Sex, Love, and Aliens 2 (2 page)

Marcus gave a small nod before pushing through the door and stepping outside.

* * * *

The shuttle ride had seemed interminable. In the three weeks since they’d left
Dirustandi
, Dria had practiced the primping and princessly attitudes her mother had tried vainly to instill in her over the years. Her fingers were wound into her locks, but instead of the beautiful curls her mother achieved, she ended up with little more than a messy knot of hair.

“
Turana
, let me help you.” Verala, the young lady-in-waiting her mother had chosen, sailed forward and slid her fingers deep into her hair before Dria could open her mouth. “You just need to twist it like this.”

Pain radiated from her skull, and Dria wrenched herself away before yowling. “That hurts!” For a moment Dria held herself rigid, fists clenched and every muscle coiled tight. As she relaxed she sighed. “I... I’m sorry.”

The girl stilled, and Dria could see her shaking her head. “
Turana
, if you wish to make this visit a success, you must let me help you.”

“I’m trying. Thank you, Verala. Perhaps it would be best if you left me for a while.”

The young woman bowed deeply and left the room, the door shushing quietly as Dria gathered the voluminous skirts close and strode to the viewing window. “Why me?”

Of course she already knew the answer. In less than two ship days, they would orbit Earth and she would enter the special shuttle to make the short journey planet-side. She’d journeyed between the
Ba’Tuan
worlds as a warrior, but this time she’d be representing her species. “It’s just like any mission. I need to present a front so people will see me as a weak and ineffectual female. I must lull the Incubi into a false sense of security. They mustn’t guess the real reason for my visit. I must protect the weak.”

The mantra echoed as she sought the equilibrium that would allow her to carry out her mission.

A sharp beep drew her attention. The communication console glowed and she reached out, touching the button. “Yes?”

“
Turana
, we’ve received an encoded transmission for you. The gentleman is most insistent and is using the Omega code.” The captain’s face betrayed no concern, but in his eyes, she read a hint of panic.

“Connect me.”

His face faded away, replaced by another, harsher visage.

“Forgive me,
Turana
Dria. My name is Commander Marcus Vane, and I am to be your contact on Earth. I’ve received some intelligence that the Incubi plan to strike when you arrive.”

She leaned forward. “I see, and you know this how?”

No matter how hard she tried, the pounding of her blood pulsed faster as interest flared deep in her belly. Her fingers flexed, and she wished for some physical outlet for the strong emotion that filled her. A hiss escaped between her tight lips, and even that angered her. After so many years of training herself to be calm and controlled in all things, how could she allow even that small sign of impatience and anger to escape?

“We intercepted a transmission showing they are aware of the suggested landing sites and times.”

Dria frowned at his words. “And so...”

“I have a suggestion that may allow us to circumvent their plans.”

Even as she weighed his words, she scanned his face, noting the full lips and cobalt blue eyes. She told her body not to respond to the unfamiliar pull of fascination, but her physical reaction only grew.

“Tell me.” She spoke harshly, and watched the way his mouth thinned at her command. The small bow of his head was the only acknowledgement of subservience.

“Of course,
Turana
. I propose that we bring you planet-side early. Before they have an opportunity to complete their plans. The airfield is under constant surveillance, which leads me to believe they have inside knowledge of our plans.”

“I see.” Her short answers and demands sounded almost childish, and she winced inwardly.

“You have read the briefing paper?” His voice cut through her thoughts.

“I... Yes.” The tactical briefing she’d received left more questions than it answered and anger flared, white-hot. “Contact the captain with your plan, then have him apprise me of the changes.” She kept her response brief while her fingers curled with the urge to reach out and trace the planes of his face.
Stupid reaction, Dria. Control yourself!

“Of course,
Turana
. Do you have any queries?” His voice now was melodious, and a flare of heat warmed her belly.

“No. Send the details. We’ll make it work.”

“Then I shall leave you...”

“Yes. Good day.” The screen darkened, and she rubbed her hands over tired eyes. “
Aargh!
”

Tugging her hands through her long curls didn’t help. Instead, yards of material pooled at her elbows, reminding her of the part she was supposed to play. Squeezing her eyes shut didn’t help either. Too many relied on her to save them to get lost in her fears.

Dria squared her shoulders and inhaled a shuddering breath. “I will not fail.”

* * * *

Marcus jerked away from the communications console. “If she’s a warrior, I’ll eat my hat.” The way she’d spoken...

Closing his eyes against the headache that loomed proved useless in easing his frustrations. In the three days since he’d been apprised of his latest duty, nothing had assuaged his concern.

His stomach knotted as the memory of her face and the cadence of her voice flooded his mind. Interest tugged at him, and he tried to shove it aside. “Haven’t you learned already?” His demand to himself echoed through the half-empty room, but the lower region of his body stirred.

He’d been training vigorously with his team since catching this mission, and had just returned to his accommodations. He tugged off his shirt. His nostrils flared as the scent of his sweat rose. Perhaps it was the heat? A shower would help with that.

Even as the thought rose, he acknowledged the truth. He was trying to avoid thinking about
her
. Princess—bloody—Dria.

In the bathroom, he stripped down. “Water on. Regular heat setting.”

Marcus stepped into the shower cubicle, and the warm liquid slid over his skin. Bracing his hand on the wall, he closed his eyes and bent his head as he massaged the top of his right thigh. The one that ached interminably—ever since he’d been betrayed.

Memories rose, unbidden, behind his eyelids. Christina, standing framed by the open door, the orange-red of sunset shining on her blonde hair like some ancient Madonna’s halo. His ex-lover.

“I tried to warn you. I even went so far as to pack, hoping you would return after this was all done.”
God, how her final words mocked him. The memory of them searing his brain still, even after all these long months.

When she turned, he knew the truth. It shone in her eyes.
“I never wanted you to get hurt. I just... I needed the information, Marcus. I’m sorry.”

Even as she strode out the door, and he called to her, the rumble began, the earth bucking beneath him. She’d died in the explosion that had damaged his body.

“
Christ!
Women aren’t to be trusted.” The pain might have lessened, but he’d learned the lesson well.

With a savage twist, he turned. The leg twinged as his abused muscles reminded him of the damage he’d sustained in the blast. A hiss escaped him, and he ordered the water to cease flowing. Leaving the cubicle, he slid the towel around his body and dried himself off.

Padding naked to his room, he surveyed the soulless area. A duffle bag lay on the bed, half-filled with civilian wear. The black pants and matching jacket lay in a heap beside it, waiting for him to don them. These would be his fatigues for the mission. With a long-suffering sigh he scooped up the clothing and began to dress. He had a job to do, and he’d damn well do it to the best of his ability. The self-admonishment didn’t make him feel any better.

* * * *

Marcus gazed over the airfield. The air wavered, hot and close, as the whine grew louder and the thrust from the engines blew dust into the atmosphere as the craft descended.

The crackle of audio feedback blared suddenly in his ear, and he cringed. “Dammit, who’s playing with the audio?” His roar was washed away by the sound of the approaching shuttle.

As suddenly as it began, the piercing noise in his ears stopped and the prickle at the back of his neck became a full-blown itch.

It took every ounce of willpower to not glance around. “Check the perimeter again,” he growled at his team.

“But sir, we’ve checked it three times already,” the youngest of his team complained.

“Do it again, Simpson.”

The sigh that sounded through the headpiece told him of the young man’s disenchantment. “Yes, sir.”

He’d taken the first gopher available, and he was beginning to question that decision. But he’d been stuck. Simon Arends, his distant cousin and first choice, had taken sick.

The draft from the approaching shuttle now resembled a hot wind that seared. He remained still, gaze firmly connected to the shuttle that dropped toward the asphalt-covered ground. When it finally landed a hiss and clank resounded.

Marcus waited for the doors to open, the stairs to be lowered, and the small security detail to disembark.

A pause in time settled as the internal door opened and a woman with light brown hair stepped through. The pale blue gown undulated like a cloud around her as she moved to the top of the stairs slowly. Gracefully.

He frowned. Surely this wasn’t the woman he was waiting for?

Then she turned away and a statuesque vision stepped forward. The gown she wore clung to every part of her body, outlining her many assets, while her hair tumbled in a riot of curls over her shoulders. She glanced around.

He tugged his gaze away, but felt the aura of power that emanated from her, and he sucked in a breath and glanced to the side. Her guards had taken up formation, and she proceeded down the stairs.

Marcus grunted with satisfaction before formally acknowledging her.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. The skin of his hand itched to make contact, and he swallowed down the unfamiliar throb of attraction. He stepped forward, ready to greet her as protocol demanded.
Sure, tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.

“Commander Vane?” The huskiness of her voice echoed.

“
Turana
Dria?”

The smile she gifted him with was tight, her lips barely gaining an uptick.

“We should move. The car’s ready.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of publicity?”

He grimaced. “There was, but I canceled it. No need to give the Incubi a free kick.”

She inclined her head. “Of course. Let’s go.”

Stepping aside gave him a whole other perspective. One that included the outline of the globes of her derriere. The blood in his body pulsed hard, as if it were molasses not red liquid in his veins.

Gritting his teeth, he gestured to the vehicle just as the rumble began. The ground rippled, making his body shudder and sway. Without thought, he shoved her, pushing her to the ground before covering her.

It seemed to go on forever, the searing heat of the explosion stealing his wits for a microsecond. He glanced around. The car before them was battered but seemingly intact.

Memories crowded, but he pushed them away. “Get up!” He crawled off the body beneath him, mind whirling. “Numbers three and four form up. I’m evaccing the princess.” The other two cars would serve as a buffer as they left the area.

The earpiece squawked as one then another voice acknowledged his demand. His stomach roiled, while chunks of metal still rained down.

Turana
Dria pushed up from the ground and carelessly tugged her hair from her eyes. He detected hardness in her gaze and her lips compressed into long, tight lines of white. “Damn them!” The harsh words broke through the crackle of burning metal.

“They’ll pay. But not now. My priority is to get you out of here.”

“My entourage?”

He grabbed her arm and tugged. “Those still alive will receive whatever care they require. Then my team will discuss with you what happens next.”

The air of unleashed violence retreated as she followed his lead. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Of course.”

She jerked the door open and slid inside.

Marcus slammed it shut behind her and made his way to the front passenger seat. “Get us to the hotel.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * *

The room was large and lushly appointed. Not at all what Dria wanted. She’d be happy to be on one of their bases—in the warrior units. Preferably somewhere close to a fully equipped gym and shooting range. Instead, all she could do was pace the hall of the suite and shove furniture out of the way to allow herself room to complete the exercises that cleared her mind.

Vane warned me that they knew and had laid plans.

The muscles in her arms ached as she punished her body, straining as she pushed up off the floor again. Fifty push-ups and thirty crunches weren’t nearly enough to allow her to burn off the rage that bubbled in her belly. The shuttle crew had died as had two of the young girls who’d traveled with her. Only the young lady-in-waiting, Verala, and most of the members of her guard had survived. Even so, their injuries were extensive.

Verala had been thrown some distance, landing heavily on the asphalt. She’d sustained severe injuries to her spine and legs. One hip would require surgical replacement. Three of the guards remained incapacitated. Of those, two would be mede-vacced home at the earliest possible opportunity.

The rattle of the door stopped her mid-stretch. She dropped, then crouched, her hand instinctively moving for the small pouch at her waist.

“It’s Marcus Vane,
Turana
.”

She exhaled and allowed the tension to seep from her body. “Come in, Commander.”

Dria stood, aware that she wore only a tight black exercise suit that one of the guards had secured from the downstairs clothing store.