B Cubed #3 Borg

B Cubed

Book Three:

Borg

Jenna McCormick

Published by Captiva Heart
Copyright 2013 Jennifer Lynn Hart

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All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s
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Dedicated to:

Liane Gentry Skye

 Because you refused to let me stop at one.

Cassandra’s Journal

Date: Unknown

It’s happened.

Just like I knew it would. Being right holds no
satisfaction for me. The reality is even more terrible than in my dreams. Bodies
are everywhere. There aren’t enough living to properly dispose of the dead. The
world stopped turning, the sun never sets on one side while the other is bathed
in constant darkness. Plants can’t grow, animals drop dead from starvation. The
riots are the worst, the raiding parties preying upon the weak, taking from
them, killing those who put up a fight. Humanity belongs to the light. Is it
any wonder that banished from it we are losing the best of ourselves?

            The
major geological changes won’t happen for centuries yet, the oceans being
pulled to the poles, the freshwater lakes lost. The rise of the cyborgnetic
people that will dig out an enclave at the heart of the world. Those who will
embrace technology and band together stand a chance. Those on the surface will
cling stubbornly to the ways of the past, turning their backs on development
and abusing the people they create. The ones they breed to do their work. The
suffering will be great, the raiders becoming leaders with no concept of how to
rule.

            Until
their creations turn on them, just as an abused animal will turn on its master,
the Bred will unite with the cyborgs until the Born teeter on the edge of
extinction.

            There
will be one who could unite them all, a born cyborg. But his mind is twisted in
madness, his heart ice cold. He might break before he bends and destroy the
gift he was given, for he has suffered much in every life he’s lived. I fear he
is not strong enough for what humanity needs him to do. To be.

I fear we all are lost.

Chapter One

            “Dayen?”
Former Task Mistress Allora hurried forward before he could make his escape.

           
Damn
.
Dayen closed his eyes, shoulders slumped in defeat. He’d been dodging her for
weeks, and it was only a chance meeting here in front of his Aunt Cassie’s door
that lost him the battle.

            Well,
perhaps not. He cracked one eye open and surveyed the door with suspicion.
Nothing Aunt Cassie did was
ever
left to chance. So that meant she knew
exactly how much Dayen had wanted to avoid his mother, and he’d set her on his
trail anyhow.

            “Son,”
Allora reached for him and out of habit born of pain, he flinched before her
hand made contact with him. Touch made his telepathy worse, like turning up an
amplifier until her thoughts echoed in his head and bounced off his skull. He
couldn’t stand to be touched, not even by the woman who’d given him life.

 She froze mid-motion and withdrew her hand. He
stiffened his spine so as not to telegraph his relief.  It hurt her feelings if
he did and despite their falling out, he didn’t want to cause her pain.

            Instead,
he put the door at his back and turned to face her. “I was coming to see you
later today,” he lied smoothly.

            “Of
course you were.” Her eyes flashed, and she tossed her red-gold braid behind
her back. With a start he realized the fiery locks were threaded with gray.
When had that happened?

 Allora squared off as her training had taught
her.  Her doubt pinged in his brain, making his head ache all the more. “Son,
you don’t have to go through with this.”

           
Mine.
The beast’s voice growled.

Though he struggled to reign in the fury of his
other half, Dayen stood at parade rest. His posture mimicked hers, though his
hands clenched behind him into fists. The rage was unwarranted and he reasoned
the monster in his mind into submission. His mother wasn’t trying to take his
mate from him, he couldn’t attack her. Out by the lake he could see cyborgs
congregating, all the festivities for his mating ceremony were well underway.
Slowly, he turned his gaze on the woman who’d given him life. Who loved him
fiercely and whose concern was a giant boulder on his chest, compressing him
until he could barely breathe. How could he make her understand? “She’s what I
was born for, mother.”

Her eyes were kind as she whispered, “You have a
choice, son.”

He didn’t, not really. Never mind what was best
for their people, Dayen couldn’t explain to her all the ways he was different.
Allora didn’t want to hear a catalogue of his oddness.  More than just his telepathy
set him apart from the factions.

He was all of them and he was nothing like them.
“It is done, mother. Accept it.”

She spat a profanity, something vile and crude
and glared at her sister’s door. “She’s brainwashed you.”

“Well, someone needed to clean up in there.”

The voice came from behind his back, from his
Aunt Cassie. He glanced at her over his shoulder. The one creature who could
take him unaware. She was petite, even frail looking, especially side by side
with his warrior mother, who could wrestle cyborgs into submission.

Looks could be deceiving. Most of the cyborg
colony would rather face down a furious Allora than a serene Cassie.  His aunt
was like him, an outcast, something
inexplicable, unquantifiable and
other
.
More than the sum of the technological or human parts they possessed.

 Aunt Cassie was actually a clone of the prophet
Cassandra who had foreseen the end of the world and the rise of the three
factions. Dayen’s telepathy had given him unique insight into the fear his
aunt’s gift inspired. No one knew the extent of her powers. Some whispered she
could walk through the shadow realm and communicate with departed souls. Dayen
suspected they were right but Aunt Cassie was the one person he couldn’t read,
so he had no proof one way or the other.

“You,” Allora practically growled at her sister.
“You’ve backed him into this corner, into breeding with some Born bitch to
fulfill your precious prophecy. He can’t even stand my touch for an instant and
yet you expect him to take a mate?”

A low growl rumbled in his chest. His head ached
and his pride stung at the thought of his mother discussing his future sex life
with his aunt as though it were any of her business.  The anger swelled again,
hers feeding his until he wanted to make something bleed.  Arguing would only
prolong the encounter and he had about five minutes until her wild thoughts
made him collapse like a weakling at her feet.  He held his tongue.

Cassie didn’t back down, flinch or show any sign
that Allora’s accusations bothered her. Her voice was soft and lilting when she
spoke. “I do not determine his fate, sister mine. I am only a guide.”

Her calmness aggravated his mother even more,
her ire prickled over his every nerve ending. The encounter would end in blood
if Dayen didn’t stop it soon.  “Mother, I want to fulfill my destiny. I am the
only trifaction male, the only one they will all accept for their leader.” He
wasn’t about to mention the issues of breeding with Allora. She was invasive
enough as it was.

Instead, Dayen retrenched. Lowering his voice
and ignoring her angry thoughts, he stepped closer. “Mother, I am alone. Unique
in the world and I am tired of my own company. Did it ever occur to you that I
want more than the hermit’s life I’m leading?”

She
would help him, the one that was his. He didn’t
know how or why, but somehow she would put the broken pieces of him back
together, make him whole inside. He would be fulfilled, not just an empty shell
of a man with jagged edges.  

Allora’s anger faded to worry, her thoughts no
less potent for her mood shift. “But your gift—?”

“Don’t you want grandchildren?” He struck at her
heart, the way she’d trained him to attack an opponent when he was on the verge
of losing.

“Of course.” Longing poured from her in waves.
Despite their best efforts, Allora and Cormack had only had one child—the one
no one could touch. His father had told him he’d cried whenever they’d picked
him up as an infant and their upset had made him scream all the louder.
Eventually, he’d been handed over to the care of robot nursemaids, things
without human thoughts or emotions.  From that point on, his contact with his
parents was minimal.  Allora’s craving to actually hold her offspring hurt him
deeper than any physical blow.

Dayen eyed the festivities again. Would his
children inherit his curse? Would the Born mate that he had yet to meet one day
resent him for claiming her?

Mine,
the beast snarled.
Nothing can take her from
me.

His knuckles turned white at the effort of
keeping the monster at bay. The vicious predator didn’t understand the delicacy
of the situation, the negotiations, the planning. It just saw its end goal, to
have its mate.

But he was more than a beast, he was a man, a
leader destined to unite the factions. Reason had to override instinct. It
must.
We will have her,
he reminded it, reminded himself.
Much is at
stake, we must be patient.

He felt the beast grudgingly settle down to
wait.

Cassandra cleared her throat, the noise jarring
him out of his internal battle back to the argument taking place before him.
“Good, then leave him to do his part.”

 Allora still looked ready to argue.  But she
turned to him and her thoughts took him aback. She would sacrifice anything to
see him happy, even as she bitterly regretted the curse that kept her from
holding her only child. All she said was, “I love you, son.”

Dayen breathed in relief when she was finally out
of range even as his heart ached to see her go.

“Allora is a force of nature. It’s no wonder she
thinks so loudly. I dare say that’s where your beast comes from, at least in
part. Come in, dear nephew and tell me what’s brought you here on the eve of
your betrothal.”

If Aunt Cass had any thoughts, he never heard
them. Being in her little cave-like home was a reprieve from the barrage of
thoughts that pressed down on him whenever he entered the main routes in the
compound. Maybe it was something to do with the orange moss that grew along the
stone walls, or this sweet smell of her hydroponic garden just off the kitchen.
Whatever caused it, his aunt’s space had always been a sanctuary.

Because she was Cassandra she already knew why
Dayen was there, but he humored her request. “My dreams. They’ve…changed.”

His aunt poured him tea, her own special blend
that she grew in her hydroponics laboratory. “Changed how?”

Dayen took a sip from the cup, savoring the strong
brew.  He had no idea what she put in it but drinking it always made him feel a
little bit better. “They’re more physical.”

“More physical than dying?”

Dayen huffed out a breath. The first time he’d
dreamed of the world above, the surface he’d never actually seen, he’d been
awed by the experience. Until his throat had been slit and he bled out all over
the ground. He’d been fifteen and it had frightened him so much he hadn’t slept
for a week. Cass had known of course, the way she knew everything and she did
her best to help.

“More intimately physical,” Dayen clarified, and
hoped she wouldn’t make him say it.

She looked at him blankly.

Of course she would. “Sex. I’m having sex in the
dream.”

Her foggy expression cleared and her lips lifted
in a small smile. “Well, that’s a nice change, anyway.”

Talking about sex with Aunt Cass was only
slightly
better than discussing it with his mother, but he had no one else to
confide in. “No. And I’m not him in these dreams.”

Cass frowned. “Isaac?”

Dayen shuddered. He never spoke the man’s name,
afraid that the ghost whose soul he’d stolen could somehow inhabit him
completely if he said it aloud. It was bad enough the man tormented him every
time he slept, reliving bits and pieces from his too short life in Dayen’s head
as though it were an ancient movie screen. Only the beast kept Isaac at bay.
Sometimes Dayen wondered if he was even a person at all, or just a patched up
mess of refurbished souls fighting for a second chance.

He focused on Cass. “I think it’s me in the
dream. It doesn’t feel like a memory and I can sense the others within me but
I’m in control. What does that mean?”

She gave him a look that seemed to question his
intelligence. “Did Cormack teach you nothing about your urges? Do you need me
to tell you about the birds and the bees?”

            Dayen
sat back and ran a hand through his hair. Having a conversation with a
soothsayer was about as effective as repeatedly bashing his head against the
wall. What did two long extinct species have to do with any of it? “It’s not
coming from me though. The dream is tense, awkward, and full of fear. It’s not
arousing so much as
tormenting
. I wake up all full of anxiety and almost
sick from worry. There’s no passion or pleasure, it’s just…horrific. But those
aren’t
my
feelings. What can it mean?”

            Cassandra
shook her head.

            “Could
it be from her?” Though he’d never spoken to his bride-to-be Dayen could feel
her out there, would be able to point in her direction at any given time. He
didn’t know how it would work between them, or if they were even compatible.
She could be a shrew, more forceful and domineering than even his mother. Her
thoughts could be dark and depraved the way he heard all Born humans were. It
didn’t matter. She was his, the woman meant for him alone.

            His
birthright.

Mine.
The word came from deep inside him, not from the
ghost or even a real decision. Whenever he thought about her, he couldn’t see
her features, her body, or hear her voice but that word echoed down to his very
marrow. And as he thought it he recalled another feeling that had surfaced
during his bizarre dream.

Rage.

            Cass
plucked absently at the fabric of her dress. “I really can’t say.”

            Dayen
noted her phrasing. She hadn’t said she didn’t know or couldn’t be certain. But
there was no getting information out of her before she was ready to give it.

            Tiredly,
he leaned back against his chair. He was too young to have all this pressing
down on him. His gift was enough of a burden, but mating an unknown Born woman
to save the human race…he felt as if he would crack under the weight of it all.

            And
he did have urges, plenty of them, with nothing but his own hand to use for a
relief.  How would he complete the mating ritual if he couldn’t bear to touch
his woman?

            What
if he passed out in the middle of the act?

            The
shame would haunt him always. Along with his recycled spirit.

            Cass
reached out and covered his hand with her own, the only living being who could
without causing him to double up in pain. “It will all work out all right.
You’ll see.”