Authors: KC Klein
Dark Future (3 page)
I
ts body was made up of gray scales the size of salad plates that overlapped, forming like a well-fitted armor. A viscous blue substance coated the scales, creating a sucking sound with each inhale. My gaze traveled up and locked on a pair of predatory eyes that constricted in the neon glare. A football-shaped head bent low, toward me.
Its mouth unhinged, mere inches in front of my face, baring long knife-like appendages. Blood-stained teeth were slick with stringy saliva, billowing as its heated breath blew in my face. White mucus, glowing blue in the light, dripped from its claw-like hands. The beast was huge, at least ten-feet tall, round and fat like a well-fed tick. But it was the black intelligent eyes that captured my attention. Its piercing stare crossed all communication barriers, relaying to me one message . . . prey.
The gurgling in my throat signaled the death of my scream.
Its head lowered and bumped my cheek with its flattened face. Two slits in the front opened and closed, as it inhaled my scent. Its head rose, eyes fluttered back as if in ecstasy. Then it lowered and came back for a longer sniff.
Terror had nothing on me. I’d done terror; terror was two floors
up
for me. I knew in mere seconds I would pass out . . . just hoped it was soon enough.
The sound of rocks crashing came at me from the side. Out ofsou the blackness a man hit me hard and solid in the stomach.
There was no contest. I was weak and slow; he was strong and fast. I was slammed to the ground, the wind knocked out of me.
Blackness enveloped us as the neon circle of light went out. Panic surged through me as I struggled against the heavy weight across my abdomen.
Run. Get out of here.
Rough whiskers abraded my cheek and his harsh breathing rasped in my ear.
“Stop fighting,” he hissed, then shifted and pulled my face tight against his neck. The scent of sweat, metal, and male heat reached me as I fought to breathe.
“Now!” he shouted, at some unknown signal. He seized my arm and pulled us both to our feet, almost dislocating my shoulder in the process. Gunshots splintered all around us, streaking through the night like bolts of lightning.
I decided, if this was my last moment on earth, I didn’t want to see death coming. I squeezed my eyes shut. A coward to the end.
“Move!” His shout was barely audible above the chaos crashing around my head. Machine guns fired. Men screamed. Then a primal animal roared so loud and high-pitched that I tried to break free to protect my ears.
The man was having none of my self-preservations. He pushed me up over a crumbling rock wall, his hands squarely on my butt and thighs. I clawed at the dirt and rocks to gain leverage. Finally, over the wall I moved forward on hands and knees, desperate for distance. Within one panicked breath the man was there, pulling, forcing me up into a dead run.
Within four strides he jerked me to a stop and let go.
Free of his support, my feet skidded out from under me. I landed hard on my butt, fire splintered through my tailbone. My teeth smashed together biting my lip. I rolled onto my side, gagging on the taste of metal, warm and thick, as the blood mixed with my saliva.
Stricken with no sense of direction, I froze alone in the dark.
With the
rat-a-tat-tat
of machine guns punctuating the night with their sharp bursts of light, I could see other men, their faces streaked with black, hovering and firing behind what little coverage there was. Then
he
was C>
I could barely stand—the throbbing in my lower back made my legs quiver. I hobbled a few steps and collapsed to my knees.
“Get the hell up. Now!”
I shook my head. My lungs were on fire. “Who are you?”
“If you can talk, you can run,” he shouted.
I tugged back on my arm, but his grip was relentless. It was either run or be dragged. With sheer strength of will, I forced myself to my feet.
A brain-jarring explosion erupted from behind. Heat singed my back as the blast propelled me, throwing me through the air. My body skidded to a stop along the ground.
I trembled. I didn’t want to rise again, but the man refastened his hold and gave no mercy.
He hauled me across the hard-packed dirt. I stumbled to my feet, forced to run blind in the darkness.
My chest ached, lungs burned. I’d no idea how long we ran. My body slowed. My oxygen-starved brain no longer obeyed orders. Willing to beg for mercy, I wondered if God had answered my prayer or the Devil himself.
The man pressed harder and I knew I had my answer—
Antichrist.
I picked up the pace.
Finally, we slowed to a stop. My hand brushed along a large smooth boulder. Then he freed his savage hold to my arm.
I collapsed. Every bone liquefied from sheer exhaustion. Grateful for the reprieve, I dug my fingers into my cramping side.
“Wait here,” he ordered.
Fine with me. I flipped on my back and gasped for air. I doubted I’d live through the next few seconds, much less the rest of this day. Stealth was so not my priority.
“Quiet,” he whispered, harshly.
Unable to utter a word, I shot a middle finger in the direction of his voice. Granted, he did just save my life, but he’d been none too gentle about it.
He laughed, but it sounded hoarse. Like that part of his vocal cords had about as much use as my treadmill. Of course, he’d been able to see all along. When we were running, he had me swerving all over, possibly to avoid objects.
I dropped my hand with a thud, too exhausted to care if I’d forgotten to be grateful.
“It’s the damn thin air,” he said. “I forget how thin the atmosphere is till I have to run a mile in it. Stay here. Let me make sure she’s gone.”
Female? Something that vicious had a gender? The thought of it breeding caused a cold shiver to pierce my heart.
As soon as he was gone, I wanted him back. True, wishing the Antichrist back smacked of pure crazy, but lying waiting in the dark for monsters wasn’t exactly a sane plan either.
“Let’s go.” He took my hand and led me up a rocky hillside. After a few shaky steps, he pulled me into a crouch alongside him. A flare of light broke the darkness blinding me for a second. When my vision cleared, I saw the florescent stick he used to illuminate a small dark tunnel. The harsh blue light played havoc with his features throwing them into shadowy contrast, all but one, the piercing blueness of his eyes.
“Did anyone else survive? Are all of your bodyguards dead?” He had pushed a pair of night vision goggles on top of his head and rubbed his face, smearing dirt and sweat across his brow.
Bodyguards? “No,” I shook my head, “no one else.”
“What do you mean no one else? As in you are out here by yourself?”
I nodded, hoping it was the correct response. I desperately wished I knew which response was.
“What the hell kind of irresponsible goddess are you to come out here all alone?” he growled as his hand gripped my wrist.
If his voice was harsh before, then it had just dropped to a whole other level. Even with the sweat on my skin, I felt chilled. What was it about his question that made me nervous? His tone? His actions? Didn’t matter; I followed my gut a Cowe“nd did a favorite diversion tactic and asked one of my own. “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
I tried to keep my tone light and ignored the way his hand ground my ulna and radius together.
His fingers snapped open as if my skin burned to the touch. He moved back a fraction of an inch; his eyes narrowed into slits.
“Why do you ask questions you should know the answer to?” His voice hinted at hesitation, as if he was afraid of my reply.
Something about my response had changed him. His suspicion rose between us like a physical barrier, brick by thick brick trapping me in. Well, he wasn’t the only one. His questions scared the crap out of me. Why would I know who he is and where we were going? Yeah, I trusted him alright—about as much as I did a Rottweiler, in a locked room with a steak tied around my neck. I put my hand up in a gesture of peace. “Listen, I appreciate you saving me back there, but I’m not going anywhere without a little information.”
There, I did it. I took matters firmly in hand.
With the merest of shrugs, he side-stepped and pushed me aside. Then placed the glow stick in his mouth and crawled into the dark cave on the side of the hill.
I stood gaping in disbelief as he vanished into a mountain. Oops, my bad, I hadn’t realized the conversation was over.
My desire to follow through the coffin-like hole was neck and neck with working a double shift in the emergency room on New Year’s Eve. But as I watched the light get fainter and fainter, the pendulum swung in the opposite direction. I sure didn’t want to be left in the dark and with whatever the hell had been chasing us.
“Hey!” I shouted. Desperation threw my voice into a higher pitch. “Wait for me.”
No answer. It was either the arrogant jerk or the monster. I made my choice and crawled after the florescent glow.
Soon the tunnel widened enough for me to stand. I’d lost track of the moving glow stick, but decided there was only one direction—forward. I rounded a corner and saw a bright light, an opening, glowing comfortingly in the dark. I rushed forward.
The tunnel led to a large cavernous room. The walls were made of dirt and rock as if a large mountain had been hollowed out. Other tunnels led off into the distance, larger tha Ce, re n the one I’d come from, more like hallways. Computer equipment on dented metal tables and large screens dominated the front of the room. Machine guns lined the walls, and something I’d seen used as a grenade launcher in an action movie took up space in the back.
To the side of me, I caught a glimpse of the only splash of color among the multitude of grays and browns. A set of red metal doors were off to the side, guarded by five men with guns, barring the entrance or exit to whatever was behind those doors.
The sound of guns being locked and loaded whipped my head in the opposite direction. Another set of five heavily armed soldiers crouched down, each with machine guns pointed directly at me.
I froze mid-motion. There must have been a misunderstanding. I was not the enemy. The thing outside was.
No sudden moves. No sudden moves. Look . . . friendly
.
I plastered a smile on my face so big I could feel my lips crack. I hoped to appear nonthreatening, but knew I failed. My sports bra and shorts were ripped and dirty, and I knew my eyes held a crazed, deranged glare. I’d be better off channeling Nicholson.
Heeeerrre’s Johnny.
I scanned the room, desperate for the sight of the man I followed through the tunnel. Or was it down Alice’s rabbit hole? I searched scowling faces trying to locate the severe blue eyes I’d caught a glimpse of earlier.
I found them on the face of a thirty-something looking man with short dark blonde hair and a six-feet-tall muscular frame. He stood behind the five men, hands planted on hips, feet spread wide in a military stance.
His icy glare directed at me.
Cold blue eyes blazed from his harsh face. I had no problem interpreting his thoughts. He’d like nothing better than to have me skinned, stuffed, and my head mounted on a wall. The fact that he could do the deed, and no one would stop him, was obvious. He exuded predator power—as natural to him as a lion stalking a poor, defenseless lamb.
“Waiting on your order to fire, Commander.” One of the soldiers took out a hand gun and leveled the barrel at my forehead.
Geez-us. Really? What is it with me and guns today?
My heart slammed into my chest wall. This was it, death by a shot to the head.
“No! No fire!” I shrieked holding my hands up in a universal sign of surrender. I wished I’d had a white flag. I would’ve waved it like a cheerleader’s pom-pom at homecoming. I sent a pleading look to the man who apparently no longer wanted to save my life. He had to realize I was no monster. I widened my smile and was sure my crowned molar showed.
His lips didn’t even twitch.
If his glare could alter temperature, I would need Arctic gear. I waited—afraid to hear the command that would end my life.
“No.” He shook his
head slightly from side to side, sparing me no more than minimal effort. “Take the prisoner to the Holding Cell.”
H
olding cell? Prisoner? When did this happen?
In shocked silence I watched as if outside myself as two soldiers took hold of each arm and led me through a series of tunnels. We walked further and further down into the bowels of the mountain. Some of the tunnels were lit with copper mesh wiring glowing with a pale yellow light, while others were dark or lit only by torches stuck into crevices along the wall. The air was thick and damp, enough to frizz my hair. The odor of moist earth and rotten eggs, hinting at sulfuric gas, made me want to gag.
I was deposited in a cell, formed by a natural depression in the rock wall, and enclosed by rusty iron bars cemented across the front. The men locked the gate and took their leave, but not before lighting a nearby torch.
So grateful I was not to be left in the dark, I nearly shouted a thank you. I pushed my back against the wall and inched down to the floor. I placed my head in my hands and took slow deep breaths. Panic brewed, threatening a full-out attack.
This sort of thing was not supposed to happen to me. I wanted to be back home with my comfy pillow and down comforter. To wake up to the smell of gourmet coffee that was set to brew at seven every morning. I wanted to wake up and realize this was all a dream. I wanted . . . I wanted my mom. God, I missed my mom. I’d
always
missed her, but going back home wouldn’t fix that. Nothi For="#000ng would.
Think Kris, think.
This all had to be connected. My future-self sending me up a mountain trail at gunpoint was all for what? What had happened? All I remembered was dark holes burning in my vision and then falling. . . . Was that it? Did I go forward in time? She said the “how” would take care of itself. How did she know that would happen? But, of course, she said we’ve done this before. She knew because she’d done the same thing herself.
A cold prickling crawled over my skin. She told me I had to “save ConRad,” whoever the hell he was. And what else? Oh yeah, that he was angry, and if he thought I was a spy, he’d kill me.
The thought had my ulcer calling loudly for attention. I wrapped my arms around my middle. My story had to be above suspicion. I’d just hoped he’d buy it.
I
woke with a start. A large burly face covered in curly, red hair hovered inches from mine. Fat, pink lips were slapped between a coarse mustache and thick beard, reminding me of two slabs of salmon sushi.
“Get up. Time to see the Commander,” his breath stale and voice chipper, as if going to see the Commander was the same as a long awaited trip to Disneyland. He didn’t wait for my response, just grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. Another soldier, a walking brick wall with a buzz cut, met me outside the cell and attached to my other arm.
I snorted—like I was a threat. They outweighed me by about two hundred pounds . . . each.
“What’s your name?” I asked, not really caring, but wanting to draw out my journey to the Commander as long as possible.
“00215,” said the curly, red hair man.
“What?” That wasn’t a name; it was a number.
He looked down at me with surprise, then a knowing smile. “Oh, you’re a sly one all right, but I won’t be fooled. No worries though, the Commander will get it out of you.”
My foot stumbled, and I would’ve fallen if not for the two hammerheads clasped on either side. They dragged me down a long dirt tunnel, supported with metal beams, and stopped at a nondescript door. Two other soldiers stood outside, presumably guards. Who exactly did they think Kid ustify">
The room was an interrogation chamber fresh out of a scene from a spy movie. Gray plastered walls, dirt floor, utilitarian-ugly. I was told to sit and wait for the Commander.
All alone, the minutes crawled. My eyes fell upon a cockroach the size of my palm as the bug walked, too fat to scurry, across the ceiling.
Did they keep them as pets?
I wondered if this was a new species. And what did they feed on—human flesh? The image didn’t help my panic-induced imagination in the least. My mind caught on the possibilities of torture, played out every scenario, from witch dunking to bamboo under the fingernails. I’d buckle under them all.
Come on, Kris. You’re tougher than this
, my inner cheerleader rallied, but then I remembered who I was and shook my head
. Nope. No, don’t think so.
The air chilled my skin. Gooseflesh spread over my arms and across my stomach. I glanced down and groaned. If I
had
to be interrogated, I wished I’d worn something confidence inspiring. Something with protection—I had too much delicate, pale skin exposed. Instead, I was half clothed and, crazy as it seemed, I couldn’t stop sucking in my belly.
The door opened. The Commander entered.
He was the same man who’d saved my life or sentenced me to prisoner status, depending on which way you looked at the situation. As strung out as I was now, I choose the latter. I’d had a small iota of hope that there were two commanders, but I’d always been genetically predisposed to misfortune.
Screw the genes that gave me good cholesterol; I needed lucky blood coursing through my veins.
My gaze followed him as he walked over to the opposite chair and took a seat. His presence filled the room. Even the walls seemed to be under his command as they drew in closer. This didn’t help the pools of sweat that were collecting under my arms.
The Commander, on the other hand, seemed to have braved the death-defying experience quite well. His short blonde hair was wet, possibly from a recent shower. A clean brown cotton T-shirt was pulled tight across a broad chest, short sleeves drew taut over well-defined ar Kll-t sms. His muscular legs were clad in basic army camouflage and tucked into black military boots. A serrated knife, the size of my forearm was strapped to his thigh.
Okay, so he’d taken the class entitled “How to intimidate your foe with your attire.”
He’d probably even used a toothbrush. Seeing as I would’ve committed a minor misdemeanor for a toothbrush, my resentment started to outweigh my fear. I glanced at his face, not surprised that his expression seemed to be carved from granite. Strong nose and chin placed squarely between the sharp rising and falling planes of his cheekbones. Small lines crinkled around his eyes and a furrowed brow completed the picture.
In some circles he would be considered handsome, if one liked the arrogant, brooding type. I, personally, was partial to the laid-back surfer dudes, mostly because a surfer would never glare at me with such hostility. The Commander, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to singe the very skin from my body.
His eyes disturbed me the most—icy blue, cold like they’d seen countless inhumane things. Callous things that could erode a person’s soul.
I stiffened my spine. I sat here, convicted without even the benefits of a trial. None of this was my fault. I’d done nothing to initiate my time travel, and the only thing I’d experienced from this man was rudeness and borderline aggression. I was the victim here, pulled from a dark hole with bullets flying, chased by a monster, and treated like a prisoner. I’d done nothing wrong, and I was sick of being treated like I had.
“What is your name, rank, and serial number?” His voice was rough, as his eyes narrowed.
Silence was my response. We glared at each other—me on guard, him with animosity. I held my own for a few
very
tense moments—then blinked. Out of the two of us, he would always win the staring contest. I swallowed hard, my tongue suddenly thick, and put on my false bravo.
Show no fear
. Yeah, right.
“I’m cold, dirty, and have had nothing to eat or drink in hours. I haven’t even used a decent bathroom. I am sorry . . . Commander, is it?” My voice had the same edge to it that I used with unruly patients. “I’m just not feeling in the most cooperative mood.”
He didn’t say anything, his face a mask of chiseled stone. Then he stood and walked out. A few minutes later two soldiers appeared—the same two that escorted me here. I’d already nicknamed them, Red and Tank. They carried in a bucket of water, soap, a change of clothes, and something resembling food.
The water sloshed as they sat the pail down, soaking into the dusty ground. “You have ten minutes,” Red grunted, as they walked toward the door.
Stunned, I never actually believed my requests would be granted. After they were gone, I pushed the wooden chair against the door handle, barring their entrance, and stripped out of my clothes. I grabbed the bar to wash and took a quick sniff. Ugh, no flowery scents here.
I scrubbed my body down with the tepid water and coarse soap, ignoring the sting from my cuts and abrasions. Time being short, I threw on the apparent standard uniform, khaki tank top with camouflage army pants, over my wet skin. The pants were too big, but there was a belt in the pile, so with some creative alterations they stayed in place. Finished, I removed the chair, not wanting to push the Commander’s sudden benevolence.
I pulled up a seat and examined the pile of brown goo on the plate, aka food. My gut churned, not up to the task. I pushed the plate aside and downed the glass of water. The water was lukewarm and went down with a mineral taste, stale and gritty, unsticking the back of my throat. I wished I had a gallon of the stuff.
A short while later the Commander entered, along with my two new favorite soldiers, who removed all the stuff including my dirty clothes. Once again I was left alone with my antagonist.
“Are there any other accommodations that we can get for you?” he asked in a pleasant voice. I was in no way fooled. “Let’s try again, shall we?”
I nodded.
“Good, now what is your name, rank, and serial number?”
“I don’t have a rank or serial number. I don’t belong in this . . . this . . . military,” I said, gesturing with my hand to indicate the entire compound.
His eyes narrowed, apparently not liking my tone. “How could you not be in the military? Everyone is required to be in the military . . . that is, if you’re human.”
The word
human
seemed to resonate off the walls, impregnating the air with suspicion. If I was human? What the hell did that mean?
“I don’t have a rank or number, but I do have a name. It’s Kris Davenport.” My voice sounded strong. I was impressed.
“Where are you from?” He stepped closer to the table, minimizing the space between us.
“Scottsdale, Arizona.”
“What’s your occupation?” He lowered himself on the opposite chair and perched forward.
“I am a doctor, surgical intern actually. I work at the County Hospital.” My gaze was plastered to his every move waiting for signs of attack.
The room fell silent. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and stared. “What were you doing out there last night?”
“Jogging.” I lied, knowing the lion wanted to lead me like a docile lamb, only to turn around and spring.
“Why are you lying?” he said the words slow, cold, and calm, as if he did this every day. I, new to the whole interrogation thing, tried to wipe the sweat from my palms on my pants without him noticing. “I’m not lying. I’m telling you the truth.”
He stood and paced the floor.
He was agitated—I didn’t care. Okay . . . yeah I did—knowing I was the focus of his anger scared the crap out of me.
“I see,” he began. He stopped pacing, turned, his gaze level with mine. “Let me tell you why I don’t feel up to playing this game. Why I don’t feel up to spending all day going over your bull of a story. Last night, we detected a female outside the compound on our surveillance system. We thought that this was strange since the only exit to the outside planet is heavily guarded, as you saw when you were brought in.
“Stranger still is the fact that you are a female, and since no female has ever been out on this planet without an armed escort, we thought we would investigate. And what did we see?” His voice went a notch lower—a degree colder. “You, screaming your head off, standing mere inches from the biggest alien life-form we’ve ever seen.”
He came over, slapped his hands on the table, and lowered himself a mere inch from my face. “We lost two soldiers out there. Both were my good friends. One was killed when he was thrown; his head split open on a rock. And the other was sliced in two by the alien’s claw.”
I drew back into my chair, trying to create distance. As his voice grew louder, I felt myself become a little smaller.
“So . . . this is why I don’t feel like playing the usual game of waiting you out, toying with you, threatening you until you break. Because you will break . . . my prisoners always do.” He said the last sentence slowly as if he relished the breaking.
“So I suggest you get motivated, cut the lies, and get right to the truth. Because if not, I am willing to speed up the whole damn process.” He withdrew his knife and flung the blade deep into the wood of the table. The ivory-carved handle stood on its end, vibrating slightly waiting for his next move.
I suddenly became motivated.
“Listen . . .” There was a desperate ring to my voice I didn’t bother to hide. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know what happened either. One moment I was running and the next I woke in pitch black with something breathing hot putrid air in my face. I—”
He cut me off with the raise of his hand. “Enough!” His voice boomed. “I am a patient man, but you are pushing me beyond my tolerance.”
Ha! Patient? I think not. He’d only been in the room with me for five minutes and already he wanted to kill me. Better revisit that virtue buddy. But for once, I wisely kept my mouth shut.
As if reading my thoughts he straightened and took a deep breath. “Let’s try this again, your rank . . . serial number . . . and your real name.” Each of his words ground out through clenched teeth.
“I’ve told you my real name, Commander. It is just Commander, right?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.
“I am the Commander in Chief of this compound. Just Commander to you. A very select few, like the ones you are responsible for killing last night, call me ConRad. I’m the head of this compound, and nothing is done here without my order. Nothing goes on here without my knowledge.”
ConRad? OMG ConRad! Waves of hot and cold slammed through me. This was the man I was supposed to save? I must’ve gotten something wrong. Maybe missed something with all the gun waving. I’d gotten the impression that my BBD felt sorry for killing him, possibly even guilt-ridden over it. I was a doctor. I saved lives for a living; but if he went into cardiac arrest right here, I’d have no problem stepping over his body and running for the door.
I assessed him for about the hundredth time, and he looked about as fit as any man could. My scenario didn’t have a chance in hell Khanh.
<. So now, who was going to save me from him?
I fluttered my hand up to my throat suddenly nervous.
Lie or die, sweetheart.
I needed information. “Where is this place? What is this compound?”
His eyebrows arched.
Apparently I was wrong; his face wasn’t made from chiseled rock since it didn’t crumble from such an expressive gesture.
“How do you
not
know what the compound is?” Suspicion flowed off him. His gaze bore into mine seeming to measure every nuance of my expression.
I closed my eyes, then opened them. Exhaustion made my head heavy. “Please?” I didn’t sound quite like I was begging. Okay, yes I did.
Nothing. Silence. He stood, stared, and took in every detail as if he hadn’t seen a human in twenty years. Then, as if information was as valuable as water in a parched desert, he doled it out sparingly. “This compound is the last defense that stands between us and the annihilation of the entire human race.”
All right . . . a little melodramatic to me, but he didn’t seem to be the joking around type. “What are you talking about ‘the annihilation of the entire human race’? Sounds a lot like a bad sci-fi movie.” I laughed nervously.
His eyes widened, nostrils flared.
A nervous tingle spread in my belly. Apparently sarcasm wasn’t the crowd pleaser it once was.
“Who are you? Better yet WHAT are you?” He took hold of the huge hunter’s knife, crossed the table, and in a blink slammed me into the wall. The wooden chair clattered uselessly to one side. No defense, no barrier, just me against a violently strong man.
I couldn’t breathe. His muscled forearm pressed against my windpipe. I went for the knee to the crotch move, but he was too quick. He pushed both legs between mine. Pinned my arms with one hand above my head.
“Where did you come from? Who sent you?”
I saw spots. Strangled animal sounds came from my throat.
He let up ever so slightly. “Answer me or I swear I will slice your throat here and now just to make sure.”
He had whispered the words. A gentle caress to my ear, but I believed every one of them. “I don’t know . . . I just . . . I was running, and I think I must have passed out. And when I woke up, it was . . . it was . . . dark, I swear. No one sent me.”
PleaseGodpleaseGod, let him believe me.
My toes danced trying to gain purchase on the dirt floor. “My name is Kristina Davenport, and I am a surgical intern at the hospital and . . . that’s it, I swear.”
“See, I will make this easy for you.” His voice so husky I had to strain to hear him. “There are only two possibilities. One . . .” he took his forearm away from my throat, sheathed his knife, and held up a finger, “you are telling me the truth, and you really don’t know how you got to this planet. Or two,” second finger went up, “you are an alien life-form who has learned how to shape-shift into human form in order to penetrate our defenses.”
Alien life-forms. Shape-shifting. What was he talking about? But, out of those two choices, it didn’t take a genius to figure out which one to pick. “The first one,” I agreed, sucking in sweet air like an addict gone too long between fixes. I plastered myself against the wall, trying to make myself small, to take up less room, since he took up more than his fair share.
“Well, if that’s the case, then we will just have to subject you to a mind-invasion interrogation to see if you are telling us the truth.” His lips brushed my cheek, his breath tickled my neck as he spoke.
Ahh . . . I didn’t know what a mind-invasion was, but I didn’t want to find out.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head as vigorously as I could. “No need. Since I’ve been telling you the truth, there’s nothing to find out. No mind-invasion, no alien life-forms, just plain old me.” I had to stick with my story. My BBD told me he’d kill me if he thought I was a spy. What she failed to mention—which was adding up to quite a lot—was he was freaking crazy.
“But, I think it’s the latter,” he continued like I hadn’t spoke, the lines around his ice blue eyes settling deeper into his chiseled face. If faces told stories, then his was one I didn’t want to know. An orphaned kitten wouldn’t find mercy at his hands. “I think the aliens have finally learned to shape-shift and you’re the result. What better decoy than a . . . woman?”
He said the word
woman
with a low growl deep in his throat. Never had I heard the word spoken quite like that before, almost possessive, like he had a claim on me. I shivered on the inside. My skin felt turned inside out, raw nerve endings exposed, pulsing in the breeze.
I’d never been more aware of being a woman than in this moment.
His woman.
I gasped, shocked at the thought. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t seem to think with my soft breasts pushing against his hard chest; my body flushed against the unmovable planes of his stomach and thighs.
His hand came back to my throat, stroking the underside of my jaw. Though the pressure was light, there was a strong undercurrent of menace. A calloused thumb scraped the sensitive skin, letting me know he could snap my neck.
Oh, I knew he could kill me, but I also knew something else. Something my brain couldn’t access. It wasn’t a memory exactly, but more of a gut reaction, an impression of familiarity. I clenched my jaw, pushing the uncomfortable feeling aside.
“Now,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “there are a few ways to tell if you’re human or if you’re . . . not. One is the smell.” Deliberate, as if a connoisseur wine taster, he buried his face deep into the curve of my shoulder. His lips and nose skimmed my skin, leaving a small prickling of heat in his wake. He inhaled and captured the essence of me, in my hair, my ear, even my breath.
I trembled.
He relinquished his hold on my neck, grabbed a fistful of hair, pulled and exposed my throat. My body arched more fully against his. My breasts had no protection except two thin layers of cotton that chaffed my sensitive nipples. Rock-solid legs rested between mine. His hardened desire pressed against my own heating center. His face shifted back to my line of vision. Eyes scrutinized me as if memorizing every curve, every angle. “Too sweet to be alien.”
His voice called to my blood as it pumped the word—
yes
—through my veins, luring me to give up . . . to surrender. I panted—struggled against his iron-clad grip on hair. On tiptoes I strained to . . . what? Push away or to get closer? I was confused. All the signals screamed that he was a dangerous, knife-wielding, crazy man, and yet my body wept with relief as if I’d come home after a long, strenuous journey.
“The second is the taste.” He opened his mouth. A pink tongue peeked out and deliberately touched a tiny scar that boarded his upper lip. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth and licked me, from the top of my shoulder to my neck, jaw, and swirled around my ear.
A warning trigged internally, too much, too . . . intimate. My heart flopped into my stomach and shook me from my trance.
“Mmm, you taste human. Like salt or more like . . . warm sunshine?” He pinned me with his gaze. His eyes spoke a primal language. Desire warred with anger; need against punishment.
I looked away. Embarrassed. Violated. His body crushed mine, suffocating in its nearness. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe without crushing my breasts against him. I always considered myself strong and physically fit, but he subdued me with barely any effort. Heart racing, I panicked.
When I was little, my two older brothers used to torment me. Pinned me down, sometimes for minutes, sometimes hours. The feeling of no control would break me—complete powerlessness always did. I used whatever weapon was available; whatever maneuvers would give me a fighting chance. This was no different. I turned my head, opened my mouth against his neck, and . . . sunk my teeth in.
He cursed. Grabbed hold of my shirt, picked me up, and slammed me back against the wall.
A painful whoosh came from my lungs. My vision rocked—brain swished inside my skull.
“You bit me.” He sounded shocked.
My head hurt so bad I had to blink hard to keep my eyes in their sockets. “You licked me,” I shouted back.
He assessed me, aqua blue eyes hooded with thick, long eyelashes, for what seemed like an eternity. “I will ask you one more time. Who are you?”
“I’ve told you everything.” My voice sounded desperate, tired, even to me. “I went running and fell into the dark . . . I’m a doctor at a hospital. If you don’t believe me, just call them. I’ve worked there for years.”
He stood still, his body hard against mine, creating an insurmountable barrier. His face so close I could see his pupils enlarge, almost hiding the hard blue of his irises. The rage in him lived and breathed. One hand ran along my scalp in a mock caress, grabbed hold of my hair and pulled.
“Liar,” his voice
barely a whisper, the knife was back . . . shaking at my very exposed, very vulnerable artery. “There hasn’t been a hospital anywhere on Earth since the year 2075.” And in one efficient movement, he drew the knife across my throat.