LyonsPrice

Lyon’s Price

Mina Carter

Captured and en route to a medical facility for dissection
and study, cyborg Lyon expects nothing but pain and degradation from his
captors. But Samara isn’t like the others, treating his wounds with care and
igniting a fire deep within. When she neglects to ensure his cuffs are locked
tight, all hell breaks loose. A hot, sensual hell against the cell wall.

When his team arrives, Lyon knows he should walk away…but he
can’t. His little human has gotten under his skin. He’ll take her as payment
for his suffering, keep her in his bed and pleasure them both for as long as it
takes for him to lose interest.

What he doesn’t expect is to lose his heart in the process.

Chapter One

They’d caught him. Lock, stock and fucking barrel.

Lyon seethed in silence as the security officers buzzed
around his maximum-security cell like flies around a honeypot. He was furious,
more with himself than anyone else. He should have
known
General Ryland,
über-marine legend, wasn’t going to be that easy to catch.

For heaven’s sake, he’d read the goddamn file on the woman.
The one clearly marked “Do not fuck with”. He might as well have just looked at
the pictures. He’d been too arrogant and assured of his own abilities.

As soon as he’d seen her among the
Arcadia
marines,
he’d recognized her. She was dangerous, inventive and unpredictable. He’d known
that. What he hadn’t known, and was now kicking himself for, was that she’d
have an Empath virtually joined at the hip.

“To the back of the cell,” the guard ordered. The hard look
in his eyes warned Lyon not to try anything. His team had killed some of this
man’s crewmates and, from the looks of it, the guy was itching for payback.
Lyon would prefer to avoid being the mechanism for that payback. Cyborg he
might be, but even he could feel pain.

Rolling to his feet, he stood, and smothered a smile as the
female guard at the back gasped. Yeah, he was big. Over six foot and broad
across the shoulders, just the same as any other Leo class out there. It wasn’t
fate. It wasn’t hours spent in the gym honing his physique. He’d been designed
to be big. He was the biological equivalent of a tank.

A right lot of good that had done him when he’d tracked
Ryland. He’d been so focused on getting the general in his clutches and finally
getting a shot at persuading someone high up in the Fleet that he and his kind
weren’t the monsters they were made out to be that he’d all but ignored the guy
with her.

Big mistake.

All it had taken was for Ryland to distract him by flitting
almost close enough to catch. While his attention was on her, the Empath had
sneaked up behind him. Lyon couldn’t figure out how he’d done it. Anyone else
he’d have detected. Something would have tipped him off. The slight scuffle of
a boot in the undergrowth or a caught breath would have caught his
hypersensitive senses. Not this time.

He replayed that chronology of his capture over and over in
his memory to try to figure it out. There was nothing. It was as though the guy
hadn’t even been there until he’d placed his hand on the back of Lyon’s neck
and tumbled him into darkness.

Note to self, avoid Empaths in future. That, or break
their fucking necks before they get close.

He moved to the back of the cell. He’d been through the
drill before, so he moved before they gave the order, standing facing the wall
with his hands behind his back.

“Being a good little machine today, are we?” the guard
behind him sneered as he clipped the heavy manacles over Lyon’s wrist. He
activated the magnetic locks. Instantly, Lyon felt the energy drain.

The Fleet had created him and his kind. They knew how to
contain them. At least, they thought they did. What they didn’t know was how
extensively Lyon’s base systems had been hacked and modified. Something he
intended to stop them discovering at all costs, even if he had to set the
tri-sappherium crystals that powered his cybernetics and combat chassis to
overload. The resulting blast would take out not only him, but also the ship
and possibly most of the system as well.

Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain as they hauled him
backward out of the cell.

“That won’t do you any good. Once they get you on the
Valkyrie
,
they’ll slice and dice you. See what makes you tick.”

“The
Valkyrie
?”

He couldn’t help the query. It slipped from between his lips
before he could stop himself. Even as he spoke, he ran a query through his
onboard computer. What portion of his memory banks he could access at the
moment. As soon as he’d realized there was an Empath near, he’d locked his
memory banks down.

There it was, the CFS
Valkyrie
. A Delean-class vessel
assigned to exploration and general backup for the colonies and planets in this
sector. Lyon swore under his breath. He’d assumed that they would transport him
back to the Terran sector on the
Arcadia
. That was the eventuality his
team had been briefed for in case the snatch and grab went wrong and they had
to recover any of the team.

Great, just bloody great. Unless he did something, his team
would tail the
Arcadia
across the sector. Only to find their prize was
on a ship heading the other way.

The guard behind him checked the mag-cuffs and he was
ushered out of the cell. Despite the fact he was restrained, the guards kept a
healthy distance from him. Lyon didn’t blame them. The hardware he was packing
under his skin meant he could hospitalize someone just by falling on them.

He sighed as the little group started down the corridor
toward the airlock and the ship he was being transferred to. They stayed far
enough out of range that he couldn’t even try a grab and strangle maneuver.
Someone would have a rifle in his guts before he could blink. But he didn’t
need to disable anyone to get a message to his team that he was being transferred.
All he needed was an open comms port and a half second to get a data burst
through it. Then he was home free…

“Late, late. I’m going to be late. Damn it.”

Samara bustled down the hall. She was late for her shift.
Again. The third time this week, on a day they were transferring a new prisoner
in. Commander Jenkins, the senior nurse, was going to be pissed with her.
Again.

She researched her speech in her head as she hurried. Her
slender fingers fought with the frog fastening on her collar, trying to get the
damn thing done up. It had always hated her, but today it was being more
awkward than normal. Just like her alarm clock, which had decided to wake her
up an hour later than normal. Why, she had no earthly clue. It seemed
everything aboard this damn ship had it in for her.

She hissed with relief as the fastener snapped closed. Which
only prompted the single bar of her rank, second-class crewman, to jump from
her collar in a lemming leap for the floor.

“Oh no. You bastard thing!”

She made a dive for it, grabbing the thin bar of metal and
starting to straighten just as she reached a corner. Preoccupied, she didn’t
look where she was going and completely missed the armed retinue coming the
other way. She ran straight into them.

Squeaking, she grabbed the first thing she could get her
hands on. A male chest. A broad, extremely well-muscled male chest. She grabbed
at his gray ship-suit and fought for balance.

She wasn’t going to fall. There were few things more
embarrassing than landing on her ass in front of a group of people. She was not
going there under any circumstances, even if that meant touching up a complete,
and incidentally very nicely put-together, stranger.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Flames licked her cheeks as she
looked up. Right into gorgeous green eyes.
Oh my, green eyes. Why did it
have to be green eyes?

Everything happened at once. The group around her snapped
into life, and within a heartbeat, Samara had rifles pointed at her from all
directions. Rifles attached to some very mean-looking marines. Instinctively
she shrank closer to her green-eyed “rescuer”.

“Miss, I need you to step away. Just step away from him.
Come on, miss…now. Please.”

The nearest marine lowered his rifle and held out his hand.
The tone of his voice and the expression on his face were both near pleading.
Like he was trying to talk a jumper down from the edge of a rooftop.

“They think I’m going to rape and kill you. Or kill and rape
you,” a dry voice commented. “Of course, how they think I’m going to do that
with my hands behind my back eludes me.”

Startled, Samara looked back up at Green-eyes. At the same
time she started to notice more. Like the fact his hands were manacled behind
his back and that his ship-suit was gray with the orange line of a prisoner
down the sides of his arms and legs.

Her lips pursed into a small “O” of surprise as she studied
him further. His dark hair was cropped close to his skull, casting the strong
lines of his face into sharp relief. He turned his head to glare at the marines
and she caught her breath. There, on one cheekbone, was a small tattoo. It was
a distinctive tattoo. One that every free person in the sector—hell, the galaxy
and beyond—would recognize. A combination of six letters and digits… The
alphanumeric code of a cyborg.

“Shit.”

Samara couldn’t help the epithet that crossed her lips as
she backpedaled. She’d heard the horror stories. Everyone had. Cyborgs were
merciless killers, apt to kidnap innocent women for their breeding experiments.
Oh and they ate babies.

“Lyon, actually.”

His lips quirked wryly, but she caught the flash of
something in his eyes as she backed up. Anger, or hurt? Embarrassment flared
hot across her cheeks and she stopped, standing her ground. Her grandmother’s
voice filled her head.
Don’t judge a book by its cover, young lady. You
never know what treasures lie beneath the cover.

“That was ill-bred of me. I apologize. Now if you’ll excuse
me, I’m late for work.”

* * * * *

She’d apologized. A human had actually apologized to him.
Lyon’s surprise lasted all the way down to the medical bays and right into the
detention cell that awaited him. Of course, he was a soldier first, so that
surprise didn’t stop him from scanning the local area for an open connection to
the communications array.

Bingo. As the guards shoved him through the door to the
cell, he found an unsecured port. It took him less than a second to hijack a
medical report and piggyback his message. Once off the ship, the message would
detach and ping out the ether until it found a route to the
Chameleon
,
cloaked and waiting to strike from the shadows.

Three days after sending his message, Lyon was shoved back
into his cell, bloody and bruised from the latest round of “tests”. He was
beginning to wonder if his message had managed to make it off the ship.
Stumbling from a vicious shove, he caught himself against the opposite wall and
pushed upright. He glared back over his shoulder, a look of dire retribution
and hatred. Just five minutes out of the mag-cuffs, that’s all he needed. Then
he’d show these researchers and their pet guards what a cyborg was truly
capable of.

The guard paled at the look and disappeared. Alone, as much
as he’d ever be with cameras watching his every movement, he sank down onto the
narrow bunk. It was barely wide enough for a child, but he managed to wedge his
shoulders between its hard surface and the wall at night to get some sleep.

Closing his eyes, he let his head drop back. Without moving
a muscle, he activated several circuits and subroutines in the bio-cybernetic
systems that laced his body. His lips quirked as the guard down the hall swore.

“Crap, the cameras are playing up again.”

“Does that mean I’ll have to wait? I do have other things to
do, you know.”

Lyon stilled at the new voice. A female voice. The voice
he’d been waiting for. It was her. The nurse who’d apologized to him in the
corridor. Despite himself, he sat up a little straighter. His male pride
wouldn’t allow him to show anything that might indicate defeat. Not that it
made any difference. She was human and he was a cyborg. She was a nurse here
and he was a prisoner. No matter what his male instincts and drives were
hinting at, nothing was going to happen.

“No. Go ahead. He’s still got the mag-cuffs on. Just shout
if you need anything, okay?”

Lyon released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Her footsteps rang out against the deck plating as she made her way to his
cell. Lyon found himself listening to them. Light, delicate and precise, they
were much like the woman herself.

She stopped at the front to his cell. Lyon kept his eyes
closed. He knew she was studying him. He opened them as she released a hiss of
frustration, her breath whistling over her teeth.

“Christ. They’ve really given you a good going-over this
time, haven’t they?” She snapped off the force field sealing the front of the
cell and stepped in. “Now, you have to be a good boy for me. The cams are off
again and Hawkins out there is as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. I’d rather
treat you without half the marine detachment breathing down my neck.”

She paused in front of him and looked down with a firm
expression he found as cute as hell. Lyon surged to his feet. Her gray eyes
widened in surprise, but to her credit, she didn’t scream or run. Reaching out
with his manacled hands, he tucked a stray curl of her hair back over her ear.

“You’re perfectly safe with me,” he promised.
Just not
safe
from
me.
“After all, why would I want to hurt someone who’s
helping me?”

His onboard sensors registered the hitch in her breathing
and the sudden increase in her heart rate. She was standing there looking so
calm and collected, but he could tell the effort was costing her. Taking pity,
he sat down.

“There. See? Good boy. Happy now? Or do I need to roll over
and play dead?”

He had no clue where all these words were coming from.
Normally he wasn’t the most garrulous of men. Not by a long shot. In fact, it
wasn’t unusual for his squad to go days without getting a full sentence out of
him.

She smiled. It was just a hint of a smile, the merest quirk
of her lips, but Lyon’s chest filled with triumph. He’d made her smile. It was
the highlight of his day.

“No, you’ll do as you are. Let me get a look at those
bruises.”

He sat back as she worked, ignoring the sudden cold of the
antiseptic spray and the heat of the regenerator as she ran it over the large
purple and black bruises covering his torso. The worst damage was on his back,
particularly over his kidneys, although why they were bothering to concentrate
their blows there he had no idea.