The Huntress (22 page)

When he became aware again, he found himself gasping raggedly in her ear, arms shaking—hell, his whole body shaking—as if he had a fever. She still had him wrapped in her arms and legs, gripping tightly and shivering beneath him. He could feel her rapid pulse in more places than he would have believed possible.

His mind began to function and rebelled against the memory of such impossible pleasure, even with the hum of soul-deep satiation in his body.
Just sex,
he denied. But sex had never been like that.

Then she rubbed her cheek tenderly against his and pressed her lips to his hot skin.

It was too much. A yawning pit opened in front of him, and he felt himself teetering on the edge. The blackness below whispered for him. He wrenched away from her, rolling to his back and throwing one arm over his eyes.

He couldn’t remember the number of times he’d escaped from one prison or another. That was the reason they’d shipped him around so much—no one had been able to hold him for long. He’d fought without restraint for his freedom. But if he kept touching this woman, he was afraid she wouldn’t need a cage anymore.

He would beg to stay.

Silence held sway for a while. His breathing slowed, his shaking eased. He could feel little stings and burns over his body where she’d bitten or scratched him. He remembered being just as savage with her. His own teeth marks probably marred that smooth skin, and he’d gripped her with bruising force many times. He wanted to ask if he’d hurt her—but couldn’t speak without sounding shattered.

She beat him to it. Rolling toward him, she asked in a voice that wavered a little at the edges, “Are you all right?”

He tensed at the feel of her so close. Refusing to lower the arm from his eyes and look at her, he grunted in response. It was too much to hope that she would just go away.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

The breath stuttered in his throat when she ran a hand down his chest and over his stomach. He could tell by the way she moved her fingers that she was probing for injury and not trying to arouse him again, but heat still sank into him at her touch.

“I’m fine!” he barked, and her hand stilled.

The silence thickened. He thought about escape. But to get to the door he had to go through her. That would mean touching her, and he knew what would happen then. If he even lowered his arm and looked at her, saw her dark hair tousled from his desperate fingers, her lips swollen from his kisses, he’d be lost.

“Bay—”

The implications in her low voice drove him to speak. “You know, the kid didn’t tell you the truth about the ship. Not her fault. She didn’t know. I could’ve killed the crazy about five minutes after they thawed me out, but I didn’t. I let him kill the crew—led him to a couple of ‘em. The kid’s sister didn’t figure it out ‘till it was too late. Turned her gun on me, screaming her fool head off. Before I could take it from her, the crazy showed up like she was calling his name.”
I let most of the crew die, and she still saved my life,
he thought in perplexed wonder. “There wasn’t enough crew left to save the ship. They burned in the sun.”

He waited, expecting disgust or revulsion at least if she wouldn’t be afraid of him. That would be the logical reaction, from a hunter for a convict. She would finally see what he was and walk away. One of them had to.

“Hmm, nice try,” she murmured.

He tensed warily, muscles flinching as she drummed her fingers against his hard stomach.

“You want me to see the murderer in you, but it’s not going to be that easy. Tell me, did you kill any passengers or crew yourself? If you’re such a black-hearted killing machine, why didn’t you off Kate and Regan? They were in your way. Did you sabotage any escape pods so they couldn’t get off the ship if they’d thought of it before dropping into that sun?

“Here’s what I do see. I see a man faced with his execution and one last chance at freedom. Getting rid of the crew was your only way to give yourself enough time to make your escape count. Yet you didn’t kill any of them yourself, even though that probably would have been easier and quicker.”

Her hand moved again, and this time there was no question about her intent. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, heat building in him to a raging fire with shocking speed.

“Let’s face it, Bay. Even after fifteen years in the hole, you still turned out to be a human being.”

The bed shifted, and then she was sliding sensually over him, soft flesh pressing urgency into his hard form. With a heavy groan, he forgot escape and self-preservation, dropping his arm to look up at her. Her hair was tousled and her lips swollen, but it was the look in her eyes that made his heart pound like it wanted to rip itself from his chest. The softness in those green depths triggered fierce possessiveness that would’ve scared the hell out of him if he hadn’t been ablaze from head to toe. Choiceless, he buried his fingers in her hair and kissed her with desperate abandon.

When thought returned after he stopped shuddering from another explosive release, he reached for the motivation to leave, but his limbs were impossibly heavy. Mea lay snug against his side, head on his chest and one leg draped over him. He had an arm around her and hand resting on her thigh. He couldn’t move, a deep lethargy pulling him insistently toward sleep. When he recognized the feeling as contentment, a flicker of alarm tugged at him, but he was too far-gone. With a sigh, he dropped like a stone into the deepest sleep he’d had in years.

Chapter 18

Terrik prowled the transport ship. The sirens had been silenced, but the warning lights flashed red urgency at him, casting tricky shadows. The woman and girl crept along behind him, their presence pressing on his back like a hand. They were a dilemma, a constant drag on his concentration. He still hadn’t decided what to do with them when she figured out what he was doing.

And she was going to, very soon. Senses tuned to the woman, he could hear her light, quick breathing turning ragged, could smell the fear dripping off her with her sweat as they eased down the corridor. He knew the instant she finally understood. Her breath hitched, and a wave of fear and horror expanded from her like a hot bubble.

“Oh, god, no,” she whispered.

Stopping, he turned his head slowly to look at her.

She hunched against the wall as if to ward off a blow, her eyes so wide he could see all the way around the irises. The lights tinted the whites of her eyes red, making them seem as though they were swimming in blood. She looked terrified enough to rupture something and save him the trouble of deciding.

But she didn’t. The gun that had hung from her fingers as useless as an amputation suddenly twitched up at him. Astonishment held him still.

“Regan,” she whispered in a quivery voice, “tuck into that alcove. We need to check around the corner.”

They’d done this before, so the kid didn’t protest. When she was away from them, Kate gestured the gun at him in jerky movements. “Move it!” she hissed.

He moved, because he still hadn’t made up his mind. He could take the gun easily, but then what? Kill her? Knock her out and leave her for the crazy? Let her go? The last one was not an option. She’d warn the others. But he was reluctant to act on the first two, especially since whatever he did to her, he’d have to do to the kid. He might be a killer, but he’d never hurt a child before. Didn’t seem right somehow.

They turned the corner, but she didn’t let him stop there. They kept moving until they reached a dead end. He turned to face her. She was shaking so badly that the gun stuttered in her grip. Panting, she looked at him as though he were the devil incarnate, but she didn’t back down. “You son-of-a-bitch! Why? Why did you let them die? They’re trying to save this ship and everyone on it!”

The volume of her voice rose with every word, but he didn’t stop her. He’d never seen such an amazing act of courage. She was caught in such abject terror that she shouldn’t even be able to move, let alone hold him at gunpoint. But with every word, she was whipping her fear into anger, and her hand on the gun grew steadier with each passing moment.

“What kind of a monster are you? I swear to god I’ll make sure you pay for every last one of them, you sick bastard!”

Then it was too late to stop her. The crazy strode around the corner. Covered in blood and sweat, his face pulled into a rictus of mad glee or horror, he chortled at the sight of them. “I found you!”

The man swung his rifle up and aimed it past Kate at Terrik. He felt no fear—death was another kind of freedom, though not the kind he’d been looking for. He tensed to dodge, not expecting to make it.

And then she flung herself at him. Maybe it was a panicked attempt to flee or maybe she was trying to force him to save her, but it looked like she was trying to save his life. The force of the blast hit her in the back, and she catapulted into him. He caught her reflexively and stared down at her while her life’s blood poured over his hands. Her expression as she died was perplexed surprise, as though even she didn’t know why she’d done it.

The crazy giggled like a loon. Terrik looked up from Kate’s dead face just in time to see Regan appear, put her hands over her ears, and scream. He quickly lowered Kate to the floor as the crazy stopped laughing long enough to look over his shoulder at the kid. The screaming seemed to irritate him. With a frown, he lifted the rifle again, swinging it toward the girl.

Terrik was already moving. He hit the man like an avalanche, and the blast went over her head. She didn’t seem to notice.

The world slowed down around him then. His actions with the lunatic felt distant, unimportant—Regan attracted his attention like a lodestone. While he knocked the gun away and sent it spinning down the corridor, she rushed to her sister’s side, little face contorted in horror. Avoiding the man’s wildly flailing limbs and catching him in a headlock, he watched as she dropped to her knees, clutching at Kate with desperate hands and crying her name. A pressure built inside him when she looked up, her big eyes brimming with dark pain and torment. As if in response, his muscles flexed sharply and the dull crack of the man’s neck breaking released the pressure with a rush like the wind of fate. The darkness in her eyes swallowed him whole.

Stone woke with a jerk. Disoriented, he held himself still and took in the unfamiliar surroundings, the dream still clinging to him. Soft bed, tangled sheets, a tantalizingly familiar scent, and an empty space under his outstretched arm—in a blink, he remembered.

The memory galvanized him into motion, and he flung himself out of the bed as though it held hidden claws and teeth. One quick look and he could see the room was empty, but the sound of running water caught his attention. A second later it was joined by singing.

Mea was in the shower. An image of her wet and naked pulled him halfway across the room to the sanitary before he was aware of it. He managed to stop, cursing silently at his weakness. Turning on his heel, he found his clothes and yanked his pants on. Carrying the rest of the clothing, he stalked out of her quarters and across the corridor to his own.

A quick shower and clean clothes later, he left his room and marched down the corridor to the mess hall, moving with an angry flex to his muscles. Mea had tricked him, trapping him with his own lack of self-control. Now that he’d sated his hunger for her, his anger gathered more substance. It wouldn’t happen again—she wouldn’t exploit him. He would fight her games. Carefully he blocked the memory of sliding into her heat and burning away to nothing. His memory had to be faulty anyway—nothing in the universe could feel that good.

Regan and Warren looked up from the table when he entered. The kid’s sly expression made him pause. “Good morning, Dad.”

He froze, staring at her smug smile. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not your father.”

She shrugged as though that argument was meaningless and took a bite of her breakfast without losing a bit of her smile. The android hid his face behind one hand, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Think of it like a nickname. I’ve got a dozen.”

“No. You’re not calling me that.”

“Are you going to beat me if I do?”

“I might,” he growled.

Her smile did fade then, but she looked more irritated than afraid. Taking another bite, she eyed him for a second before shrugging again and looking down. “I guess I’ll have to take my chances—Dad.”

Stone gritted his teeth, glaring at her bent head. She had him, though. There was no way he could lift a hand to her, and she knew it. A memory of her kneeling over her dead sister gnawed at him.

He gave up the fight silently. Mouthing curses, he passed the table and dished some of what looked like hot cereal in a bowl. Sitting down next to her, he noticed tension in her shoulders. She might not expect a beating, but she was waiting for something.

“You get more like Mea every day,” he muttered, meaning it as an insult.

Her shoulders relaxed and she beamed at him. “You think so? Thanks, Dad!”

He was still swearing bitterly under his breath when Mea appeared.

“Morning—and what has you so chipper, squirt?”

He refused to look up but could still feel her presence like a blazing sun moving behind him. Memories surged through him, dangerously seductive. He suppressed them with the grim strength of a born survivor.

“Stone said I was more like you every day.”

“Uh-oh. What’d you do to deserve that?”

“I called him Dad.”

He heard Mea choke and began spooning his cereal with grim satisfaction. At least he wasn’t the only one taken by surprise. The kid laid ambushes for everybody.

Mea eased around the table and sat in front of him with a cup of coffee, eyes wary. “Ah, Regan, I promised him there’d be no pushing. Or demands.”

Remembering what else she’d said made heat rise under his skin and tighten his muscles. Swallowing the bite of cereal took real effort. Doggedly, he scooped up another spoonful without looking at them.

“You didn’t make me promise.”