Parallel Seduction (23 page)

Night had fallen an hour or so ago, the last of the day's light shafting through the broken overhead windows of the abandoned warehouse. Fortunately it wasn't
entirely
frigid inside the large and vacuous room; he would have died from exposure already were that the case. No, there was some source of heat, just enough for his captors to keep him alive. Just enough that he could hover in and out along the cusp of consciousness, praying that All would intervene in some way that he couldn't quite imagine.

A single chain led from his neck cuff, leashing him closely to the wall. Occasionally he was foolish enough to crawl a few steps outward, working his way along the length of his chain toward the dilapidated room's center. And each time the reflexive metal would respond accordingly, choking the breath from his throat until he collapsed onto his knees, begging the psychic alloy to release him, at least a little bit. And, perfectly reactive, it responded to his entreaties, but only enough to allow him to gasp some much-needed air.

Scott pressed his forehead against the floor, drawing on the last of his remaining internal heat. Any human would have died by now from the exposure, but Veckus had been banking on Scott's hybrid nature. His Antousian self was a natural power inferno, but after being naked for the past several hours, in the extreme cold, even he had few energy reserves left to tap. Sure, he could have shifted into his ethereal self, but the reflexive metal would have held even his core, ghostlike self. There was literally no move, not a single step for him to make; not bound this completely.

Where were his captors, anyway? They'd cleared out hours ago, leaving nothing but the sparseness of the warehouse and the icy cold that kept wrapping itself around his very bones. And Hope? Of course they'd ferried her far away, well beyond his grasp.

"Oh, Hope," he moaned against the cold floor. "Where are you, my love?"

From the darkness beyond there came a stirring, as if in reply to his lament. Gasping, he managed to lift his head. "We can bring her to you," some faceless Antousian promised. "You just have to cooperate."

He shook his head, ready to hurl expletives, but the cuff about his throat choked the words out before he could form them.

"If you'll but watch yourself, Lieutenant, you shall get what you want," the faceless man promised.

"Who … are you?" he rasped, clutching at the band about his throat.

"Someone who can bring her to you." A small light appeared, giving the soldier's face a ghostly, eerie illumination. "You want?"

He bobbed his head, struggling for his voice. "Of … course."

Lights came on, flooding the warehouse, and he saw that he wasn't alone, as he'd imagined, but surrounded by a small cadre of his enemies. The woman he'd heard called Kryn swooped close, snapping her fingers, and Hope was immediately hustled into the room. Her large gray eyes were wide, frightened. He rose up on his haunches, clawing at his bonds, only to find his breath nearly strangled from his lungs.

"Settle down." Kryn narrowed her large brown eyes at him. "You know what we want, and you can get what you seek. But you have to cooperate."

For a moment he swore that Hope stared right at him, even though it had to be his muddled imaginings. Still, very he briefly he swore that, locking her gaze with his own, she shook her head, telling him not to give in.

"I won't …  tell you … a thing," he barely managed to rasp.

"Very well," Kryn said, and the next thing he knew, he was being strung up facing the crumbling warehouse wall.

"What are you doing to him?" Hope shouted.

"Extracting," Kryn volunteered cheerfully.

The hard lash of a whip slapped him across the lower back. He buried his forehead against the wall, bracing for the next blow … and the next.

"Extracting what? His life?" Hope demanded. "How stupid are you people? If you kill him, you'll never get what it is you're after."

Tilting his head sideways, Scott watched Hope arguing. He couldn't hear her words, not really: the sound of the whip cracking across his bare skin, over and over, was too loud. But he'd never loved Hope more. Blind, chin stuck in the air, she was waving and gesturing, totally holding her ground with Kryn.

One last stinging impact of the whip against his skin, and then it seemed to stop. Slowly he slid to the ground, the chain that linked him to the wall practically tangled about him.

"We won't let you die, Lieutenant," Kryn told him softly, almost soothingly. "But you will certainly wish for death before Veckus is through with you."

S
cott was passed out on
the floor beside her, breathing unevenly, and Hope hadn't been able to do much beyond just listen to the sounds all around her. She certainly couldn't see a freaking thing. After many, many minutes, she finally heard a stirring sound from the other side of the expansive room. The approach of footsteps—softer ones, not hard and heavy—that obviously belonged to a woman.

Maybe Kryn? In the darkness of the warehouse she couldn't make out any details; she was fully blind here. The steps came nearer, then stopped right beside her. A warm hand took hold of her shoulder; then she felt the grip of the manacles on her hands ease up, loosen—but after that slight taste of freedom, the unknown woman never said a word, just walked away. Hope almost called after her, but decided she'd take this latest good fortune as the kindness it was. It had to be Kryn: She was the only woman evident in the Antousians' gathered ranks.

Who was this Kryn Zoltners? Hope wondered. Well, she was obviously Antousian, and perpetually delivered mixed messages; that much was fact. She'd masterminded Scott's recent and terrible beating, but she'd also given Hope access to her medicine. And now, her latest maneuver seemed to make freedom a real possibility for Hope.

She worked at the bindings around her hands until amazingly, she managed to free them, and once she'd gotten her hands loose, it was simple enough to begin untying her feet. This stab at freedom might be nothing more than a setup, but Hope had no time to dwell on that possibility as she bolted to her feet and followed the sound of Scott's shallow breathing. She still had her folded cane in her back pocket, but didn't dare use it to navigate, not with the slight noise it would make.

She took several more steps, listening to Scott's exhalations, and when she knew she was right upon him, dropped to her knees. Immediately her hand met his bare skin, and as she stroked his arm, her fingers met silky hairs and scars. She slipped her palm along his body, stroking his upper thigh, outlining him, just making sure he was solid and real. Shivering all over, he jerked and shook with the tremors; he had to be on the verge of hypothermia. She draped her body atop his, remembering that the best help for someone suffering from exposure was the warmth of another human.

He was chilly to her touch, but still somewhat warmer than she expected—at least, considering how long he'd been naked in this frigid temperature. She put that much down to his alien abilities, but quickly jerked out of her jacket and stripped off her sweater, until she knelt over him in nothing but her bra and blue jeans. Their captors might discover her half-naked any moment, and might choose to work "extraction" on her, but she had to get some heat into Scott's vulnerable body as quickly as possible.

She kept pressing her warmer skin against his, but he didn't wake, not even when she began whispering his name. Perhaps he was unconscious from the brutal beating, or perhaps from hypothermia; either way, she slid her arms beneath his back, wrapping him in her embrace.

Despite her terror, the rough feel of his masculine, chiseled body caused her own to tighten in awareness. For long moments she continued to will her warmth into him, until his tremors grew more subdued. She traced her fingertips over his chest, sweeping upward over his neck, but was stopped. Her hand intersected with hard, freezing metal, a circlet that she could feel was locked snugly around his neck. Alarmingly tight, it held him fast. Pressing her face against his, she whispered, "Scott, wake up."

He didn't stir.

"Scott, you have got to freaking wake up now." Her voice was urgent, and this time he did respond, the horrible tremors in his body growing much more extreme.

"Hope, gods.…" he began, but made a horrible choking sound, slapping at the manacle about his neck.

"What is that thing?" she hissed quietly, leaning atop him again, her much smaller body covering his bigger one.

He felt him shake his head, rasping, and it was obvious the cuff wouldn't allow him to speak.

She began petting his hair, trying to sooth him the best she could. "You have to talk to me, Scott. You're in bad shape, and I need to know what we should do," she told him softly, "or what I should to do to help you. I can't see enough to figure a way out of here on my own."

"
Can't
," was all he managed to squeeze past his tight throat.

After that he wrapped her in his arms again, running his hands through her hair, kissing her suddenly. The chains that ran from his hands to the wall behind them were cold against her cheeks. Yeah, maybe he couldn't talk, but he sure as hell could still kiss, and he told her everything—everything she'd ever need to know about his feelings for her, about his plans to survive—with that one deep kiss. His lips smoldered against hers; his hands wandered the length of her body, sliding underneath her jeans to clasp her from behind.

All of a sudden, he pulled away. "What? Do you hear something?" she asked, whipping her head around.

He shook his head. "Looser." He gasped, drawing her hand to his neck circlet. "Keep … kissing. It knows … thoughts."

"What knows thoughts?"

"Reflexive … metal. Psychic."

She braced both hands about his head, noting, too, that his tremors had totally died down. With a quick and pointless glance around the dark warehouse, she leaned in closer, putting her mouth against his ear. "Umm, Scott, can I ask a really basic question about your species?"

He nodded, stealing another quick kiss, licking the side of her face with the tip of his tongue.

"When you get aroused, does it … well, does it change your body temperature? Because this kissing and touching seems to be helping you a whole lot."

He gave a low, rumbling groan of pleasure, then whispered, "Yes."

"So this isn't just stupid or foolish, to be making out at a time like this?"

"Hope … you are saving"—he hesitated, making a slight choking sound—"my life."

"They'll be back any minute." She touched his face. "We have to have a plan."

"The metal relaxed while we kissed." He covered her hand and brought it against his cheek. "My bindings are still looser than they were. The metal knows my thoughts psychically, emotionally, and is programmed to act against me."

"Metal knows your thoughts?"

"Not like we … understand. Basic." He groaned, sputtering and coughing. Obviously this reflexive metal didn't like being talked about, either.

"It's programmed for torture," Hope thought aloud, adding, "So maybe kissing falls outside the program? Maybe that's why it loosened up?"

"No context." He clawed again at the metal collar about his neck, and Hope wasted no time whatsoever.

She planted a slow, languid, and heated kiss against his lips. Dragging her mouth across his, she thrust her tongue into the warmth of his mouth without hesitation. Deep and twining, their tongues warred for dominance, sought more of the other. His body was completely naked beneath hers, still too cold and, rising up on her knees, she unsnapped her jeans and stripped out of them. She stood in the dark above him, wondering if he could make out her silhouette from some source of light that she couldn't see.

Slowly she dropped to her knees, whispering, "I'm going to cover your body with mine. Allow you to get more of my body heat."

As she slid atop him, his swollen cock bobbed against her belly. Even cold and imprisoned, Scott had an absolutely unstoppable libido. He lifted his hips against her, begging her to come so much closer.

Scott purred and groaned. Yes, from arousal—tasting Hope this way was beyond nirvana—but also because it seemed the reflexive metal was particularly confounded by his intense pleasure. With every stroke of her tongue against his, with every lift of their hips, the bonds about his wrists and neck and legs grew looser and looser.

Gods in heaven, please don't let them come in now,
he thought dazedly, truly losing himself in Hope and the sensual pleasure of the moment. Here he was, in chains and bondage, and she held the keys to his captivity. It was a deeply erotic thought on some perverse level; if only it weren't his present reality.

She still had her panties on, and although he slid his cock between her legs, he couldn't quite get to the position where he was so desperate to be—right up inside of her. With every thrust of his erection, that damp sheen inside her panties only got wetter; the lingerie pulled and gave as he pushed at her opening like some erotic webbing. He wanted to pierce through that membrane and then surge upward inside her lithe body until she shouted his true name:
S'Skoutsa!
He could practically feel it vibrating through his chest and it drove his desire to an even higher crescendo.

Her hands were in his hair, touching his face, pulling at his neck manacle. She pressed her face against his for a moment, collapsing atop him, and he felt dampness.
Oh, sweetheart,
he wanted to say.
Don't cry for me! This is everything I've ever wanted, being with you like this.

"We'll get free," he dared to whisper against her damp cheek. "Let's make love … let's confuse the hell out of this thing." He tapped at his neck circlet.

Maybe it wasn't the way she'd dreamed they'd finally come together, but if it meant her lover's freedom, hell, she'd take it any way he wanted to deliver it: cold floor, shoddy motel room, wherever. All she wanted was Scott Dillon, for all time.

She'd never known such intense passion or love. Slowly she peeled away her panties, unfastened her bra, and allowed it to fall to the floor until she was, like him, completely nude. When she dropped back down beside him, Scott struggled to sit up. She knelt, facing him, the freezing floor harsh against her bare knees.