, but not that she could tell. For that matter, she didn't think the problem was one they were going to have to worry about within a generation. The ratio of male to female seemed pretty even, or at least not nearly as uneven as the current situation reported to her. 375
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And she saw no reason to doubt that part. Not only was every woman who came to her escorted by at least two men and usually three or four, but on the streets, she almost never saw a woman at all. As busy as she was from the moment she decided to 'just get started' by getting her office in order, Bronte couldn't keep her thoughts at bay when she returned to her quarters at night. Days dragged into a week and Bronte went from anxious to beside herself with worry. "What could possibly take so long to investigate?" she finally demanded of Caleb. "They have gone to the crash site to try to determine the cause of the crash." Bronte gave him a look. "The cause of the crash was something breaking the tail section off!" She thought for several moments that he would do as he usually did and just allow her to stew over it. "The proximity alert should have set off a warning in time to avoid a collision." Bronte stared at him, trying not to think of all the times the men had brawled across the ship and the possibility that the thing could've been damaged during one of those fights. She didn't believe it was possible. Gideon might have been very lax about things on board the ship, but none of them had been any where near the control center at any time. "Don't they ever malfunction?" "Occasionally, but very rarely." Bronte frowned. She wasn't about to mention any possibility that might explain it that would make it seem any 376
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of the men had had anything to do with it—especially when she didn't believe for a moment that they had. Even if she had thought they'd damaged it she wouldn't have said so. "We were shot at when they took me," she said finally. "The chances of a laser blast..." he began. "No!" Bronte said, cutting him off. "Missiles. The military was firing on us. At least two exploded close enough to send a concussion through the ship. I thought the ship was going to blow up." This time his frown was more thoughtful. "I had not heard that. That could have caused some damage, perhaps enough for intermittent failure that would be hard to detect. It might also have compromised the integrity of the hull, which would explain why the meteor that struck caused such extensive damage despite the shields." Pleased and relieved that he, at least, seemed to be considering that her companions weren't at fault, she looked at him with more charity. "What else have you heard?" Something flickered in his eyes. He seemed to debate with himself for several moments. "They have produced no contracts. It is likely the council would have dismissed it even if they had, however. They were not ordered not to try to coerce you into contracting with them because it was not anticipated that they would seize a woman, and yet they were well aware that they were not honoring the letter of their command and that they would be ordered to stand down if it was known that they had taken a woman. They failed to protect you as they should have, even if the crash was 377
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completely accidental and through no dereliction of duty. They did not care for you as they should have or you would not have been in such poor health when you were finally turned over to us. And they raped you." Bronte had been staring at him with fear, disbelief, and growing anger as he produced the charges against them, but the last was outrageous enough to leave her gasping. "They did not rape me!" she said angrily. He tilted his head, studying her through narrowed eyes. "I saw myself that you were hysterical when you were told that they had impregnated you." Bronte felt so weak with sheer horror that she thought for several moments that she would faint or be sick. "You told them that?" "The med tech reported it," he said tightly. "I did not. Though I would have had he not." Her chin wobbled. "He was wrong! That wasn't it at all! He didn't understand! Oh god!"
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Chapter Twenty Three How to explain to people who didn't experience the ravages emotions could visit upon you that they'd completely misinterpreted hysterical relief for hysterical trauma? Another woman would've understood. She thought maybe even the cyborg women would've been able to understand the mood swings associated with pregnancy. Compound those with what she'd been through and surely any woman could completely relate to that kind of breakdown. Even if they were better at controlling themselves, they'd understand the need to let it out, the difficulty of holding all that in. If she'd tried to explain it to a human man he wouldn't have understood. She thought the cyborg males were even less likely to understand. It didn't help that they didn't seem to experience fear and had no reason to understand health issues since they didn't really have those either. How was she supposed to have known they'd interpret it that way? It hadn't occurred to her—at all—or she would've said something before, tried to do something about it. She certainly hadn't said anything to make them think any of her companions had hurt her in any way! She'd thought they were being held for fairly basic questioning procedures. She hadn't liked it. She'd thought it was going on far longer than it should have, but she'd still thought it was the sort of thing pretty much any pilot and 379
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crew would be subjected to if they'd crashed such an expensive and hard to replace piece of equipment. "It wasn't that!" she said tearfully. "It wasn't anything they'd done—at least not with the intention of hurting me! I would've died in the crash if they hadn't given me their nanos. There was nothing else they could've done except just let me die. I knew that, but I also knew the nanos weren't designed for humans. When the wound healed but the knot started growing in my stomach I thought it was something horrible wrong with me and I was scared silly. But all I could do was worry about it. I couldn't do anything, and they couldn't do anything to help me if it was a tumor of some kind. "And when I found out it wasn't something horrible at all, but babies, I just ... lost it—lost control of everything I'd been trying to be strong about. I know you probably don't understand and it probably sounds crazy, but it's true. "Can't you go to them and explain that? I don't care what you tell them. Tell them I'm crazy! Tell them I'm stupid! Tell them it's because I'm pregnant and pregnant women just go to pieces for silly things that don't mean anything. Just don't let them think they hurt me, because they didn't!" He listened, but she didn't think he believed her. She knew he didn't when he spoke. "You are afraid of them." "I'm afraid for them," she disputed angrily, "not of them! This is a nightmare! Please! Can't you talk to someone and try to get this straightened out? It's just a misunderstanding."
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He shook his head. "I will try, but I must tell you that it will do no good. They will summon you to speak when they are ready to hear more, and not before that." A mixture of hope and dismay filled her. "But they will let me speak? They'll give me the chance to straighten this out?" He sent her a wry glance. "They will question you until they are satisfied that they have the truth ... Just as they are questioning your companions now and examining the wreckage. They are well aware of the human propensity for lies and deceit. They will not merely listen and accept whatever you choose to tell them." That sounded ominous and it scared her more, but she had told him the truth. They'd never done anything she didn't want them to. Well, maybe they'd gone just a little overboard with teasing and she hadn't actually liked that, or rather she hadn't liked them teasing her and then withholding the release, but she'd still enjoyed it right up until they'd left. She'd forgiven them for that when she'd finally understood the big lugs thought they had to go to those lengths to convince her to contract with them. As she worked the first shock off she remembered Caleb had said they hadn't produced the contracts. Had they disposed of the contracts because of the argument and now had nothing to back up a claim that she'd been willing? Or had they disposed of the contracts because they thought she was the one accusing them of all those things? She wasn't allowed to see or talk to them. They might have been too angry to talk to her even if she'd been allowed, 381
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but as it was she certainly couldn't even try to work things out. She shrugged that off. It didn't matter. It was something they could work out after they got out of the brig. All that mattered was convincing their superiors that they'd done everything they should have and nothing they shouldn't have. She would have to control her wayward emotions, no matter how afraid or upset she got when they questioned her. They weren't going to be impressed, at all, if she broke down and cried. She could see Caleb just thought her emotionalism was more proof that they'd traumatized her, not proof of their innocence. **** "Do you think that Bronte is alright?" Gabriel asked for perhaps the hundredth time. Gideon gritted his teeth and held onto his temper with an effort. "I do not know any more than you do, Gabriel." "Yes, but what do you think?" Gabriel scrubbed a hand over his face and turned to pace his cell again, two paces across and three back. When he reached his cot, he threw himself down on it. "They took her to the med center. They will have treated her," he said finally. "Why did you argue with her that last day? What did you argue about?" Jerico demanded from his cell on the other side of Gabriel's. Gideon swallowed against a hard knot that felt like a fist in his throat. "I was angry and she became angry. I do not recall why." 382
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"You can not have forgotten unless your memory chip was damaged in the crash," Jerico snarled angrily. "It will do us no good if we are at each other's throats," Gideon growled. "We are already accused of a complete lack of discipline!" "This is worse than being confined on the damned ship for months on end!" Jerico said irritably. "Aye, else I would have knocked your teeth down your throat long before now," Gideon snapped. "You may have tried!" "What I do not understand is why she has not tried to come to see us," Gabriel put in. "She must still be angry with you." Gideon sat up abruptly, dropping his feet over the side of his cot and caught his head in his hands. "I accused of her of being in breach because she would not say what she thought was wrong and she said that I should break the contract." Neither Jerico nor Gabriel spoke for several moments. "She did not mention that she would break with me and Jerico, though, did she?" Gabriel asked. Gideon dropped his hands and slid a narrow eyed glare at Gabriel in the cell across from him. "Gabriel, I will strangle you with my bare hands.... "He broke off abruptly. "It would not matter what she had said if that twice damned tablet had not broken! Now she is angry and we do not have the contracts!" "I do not believe they tried to recapture the missing data!" Jerico put in, instantly diverted by his anger over that matter. "I would not put it past them to have tampered with the 383
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tablet and destroyed the documents before we could record them with the hall of records! They took one look at our beautiful Bronte and decided that she would suit them!" "They will guard her." "But not for us. They will guard her from us!" Gideon growled. A prolonged silence fell. "I miss cuddling with her," Gabriel said morosely. "I had not thought I liked it that much but now I can not think of much else when I try to sleep. It is like something is gone that should be there." Gideon shot from his cot and began to pace again. "Do not start that again, Gabriel!" Jerico snarled. "Or I will help Gideon throttle you when we get out of here!" "They will not allow her to come," Gideon said finally. "Why would they not?" Gabriel demanded indignantly. "Because we have claimed and we have no proof," Gideon retorted tiredly, returning to his cot and settling on it again. "If you are right, and it is not that Bronte does not want to see us, then mayhap we can convince her to sign with us again when we get out," Gabriel said hopefully. Gideon dropped an arm across his eyes. "Mayhap—if we have not already lost her before they allow us to leave." **** It was all very well to tell herself that she must be calm, cool, and collected when she finally got her chance to speak for her men. It was another matter entirely to spend the better part of two weeks agonizing over the situation and the disaster she'd be facing if she failed and then still be calm. 384
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She thought she might have handled it better if they hadn't brought Gideon and Gabriel and Jerico into the chamber wearing prison uniforms and manacles. Seeing them at all was enough to throw her completely off kilter, but to see them like that, as if they'd already been convicted of what they'd been accused of, made her long to leap from her seat and rush from the room to cry her eyes out. Because she could not cry in front of the investigating committee, she told herself angrily. By the time she had regained her self-control enough to venture a peek at them, all three had been seated and were staring stonily at the men presiding over the hearing. Caleb, seated beside her, divided a look between her and the men. She refused to meet his gaze when she felt him studying her, but she knew what was running through his mind. He thought she wouldn't look at them because she was afraid of them, not because she was afraid she would ruin everything. She was afraid the men sitting in judgment on them would think the same thing, but at least they would still doubt. Maybe if she leapt to her feet and ran to embrace them, she thought a little wildly? Wouldn't that prove she wasn't afraid of them? And if she wasn't, then nothing they'd thought could be true? Or would they just think she'd lost her mind? She calmed somewhat when they began by asking her questions about the crash. She'd thought through everything, over and over, carefully piecing her memories together until she was certain she could answer all of their questions 385
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without getting rattled. She had decided, after Caleb's nasty remark, that she would be very careful to tell the absolute truth in every instance. Unless things seemed to be going badly and then she would lie through her teeth and tell them whatever sounded good. There were three men sitting on the committee—the three highest ranking of the entire colony according to Caleb— who'd been kind enough to point out that this was the one and only opportunity to settle the matter, one way or another. They looked hard, and cold, and completely uncompromising. She had a bad feeling that being human wasn't going to make points with them. It was first time since she'd arrived that she'd felt completely alien. The fact that they were all cyborgs had never been far from the back of her mind at any time, and yet watching them go about their daily lives with the same focus on their personal concerns as the citizens in any other city she'd been lulled into a sense of only being a stranger in a new city, hadn't felt like a complete outsider until now. "How long after the first sound of the proximity alarm before the meteor struck?" The question jolted Bronte out of her self-absorption and she looked at the man who'd asked the question wide-eyed for several moments while she scrambled to focus. If he hadn't been so scary looking, she thought he would've been very attractive—he was certainly handsome, but dark in a way that went beyond dangerous—which 386
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actually didn't surprise her. He was a national hero to the cyborgs, high commander of their armed forces now—Reuel, the first to go rogue according to legend and the one who'd united the rogues and formed them into a fighting unit that could have wiped out the human race if he'd been so inclined. It had to say a great deal for him that he'd led them here instead, far enough from the people that were their enemies to have a chance of peace since there was no chance of peaceful co-existence. "I don't have an internal clock," she stammered, and then wished she hadn't reminded them she wasn't like they were. "But no more than a few moments, certainly. Gideon had only had time to ask the computer the direction and velocity when it hit." "There was no alarm prior to that?" "No." "The alarm was disengaged." "Then, when it went off the one and only time, and that was to make it possible for Gideon and Gabriel and Jerico to communicate with one another." "Master Sergeant Caleb has reported to this committee that you stated the ship came under fire at the time it left Earth." Surprise flickered through her that he'd gone to them as he'd promised. She fought the urge to glance at him. "Yes." "But there was no damage?" "Not that I was aware of," Bronte said pointedly, resisting the urge to offer Caleb's theory, hoping he'd done so when he mentioned it to them. 387
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"But you believe there could have been?" Bronte shrugged. "I'm a doctor not an engineer. All I know is that both explosions were very close and the concussions caused violent tremors in the ship." "Was there an attempt by the captain and crew to extort a commitment from you to contract with them on cohabitation?" The man to Reuel's right barked that question out at her, catching her so completely unguarded that she couldn't prevent a rush of blood to her cheeks. "Not that I was aware of," she lied. She'd promised herself she wouldn't and yet she found she was extremely reluctant to discuss something that intimate and personal in such a setting. "No promises? No threats? But they did discuss the possibility with you?" Bronte's stomach coiled into a knot and tried to strangle her as the one question she thought most critical was dropped in her lap. "They asked me if I would contract with them, promised all the sort of things men usually promise a woman, and I said yes.... And we did contract," she added. She relaxed a little when they didn't pursue it. Instead the man to Reuel's left, the High Councilor, Damon, asked her to recount her capture and, when she'd finished, asked her to tell them about her captivity on board the ship. She hadn't anticipated the line of questioning and stumbled over her testimony because she wasn't certain what to say that would make it sound as if they'd been doing what they were supposed to and at the same time unthreatening to her. They couldn't have been ordered to hold her in a cell, she 388
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reasoned, because there wasn't one, and yet she was uneasy about telling them she'd had the run of the ship from the beginning. She compromised by pointing out that she'd never been left alone, at any time. Lie number two. Kane, whom Caleb had said was the head of the Department of Socio-Economic development, went back to picking apart the claim that there'd been a contractual agreement between her and the crew, which led Bronte to hope that Gideon and the others had acknowledged the contract. Assuming Caleb hadn't also told them she'd said they were companions. Reuel drew her back to the crash. Damon followed by asking at what point she'd been informed of the reason she'd been taken. They went round and round, jumping from one subject to another and then back again to ask her the same questions over and over, each time subtly changed, but still the same question until she began to wonder if they were even listening to her answers. Caleb had warned her they would pick everything apart until they were certain they had the truth. She didn't care if that was what they did because the truth was they hadn't done anything wrong, but she was worried that the 'truth' they arrived at wouldn't be the real truth. And yet the longer they questioned her the more tired she was and the more unnerved and fearful until it became harder and harder to respond carefully and make certain that none of 389
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her answers could be twisted to mean something she hadn't intended. After hours of questioning, when she'd finally reached a point of exhaustion and shattered nerves that she couldn't focus at all any more, they began to pelt her with one question after another so rapidly that she didn't even have time to think of a response, let alone answer, before they hit her with another one. Terrified she'd say the wrong thing, she stopped answering at all, glancing from one man to another with each new question, but merely staring at him while she tried to formulate an answer. "Why were you so distraught at the med center if you were not mistreated in captivity?" "Why would you willingly agree to contract with your captors unless they had threatened you with harm?" "They turned off the proximity detector because they were preoccupied with non military matters, were they not?" When they finally halted the barrage of questions, Bronte merely stared at them, trying to sort them in her mind and decide which to answer and how to answer them. Finally, she turned to look straight at Gideon and Gabriel and Jerico for the first time, meeting each of their gazes for several moments. She'd failed them. She knew she had. "I'm sorry," she said when Gideon met her gaze. "You do not answer to them! You have no need to fear them. It is clear they are guilty on all counts and they are unlikely ever to be released again." Bronte turned to look at Damon, and then Reuel and Kane, her fear and distress instantly transformed into rage. "You ... 390
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assholes!" she yelled at them, coming to her feet. "I am not afraid of them! I love them and that is why I agreed to contract with them! And you should be ashamed even to question their loyalty or their integrity! You can lock me up, too! Or send me home, because there is no way in hell I'm ever going to trust any of you or willingly do a damned thing for any one of you!" Reuel's eyes narrowed on her. "You are overly emotional because you are human ... and you are gestating. Otherwise, I might take exception." Wondering how her companions had taken that announcement of impending fatherhood, Bronte glanced at them quickly. Gabriel and Jerico were merely staring at her blankly and she wasn't sure if they'd even caught that part. Mostly, she was fairly certain, they were just so stunned and appalled that she'd called their respected leaders assholes that they couldn't think beyond that. Gideon was another matter. His gaze was riveted to her belly and there was no doubt in her mind that he was reeling. She just couldn't tell if he welcomed the announcement or not. "If you care for your companions as you claim," Reuel went on, "how could you have so little concern for their offspring?" "That's as unjust as any of the rest of this!" she said angrily. "How can I set the needs of my babies above the needs of my companions when it's the same thing? They need their fathers! I need them! They did not disobey any of their orders. They didn't do anything wrong!" She swallowed convulsively, studied them hopefully and then, in desperation, 391
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changed tactics. "Alright! You were right! It was me! I realized as soon as I'd had time to consider the situation that I'd be much better off with them to protect me than without them and I set out to seduce them into contracting with me." "All of them?" She nodded vigorously. "Even though it is not the custom on Earth to have multiple partners in co-habitation?" "Right! I didn't know that part then, so I was thinking about getting one to commit to the agreement but I figured any one would do, so I focused on all of them and figured if I could convince one maybe he could get rid of the other two and take me home." "Which was it?" "What?" Bronte asked blankly. "You were trying to get one or all to commit to a contract, or you were trying to convince one to take you home?" "Whatever worked." "You would say anything to protect them, would you not?" Bronte swallowed convulsively. "Which truth do you want, damn it! Because obviously the real truth just won't fucking do for you!" Reuel settled back in his seat. She couldn't tell from the gleam in his eyes if he was amused or on the verge of blasting her with his temper. He jerked his head at Caleb. "Escort her out while we consider her testimony." She wanted to protest, but she realized she'd done enough damage. When Caleb caught her arm to lead her out, she merely threw an apologetic look at her companions. It was a 392
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big world, she reflected as he led her outside of the building. Maybe she could figure out a way to help them escape? Assuming, of course, they weren't ready to throttle her for totally botching her attempt to get them off already. "That was not well done," Caleb growled when they had reached the sidewalk. "You think?" Bronte snapped angrily. "Did you set out to insure that they would be found guilty?" She narrowed her eyes at him instead of bursting into tears, which was what she felt like doing. "Yes! That's exactly what I set out to do. I wasn't satisfied with the fact that they'd already decided to crucify them for nothing!" He studied her in silence for a moment. "It is true that you love them?" Her chin wobbled threateningly. "I know it probably doesn't seem like it when I screwed everything up, but I do. You have no idea how good they were to me or to what lengths they went to to protect me out there!" He frowned. "But that was after you had contracted with them, according to what you said." She bit her lip. She hadn't considered that. "I was already in love with them," she said with a touch of surprise. Tears filled her eyes. "It was the craziest courtship, I'm sure, that was ever devised! I don't know what I'm going to do.... "She broke off as she averted her gaze from his and saw them emerging from the building. For a moment her heart seemed to stop. When the three of them stopped on the steps, scanned the people gathered on the street and sidewalk and 393
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finally settled on her, however, she whirled away from Caleb and dashed toward them. Doubts plagued her—that they'd be angry with her—but she ignored the warning bells clamoring in her head. Gabriel met her first, rushing toward her with his arms out to catch her in his embrace. She hugged him back tightly. "They let you go?" she exclaimed when she drew away. "Yes!" Jerico said chuckling as he dragged her from Gabriel's arms and embraced her, covering her mouth in a kiss that made her feel hot, wet, and tingly all over. She smiled up at him dizzily when he released her and finally turned to Gideon. His expression was taut, and uncertainty quivered through her. "Are you still angry with me?" she asked hesitantly. He shook his head, pulling her close abruptly and holding her so tightly against him she could hardly catch her breath. "I was never angry, Bronte," he murmured against her hair, "only afraid that I would lose you." She drew away from him finally and looked up at them. "I missed you so much!" Gideon studied her solemnly. "It is true that you are carrying our baby?" She smiled at him wryly. "I'd planned to make the announcement a little more intimate than that," she said irritably. "But, yes! I am—I'm carrying all of your babies! I'm so proud I feel like I did it all by myself!" Gideon frowned. "All? You have one of each in your belly?" She chuckled. "Yes—not something I could do. I think your nanos decided to protect their 'own'. It's the only thing that 394
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makes any sense, because I did have a paternity test run so I could tell you positively who had fathered the babies when I found out I was carrying three and that's what came up— each one of them carries the DNA for each of you!" The three grinned at each other uneasily, then Gideon frowned. "This is many at once," he said slowly. "This is not as it should be, is it?" "It's not common," Bronte said. "But it happens—never like this, of course, but I can handle it." Gideon looked unconvinced. "You are certain this will not ... harm you?" "I'm not questioning my adoptive nanos anymore. I'm stronger and healthier than I ever was before. I'm carrying three babies, each by a different father, and they're strong and healthy in spite of the fact that I was nearly killed. And they are part cyborg, not just carrying your human DNA. They will take care of everything. All we have to do is wait and while we're doing that, I'll make sure you three learn how to take care of them because there is no way I can handle the care and feeding of three at one time!" The three men exchanged a horrified look at that, but they didn't argue. "We should go at once to arrange the contracts and this time make certain that they are properly registered so there can be no question!" Gideon announced. He studied her face for a moment. "You will do this?" She gave him a look. "Will you do this?" he asked. 395
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She smiled. "Yes!" She turned to look at Gabriel questioningly. "Will you contract with me?" Jerico asked as Gabriel opened his mouth. Gabriel glared at him. "Yes!" Bronte responded. Chuckling at the look on Gabriel's face, she captured his cheeks between her palms and went up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. "Absolutely, yes, Gabriel!" He grinned at her, folding his arms around her when she would've escaped and kissing her thoroughly. His expression was somber when he finally lifted his head. He swallowed audibly. "I love you, Bronte. I have missed you more than you can imagine." Bronte felt her color fluctuate. Warmth filled her. "I love you, too!" She glanced uncomfortably at Gideon and Jerico when she finally pulled away from Gabriel. They were glaring at Gabriel indignantly and she couldn't help but chuckle. "We should go now and sign the contracts," Gideon growled, sending Gabriel one last resentful glare. "Yes! Right now!" Bronte agreed, and then abruptly remembered Caleb. He was standing where she'd left him, watching the four of them. She hesitated and then moved toward him. "Thank you for taking such good care of me!" she said when she reached him. Glancing up at her companions, she tried to urge them to thank him, as well, but saw they'd bristled and were glaring at him. 396
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"Anyway!" she said brightly. "I appreciate everything! We should go!" she told her companions. "I'm going!"
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Chapter Twenty Four As delighted as Bronte was that she had a home where they could live until they could make other arrangements, she knew even before they'd gotten there that it was going to be seriously crowded. She just hadn't fully appreciated the size of her men! When they'd all crowded into the living area, Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel stood looking around with varying degrees of doubt and displeasure. Bronte felt a mixture of eager anticipation and nervousness as it descended upon her abruptly that they were well and truly bound ... and alone. "I should show you everything!" she announced brightly. "There are only two bedrooms and two baths, but I think we can make do until we find something bigger," she chattered uneasily as they crowded behind her in the tiny hallway that connected the two rooms. "We should prepare a feast to celebrate," Gideon said pensively as they all stood in the hall and glanced into the rooms. Instantly diverted by their stomachs, Jerico and Gabriel brightened and headed into the food preparation area. "I am sick of prison food! That is certain!" Jerico said, leading the way. Before she could follow them, Gideon hooked an arm around her waist, dragged her into the room she'd been using and closed the door firmly behind them. "That was...." 398
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"...Clever of me," Gideon finished for Bronte as he settled on the bed with her and nuzzled his face against her neck, dragging in a deep breath of her scent and expelling it with gusty enthusiasm. "Can I help it if they are so easily diverted?" Bronte looked up at his smiling face as he lifted his head to study her. Her throat closed with sudden emotion as she lifted a hand to stroke his face. "I was so afraid I'd ruined everything and I'd never get the chance to tell you how much I love you." His expression tautened. Doubt and relief warred in his deep blue eyes. He frowned uncertainly as he stroked her cheek in return. "You did not say that only to convince them to release us?" he asked slowly. She looked at him questioningly, feeling her heart swell in her chest until she could scarcely breathe. "Why would I say it and not mean it?" she asked gently. His frown deepened. "I do not know. Because you thought it was what we needed to hear?" "Did you ... need to?" His face twisted with anguish. "I know you believe we do not have the capacity to feel as you do ... even as the others of our kind do. But all that I could think of at first when they took you from us was that I was ... lost, that I should be taking care of you and I did not know how I would exist if I did not have you to take care of. I could not get it out of my mind ... because all Gabriel and Jerico would do was say what I was thinking myself. I do not want you to believe that I am only repeating what I have heard others say, heard you say. I 399
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feel love for you, Bronte. I know what it is. And I am afraid that you do not feel it for me because I am ... what I am." "I love you because you are what are, Gideon—the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me in my life. He dipped his head to align his nose with hers, staring at her eye to eye. "This is truth?" "From the bottom of my heart!" Bronte said, smiling. "Can we fuck now?" His head rocked backwards in surprise. She waggled her brows at him and he chuckled. Leaning away from her, he skated a hand down her body lightly until he'd cupped her mounded belly. "This will not hurt you? Or our babes?" he asked doubtfully. She studied his face lovingly. "This is one of the many reasons I love you, and why I don't doubt that you love me, too. No, Gideon, it won't hurt either me or the babies ... but I've almost forgotten what it was like and need you to remind me." He reminded her with a kiss first, hot, sweet and then urgent and demanding and all the while he caressed her body with magic fingers and palms that brought her to the brink of madness and held her enthralled. And when he'd removed his uniform, and settled against her again, he caressed every inch of exposed skin until she was burning and breathless and then tormented her by slowly peeling her clothes from her and lavishing her with the feel of his mouth and tongue on her breasts and mound. She gasped, moaned, writhed beneath him with exquisite pleasure, fighting the growing excitement that threatened to spill over. 400
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"Now, Gideon! Please!" she begged, pulling at him. He slipped his arms beneath her shoulders, propping himself on his elbows to watch her face as he probed her body with his cock, found her opening at last, and entered her. "I told you once that I could make you beg for me," he murmured hoarsely as he delved her body, pressing slowly into her until he filled her. "I did not know then that you could make my body beg for yours also, that I would begin to crave the feel of you so much that I would feel sick with wanting you." Her body thrilled at his words, quickened with urgency, tightened around his flesh convulsively. She groaned, arching her head back against the bed as she began to quake in climax. Uttering an echoing moan of ecstasy, he began thrusting faster as her climax triggered his. They were still drifting on a blissful cloud of release when the door opened. Bronte cracked an eye and then lifted her head when she saw Jerico and Gabriel in the doorway, rigid with anger, both wearing expressions of misuse. "Is the feast prepared already?" Gideon asked groggily. "Oh, Gideon! You really shouldn't provoke them!" **** The smell of raw timbers mingled with the lingering scents of their picnic luncheon as they lazed around the blanket they'd spread beneath the shade of a large, spreading tree that would shade the front of their home once they'd completed it. Full and completely relaxed, more than half asleep, Bronte lay with her head in Gideon's lap, watching 401
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him stroke his hand over the mound that jutted from her abdomen. It had certainly blossomed, she thought with quiet pride. It was the abrupt tension in Gideon that first alerted her. Struggling to lift her head as both Gabriel and Jerico stiffened and slowly came to their feet, she saw that Caleb was striding boldly toward them along the narrow drive that led up the construction site. It was just as well she did, because Gideon surged abruptly to his feet, as well. Grunting, feeling like a turtle turned on its back, she rolled onto her side and pushed herself to a sitting position, watching the men worriedly. Caleb halted while he was still several yards distant from them, his gaze flickering to her briefly before settling on Gideon. "You have a reason for being here?" Gideon growled challengingly. Caleb's face hardened. "Yes. To challenge you to a test of fighting skills." Surprise flickered in Gideon's eyes. Bronte's heart leapt into her throat and tried to choke her. "There is a purpose to this contest?" Gideon asked coldly, the challenging growl of his voice suggesting he knew the answer already. Caleb's gaze moved to Bronte. "If I best you, then you will allow me to court Bronte." "She is our companion," Jerico said, his voice as cold and bristling with threat as Gideon's. 402
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Caleb faced him unflinchingly. "There are only three of you. She can accept a fourth." "There are plenty of others who could also accept a fourth!" Gabriel snapped. "And more who have no more than two!" Caleb's hard jaw clenched, bringing a muscle there taut. "I want Bronte." Bronte felt her face heat as his gaze met hers for a long moment and then flickered over her, lingering almost as long on her belly. Indignation filled her. "Well! If you're hanging out for a brood mare, this one is already well bred!" Amusement flickered in his eyes. For a split second a pair of dimples appeared in his cheeks. "I will not say that breeding you has never entered my mind," he retorted, his voice husky with promise—and no sense of self-preservation, "but you have far more to offer a man than only that. It is you that I want. As your man said, I could have looked elsewhere if I was only seeking a breeding mare." Mollified, Bronte smiled back at him before she thought better of it. Her men, she discovered, were studying her through narrowed eyes when she glanced at them guiltily. She shrugged apologetically. "Mayhap instead of a challenge of skills, I will slay you and feed your corpse to the carrion feeders," Gideon ground out. Caleb's face tightened. "And mayhap I will kill you and take your place!" "Let's don't do this!" Bronte exclaimed in dismay, trying to struggle to her feet. 403
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Ignoring her, Gideon, Gabriel, and Jerico exchanged a long look. Gabriel shrugged, turning to look Caleb over with interest. "You are not a Hunter?" Caleb's face reddened with anger. "I am not," he ground out. "I did not think so. What do you think, Gideon?" "I believe that I will see if he is all mouth," Gideon said coldly, pulling his sword from the sheath strapped to his back. "And then we will see if he worthy of our Bronte." "God! Not the swords, Gideon!" Bronte exclaimed in dismay. He turned to study her for a long moment and then fixed Gabriel with a hard look, jerking his head toward the half finished structure behind them. Nodding, Gabriel strode to Bronte, scooped her into his arms, and began to bear her away at a brisk stride. "I will show you around our home." "I don't want to see the house!" Bronte said angrily, feeling her heart clench in fright as she heard the clang of blades behind them. "Make them stop!" "When I have you safely in the house," Gabriel promised. "Now, Gabriel! I mean it! Put me down! I'll stop it!" "This is why Gideon told me to take you into the house," Gabriel said chidingly. "He didn't tell you anything!" Bronte hissed angrily. "I knew what he meant." "I know you knew what he meant! You three are always doing that! I don't suppose it occurred to any of you that this might not be what I want?" 404
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"Then you can send him on his way when Gideon is done with him." Bronte glared at him. "It's bad enough that the three of you are always pounding on each other! Now I have to look forward to you hacking at each other with swords?" "We would not use swords against one another." "Just against anyone that might decide they want to join us?" Gabriel shrugged. "There is always the possibility that someone will challenge us so long as we are only three and there is a place for another. I never was easy in my mind that we were only three." Bronte gaped at him. "You were expecting this?" "We had thought that he would come sooner. It was clear that he wanted you ... to us, if not to you." Her shock didn't last. "But ... this is no way to settle the dispute! Someone will get hurt ... badly. I've seen the way you all swing those swords!" "That was different. There was no doubt that that was a fight to the death when the trogs attacked. This is merely a contest to judge his skills as a fighter. We must be certain that he is not only willing to protect, but as capable of protecting you as any of us. He is a good man, but he has not had the fighting experience that we have. He was among the last produced and we had already been fighting for many years before he came." Bronte's eyes narrowed. "Why did you ask him if he was a Hunter if you know so much about him?" 405
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"Because the Hunters were the last. I could not be certain." "What do you have against the Hunters?" He caught her gaze as he settled her on her feet at last. "Aside from the fact that they were designed to kill us?" he asked wryly. "They believe they are superior to us," he added angrily. "And I do not want to share you with someone you might love more than me." Bronte searched his face, knowing it wasn't that the Hunters thought they were superior but the fact that the cyborgs felt inferior. "I couldn't love anyone more than I love you," she said gently. "Don't you know that?" He stared at her with a mixture of uncertainty and tentative hope. "You do not think so?" She shook her head. "I know so. After all we went through together, no one could break the bond we forged." He hauled her roughly against him and kissed her ruthlessly. She smiled up at him when he lifted his head at last. "Now will you go stop them?" He smiled back at her. "No." "Damn it, Gabriel!" she snapped, pushing at him and trying to go around him. He chuckled, hooking his arm around her waist, carrying her full circle before he released her. "I love you, Bronte ... but, no." Grinding her teeth, she pushed his hands away and paced, trying to peer over his shoulder to see what was going on. He kept pace with her, blocking her view. "I can not stand the 406
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suspense!" she said finally. "Go and make sure Gideon isn't hurt!" The scrape of a booted foot on the foundation heralded the end of the battle. "Oh ye of little faith!" Gideon quoted wryly. Letting out a gasp, Bronte rushed around Gabriel and fled to Gideon, trying to examine him for injury. He grabbed her, hauling her upward for a gusty kiss that quickly turned far more hungry than merely affectionate when she surged readily against him and kissed him back with fervor. Heat spread through her rapidly as he explored her mouth with his tongue and her body with his hands with equal thoroughness. "Tease," she murmured without heat when he broke the kiss almost reluctantly and lifted his head. Nuzzling her face against his hard chest, she settled her cheek over his heart, savoring the warmth of his embrace as much as his kiss. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw that Caleb had followed Gideon to the house. He was watching her and Gideon together, his expression unreadable. She met his gaze for a long moment and then examined him for injury. Relieved when she saw that he had no more than a few small cuts, she pulled away from Gideon and looked up at him questioningly. He nodded at Caleb almost cordially. "He has an excellent sword arm." Bronte lifted her brows at him, but turned to look at Caleb again as Gideon moved away from her. Caleb smiled at her almost bashfully, and then glanced uneasily at the other men, 407
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who'd retreated only a short distance to watch, Bronte discovered, mildly annoyed. Caleb cleared his throat. "I would like.... "He stopped, frowned as he reconsidered and started again. "Would you consider contracting with me?" A mixture of amusement and irritation flooded Bronte. These men had no subtlety at all! "You're very sweet, and very handsome," she said slowly. "I will consider it, but ... I like to be courted!" Caleb looked confused and happy and uneasy all at the same time. Bronte turned to look at her men, a slow smile curling her lips as she met their gazes one by one. "You should ask them how to court me. They are very good at courting. I loved the way they courted me." Gideon's eyes gleamed with promise as he met her gaze and held it. "I would love to court you until the hour I breathe my last breath, Bronte." The End
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