Defying Death (11 page)

“Why did you roar, Death?”

Fraggin’ hole. He recognized that stubborn set of
her jaw. His Tifara wouldn’t let the topic go. She’d push and pry
until he told her.

“I was weak.” His gaze slid from hers.

“Showing emotion isn’t weakness.”

She didn’t understand. “The enemy, if they know you
care for something, someone, will use that information. They’ll
damage that being to damage you.” And he couldn’t allow that.

“You care for me?” His Tifara sounded surprised.

She shouldn’t be. He lived, breathed, would die for
her. Death grasped her face, gazed into her eyes, showing her
everything he couldn’t say. She was his sunrise and his sunset, the
sheath to his dagger, the heart within his metal frame. He’d left
everything and everyone for her and he’d do that again, simply if
she asked him.

She swallowed hard. “Yes, well, you shouldn’t be
scared to express how you feel. I don’t know what happened in the
past but—”

“You’re correct. You don’t know.” In many ways, his
female was an innocent, trusting an uncaring universe, believing
that beings deserved to be saved.

She placed her hands over his. “I’ll never know if
you don’t tell me.”

Words weren’t his strength. Death had the images in
his processors. He could replay them for her. His gaze lingered on
the upward curve of her lips. But the harshness of the footage
might damage her, might steal her smile forever. He couldn’t live
with himself if that happened.

“A female offspring died because I showed emotion.”
There. He had said it.

“She died because you frowned?” His female wasn’t
satisfied with his curt answer.

“I smiled.” He gave her more.

“You smiled?” She stared at him. “You? Constantly
frowning you?”

“Yes.” It was a malfunction in his control
system.

“Why?”

She wanted to know and he wanted to tell her, to
tell some being. The guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders.

“I was manufactured and trained in a Humanoid
Alliance compound on Erinome V.”

“I’m familiar with the planet.” Tifara nodded.

“Every sunrise, when we arrived at the far fighting
ring for training, a small Erinomean female offspring would be
waiting for us. She’d stick one of her arms through a gap in the
exterior wall, holding out a piece of a nutrition bar.”

Death pictured the small, shy smile on the
offspring’s red-scaled face, how she had glowed with caring as he
approached her. He remembered the joy that had given him. He’d felt
strong, powerful, special.

“The child offered you nutrition?”

“It was her species’ method of greeting unknown
beings.” She hadn’t realized cyborgs weren’t considered beings. The
offspring hadn’t seen him as an unfeeling weapon of war. She’d
viewed him as a male. “We couldn’t accept the pieces of nutrition
bar or acknowledge her. To do so would have meant our deaths.”

“Because you had to follow orders. You couldn’t act
on your own.”

“Yes.”

“Those Humanoid Alliance bastards.”

His female’s outrage on his behalf warmed his chest.
“The offspring appeared every sunrise, offering us new pieces of
nutrition bars.” It was the highlight of his planet rotation. “She
became more and more frustrated that we didn’t acknowledge
her.”

Tifara climbed onto his lap and curled up close to
him. “That must have been tough—seeing her lose hope and not being
able to do anything to stop it.”

“It…saddened me.” It took Death effort to admit
that. He’d spent a lifespan concealing his emotions, ensuring no
one else would ever be damaged by them.

But they were alone, the ship was a secure location,
and she was his female. He’d attempted to hide his emotions during
their breeding sessions and had failed.

Death would trust her with this.

“I was selfish, unable to give up the joy her acts
of kindness gave me.” Shame shrouded his soul. “When I thought I
was unobserved, I smiled at her.”

“The trainers saw that smile.”

“No. If they had seen my smile, I would have been
decommissioned.” They would have salvaged his body for parts while
he remained alive, killing him slowly, slice by slice. “But they
saw the offspring’s reaction.” She had laughed, the happiness in
her yellow slit eyes lighting her round face.

“They killed her?” Tifara placed her hands on his.
Her skin was warm and soft and comforting, allowing him to manage
his emotions.

“They reprimanded me. I was whipped. They stripped
all of the flesh off my back, until my frame was exposed.” That had
hurt much less than the rest of the reprimand.

“They punished you for that smile and the next
sunrise, you didn’t acknowledge the little girl.”

“The next sunrise, we arrived at the fighting ring.
There was a square of nutrition bar in her hand.” A fierce
happiness had filled him. The whipping was worth it, he thought, if
he could continue to see those chubby fingers, her sweet face.
“But—”

The words stuck in his throat.

“But?” His female tensed.

“The arm wasn’t attached to a body.” His voice
broke, the horror of that realization washing over him yet again.
It hadn’t been a clean cut. The wound had been ragged, ligaments
torn, as though they had pulled her arms out of her small form.

“No.” Tifara whimpered. “They couldn’t have hurt
her. She was a child.”

“
I
hurt her.” He wouldn’t relay the blame. “I
killed her because I couldn’t control my emotions, because I put my
wants above her safety, because I gave my enemies the means with
which to damage me.”

“You smiled.” She clutched his shoulders, her eyes
shining with sympathy. “You—”

“I showed them how much I cared.” He wouldn’t allow
her to make excuses for him. “They knew she was my weakness and
killed her to get to me.”

His enemies could strike at Tifara the same way.
Death’s stomach twisted, the guilt of the past fusing with his fear
for the future.

No being could ever know how he felt about her.

He strapped his arms around her, holding her
tight.

She rested her cheek on his chest. Moments passed.
She didn’t speak. That was unusual for his normally talkative
female.

Death listened to her breathe, gazed at her curls,
the red reminding him of the Erinomean offspring’s scaled skin. He
wouldn’t allow anyone to damage his female.

“You did nothing wrong,” she mumbled, breaking the
silence. “Those trainers killed her. You didn’t.”

“I knew the rules. I knew there would be
repercussions.”

“For you. Not her.”

Death said nothing. She was right. He didn’t know
they would kill the little female.

“They killed her because you smiled.” She sighed.
“It’s no wonder you’re so serious.”

“I’m grim as fuck.” As soon as he said those words,
Death knew he’d made a mistake, which was unlike him. He rarely
made mistakes.

“You
are
grim as fuck.” Tifara’s laughter was
tinged with sadness. “As fuck—that is one of my friend’s favorite
expressions. Or rather, it
was
one of her favorite
expressions,” she amended. “Safyre died on Tau Ceti.”

Safyre, Crash’s female, hadn’t died on Tau Ceti. She
was alive. That was where Death had picked up that uniquely human
expression.

But Tifara could never communicate with her friend,
could never meet with her.

Crash was now Death’s enemy. Any interaction would
result in his capture and death.

Which was kinder—allowing his female to believe her
friend was dead or relaying that Safyre was alive but she could
never speak to her again?

“I’ve lost so many beings.” Sadness edged his
female’s words.

He’d caused her to lose Safyre’s friendship, had
inflicted damage on another being he cared for. Guilt knotted his
stomach.

“You have, too.” Tifara linked her fingers with his.
“But we both remain here. We have a destiny, Death. There’s a
reason why we’re alive.”

They had
a
destiny, one shared fate.

“You have to believe that,” she insisted.

Death kissed her forehead. He wanted to believe.

He truly did.

Tifara was a
medic. She was searching for the cure for a brand new strain of
virus. It wasn’t as contagious as she first thought. Only one being
on the battle station had an elevated temperature—the Commander,
and Death insisted he hadn’t shared the same space with her. The
virus must be transferred only by direct contact, though that was
merely a theory. Her cyborg had killed every human or humanoid he’d
touched.

She was the sole exception.

Her waking cycles consisted of the investigations
she loved, disproving theories and chasing genetic clues.

Yet she lived for her rest cycles.

That was when Death loosened his tight control over
his emotions, showing her everything, roaring his satisfaction into
the darkness. She always feigned sleep, instinctively knowing he
wouldn’t let go if she were awake.

This rest cycle would be different.

She woke, straddling him as she always did. Death’s
fit form pressed against hers, his skin gloriously bare. As was
hers.

He had stripped her of her garments while she slept.
Before the rest cycle ended, he’d clean her, dress her in her
tidied flight suit and medic jacket, set her on the chair beside
his, and act as though they hadn’t rutted until their voices were
hoarse and their bodies were sore.

Going forward, she wouldn’t allow that. He’d
acknowledge their bond, embrace his feelings for her. She didn’t
expect to hear the words. She didn’t know if she was ready to say
them to him. But he would show his emotions. Openly.

She wanted that. She wanted him.

Heat radiated from her cyborg, heat and that
distinctive scent, a mixture of metal and male. Her clit pulsed to
the beating of her heart. Her body craved the fullness only her
cyborg could give her. Her nipples ached for his palms.

She rubbed against him, seeking more pressure, more
connection. His hard shaft parted her pussy lips. His cock head
teased her clit, the rim in exactly the right spot. He massaged her
ass with his fingers.

Her cyborg needed this as much as she did. She
mouthed his flat pecs, tasting minerals and salt. His feelings were
trapped inside him. They had to be released.

And she was so empty. She branded his shaft with her
scent, her wetness. Death groaned, the low, deep sound exciting
her.

He didn’t bring her closer, didn’t push her away,
allowing her to use his body. Tifara gazed at him though
sleep-fogged eyes, the surrealist nature of their encounters making
her brave. It wasn’t her grinding against her male, shamelessly
taking from him, pushing his restraint toward its snapping point.
It was the dream Tifara.

Her breasts felt full, heavy, woefully unsupported,
unloved.

She pulled on Death’s wrists.

He was a cyborg, more powerful than any human male,
yet he followed her direction. She placed his palms on her curves.
He cupped, molded, squeezed her breasts, weighing them with his
fingers, and she murmured her approval, the pleasure exquisite.

Tifara rocked into him, bouncing higher and higher,
the muscles in her thighs straining. It was good but not enough.
She needed him inside her.

“Death.” Speaking made the encounter real,
dissipating some of its dreamlike quality. If he wasn’t as far gone
as she was, he could shutter his emotions, bury them deep inside
him once more.

But he was as entranced as she was. “What do you
need, my Tifara?” Death’s eyes glowed, passion lighting their
depths.

“You.” Her clit bumped against his tip and she
quivered. “Your cock in my pussy.” He didn’t move, his hands
remaining on her breasts. “Now.”

Tifara blinked, her words surprising herself. She’d
never been so demanding with a lover, had never barked sex
instructions at a male.

Her warrior showed no signs he took offense. His
lips quirked upward. He scooped his palms under her ass and lifted
her.

She grasped his shaft, positioning him properly.

Death lowered her onto him and Tifara sucked in her
breath. Although she’d had him many, many times, his size always
surprised her. He was big, bigger than any other male she’d had,
his broad cock head pressing against her inner walls, stretching
her pussy hole until pain mixed with the pleasure.

“Tight.” Tifara dug her fingernails into his
arms.

“You were made for me.” He wouldn’t allow her to
retreat, pushing deeper and deeper, owning her body with his big
cock. “You’re hot and wet, all mine.”

The sensual slide continued, an intimate invasion
she never fully recovered from, every fucking strengthening their
connection. She tattooed his skin with pink crescent moons,
relaying some of her pain to him, seeking to change him as he was
changing her, rest cycle after rest cycle.

Her intimate folds finally touched his base and his
advance stopped. She was full of thick shaft. Tifara leaned
forward, resting her forehead on his chest.

Death stroked her back, rubbing his hands soothingly
over her hair and spine. “Cyborgs might not believe in destiny or
fate but this is where you are meant to be, where I am meant to be,
inside you, your heat around me. I would kill to keep this.”

He would. She knew. He’d given up his brethren, his
home, his future, to be with her. “You don’t have to kill to keep
me. I’m yours,” she admitted.

Death stiffened. “You’re awake.”

He’d pull away from her now. She clenched down on
his shaft and gripped his shoulders. “I’ve always been awake.” She
met his gaze squarely. “And you’ve always known that.” He was an
intelligent being. “You don’t have to conceal any part of you while
you’re with me.”

“I can’t,” he admitted. “I’ve tried but I’m
weak—”