Defying Death (6 page)

He hammered the ships directly in front of them with
every gun his small ship had. As though they’d been waiting for
permission, the rebel ships around his did the same, filling space
with projectiles.

The Humanoid Alliance returned fire. His ship warned
of an approaching projectile. Death swerved their vessel to the
right. The ship behind them was blown into bits.

“They could have ejected.” Hope lilted Tifara’s
words. “They could be okay.”

They weren’t. No being had ejected from the
ship.

An opening formed in the fleet facing them. Death
accelerated quickly. The ship jerked, the boom temporarily
deafening him. Tifara gripped his arms. Lights flashed.

The projectile had grazed them. Death didn’t slow
the vessel. It could withstand the minor damage and there was no
going back, only forward.

He punched the ship past the enemy’s front line.

There was nothing behind the single row of vessels.
Their ship headed into blackness, systems whining, engines
straining at capacity.

No ships followed them. The battle station must have
been the Humanoid Alliance’s sole target, the humans
uncharacteristically focused.

“We should warn them about the virus.” Tifara’s eyes
reflected her concern. “Send a message to the Commander of the
battle station and to whoever is leading the other ships.”

“We’re not warning anyone.” Death put more distance
between their ship and the humans, not taking any chances with his
precious cargo. “We have to focus on our own mission.” Getting her
to safety.

“We have to find the cure.” His female’s focus was
different. “You’re right.” She beamed at him and, although she
misinterpreted his words, he warmed under her approval. “We’ll save
the most lives that way.”

Death only cared about one life—hers.

“The Humanoid Alliance would have the antigens.” She
wiggled, the movement tormenting his already hard cock. “Is that
where you’re taking me—back to the humans who control you?”

“No humans control me.” Was that true? No, it
wasn’t. “Except you.” She had enslaved him from the first moment
he’d smelled her. “I’m a free cyborg.”

She stared at him. “There are free cyborgs?”

He grunted. Telling her that didn’t put his brethren
at risk. She’d never contact the outside worlds again.

“Interesting. I didn’t know that.” She hummed, that
sound stroking along his shaft, vibrating his balls. “Having access
to the Humanoid Alliance’s research would have been more
helpful.”

“Unfortunately for you, I freed myself from the
Humanoid Alliance’s control, escaping their constant torture and
pain,” he drawled.

“But…” She ignored what he’d said. “Having more than
one source might help me identify the aerosols. I could do that
faster if I had my medic pack.” She frowned at him. “If we returned
to the battle station—”

“We’re not returning to the battle station. Ever.”
He waited for her reaction. She’d be understandably upset. He had
snatched her away from her home, had taken her from her position as
medic, from her friends, from everything she’d ever known.

“I don’t know about ever, but we can’t return until
we have a cure. You’re correct about that.” She nodded. “We’ll have
to make do with what we have.” She squirmed more and more. “I’ll
take inventory.”

“You’ll take inventory later.” Death hooked one of
his arms around her waist, pinning her in place. He wanted her
close to him, needed the physical connection with her.

“There might not be a later. The virus—”

“There is no virus!” He attempted once more to drive
that truth into her brain.

“I’m a medic and I say there is one.” She matched
his loudness. “You must realize that too, must subconsciously be
searching for a cure, especially now that you’re a free cyborg. You
can’t interact with any beings without infecting them, can
you?”

“The only being I’ve infected, as you call it, is
you.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You’re certain about
that?”

“Yes.”

“Then what were you doing on board the battle ship?
Huh?” Her head tilted. Her brown curls shifted over her shoulders,
brushing against her cheeks. Every strand appeared to be a
different shade, the variety enthralling him. “Why did you
deliberately seek me out?”

“I…” He sought her out because he wanted her,
revered her, adored her.

The words stuck in his throat, trapped by a long
lifespan of silence, of never transmitting his emotions.

“You?” She waited.

Death opened his mouth.

His communications system malfunctioned. No sound
came out.

She gazed at him. He gazed back at her, willing her
to understand, to see the passion in his heart, the loneliness in
his soul.

The lines on her face dissipated. “Ahhh…I get
it.”

He relaxed. She understood. He wouldn’t have to say
the words.

“You can’t admit that you need my help. Some
primitive cultures have that problem.”

He stared at her. His female didn’t get it at
all.

“It’s fine.” She nodded, appearing pleased with
herself. “I’ll figure it out.”

He doubted she would.

“Where are we going?” She leaned toward the main
viewscreen, gazing out at the vast expanse of space. There was
nothing to look at, except a handful of distant suns, scattered
like shrapnel after a firefight. “Are there medic supplies wherever
we’re going? Because I need, at the very minimum, a handheld.”

He didn’t yet know their destination. Death had been
focused on capturing his female. He hadn’t processed past that.

“Once we meet up with your cyborg buddies—”

“I don’t have cyborg buddies.” His brethren were now
his enemies. They had to avoid cyborg-controlled space.

And the Humanoid Alliance controlled space. He
couldn’t risk being recaptured. The thought of Tifara in the
Humanoid Alliance’s cruel clutches rolled his stomach.

He had to avoid Tifara’s rebels also. She was a
precious female. Death pulled her closer to him. They’d want her
back.

He set their destination as Carinae E, a random
planet in a distant not-yet-claimed sector. Once they arrived
there, he’d plot their next steps.

Tifara chattered about supplies she needed, the
types of viruses, the barrage of symptoms associated with each.
Death listened, giving one-word answers when required.

His female became more and more agitated, fidgeting,
wiggling her lush ass against his aching groin.

He waited. Her one-way conversation would swing
around to what was bothering her eventually. Death suspected it was
him.

“You don’t talk much, do you, J052154?”

He was right. It
was
him.

He grunted.

“I know you don’t chatter.” His female once again
interpreted his reply correctly. “But it won’t hurt you to make an
attempt.” She shook her head, as though not talking was a foreign
concept to her, as though she’d never seen a being killed for an
unprompted observation. “Tell me something, anything.”

He thought about it for a moment.

There
was
something he wanted to say. “My
name is Death.” He yearned to hear his name on her lips.

“Yes, yes, you’re a killer.” She rolled her big
brown eyes. “I came to that realization when you tore the arms off
my patient. I meant tell me something I didn’t already know.”

She didn’t understand. “You call yourself Tifara,”
he explained. “I call myself Death.”

She blinked once, twice. “You’re serious. Your name
is Death.”

Death looked at her, his lips flat. He was always
serious.

“Why would you call yourself
that
?”

He had succeeded to, once again, horrify his female.
Death stifled a sigh. “Cyborgs give themselves names that have
meaning for them. Death is all I’ve ever known. Before we freed
ourselves, it was the only thing that had meaning for me.”

His entire lifespan had consisted of killing and
recuperating from the killing.

But now he had more. Death touched his female’s
brown hair, curling one strand around his right index finger. He
had her.

“Your job is your world.” Tifara’s head dipped. “My
job is my world also. And that’s okay because that’s what we’re
meant to do.” She paused. “Well, maybe not what you were meant to
do. There’s no need for you to kill again.” She patted his arm.
“We’ll find you a new, less bloody destiny. But stopping the next
outbreak is mine. I know that in my bones.” She wiggled, teasing
his armor-contained cock with her lush ass. “I’ve always known
it.”

The human’s belief in destiny and fate was
illogical. Death said nothing, listening, learning; his medic was
an intriguing mix of science and faith.

Tifara was logic and emotion, constantly
conflicting. She was like a cyborg that way. He gazed at his
female, watching the emotions fly across her face, as quick and as
varied as a skilled warrior’s attack.

“When you stepped into the chambers, I knew this was
it.” She glowed. “This was where I was intended to be.”

“We were meant to meet.” He was her male. She was
his female.

“Yes.” She smiled at him. “We were meant to
meet.”

Joy blossomed inside his chest. He had felt that
too.

She’d been
infected with a deadly virus by a cyborg who called himself Death.
She didn’t know where they were going or if she’d have the supplies
to uncover a cure. Yet she wasn’t concerned.

Stopping this outbreak was her destiny. A part of
her also trusted the cyborg.

Physically, she wanted him more than she’d ever
wanted any other male. Her pussy was wet. Her nipples were so taut;
they hurt. Her mouth tingled.

No.
All
of her tingled. His nanocybotics had
spread over her form. She felt them in her fingers and her
toes.

That fascinated the medic in her. Her bruises had
faded. She felt stronger. Her exhaustion had vanished. Why would
the Humanoid Alliance develop a virus that made their enemies feel
temporarily better, not worse?

Death shifted under her. His body armor fit him like
a second skin, hiding nothing, including his long, thick, hard
cock.

He wanted her.

Cyborgs were half human, had both human-like brains
and machine-like processors. They couldn’t reproduce naturally.
Those experiments had failed. But it made sense that they would
have human needs.

In addition to the need for sex, he seemed to have a
need to kill. That, she didn’t like. At all. Yet, she understood
why he was the way he was. Killing was what he’d been designed for,
what he’d been trained to do.

Death is all I’ve ever known.
That confession
had tugged at her heart. She glanced at his grim face. Perhaps if
she showed him there were other experiences to be enjoyed, he
wouldn’t kill beings.

And she had to examine him without his body armor.
Any responsible medic would do that. He was the carrier of the
virus. She should familiarize herself with his form. “I suppose you
have to fly the ship.”

“I’ve activated autopilot.” Death gazed at her,
contemplation in his dark eyes. “We’ll be notified if another ship
approaches us.” He removed his armor from his forearms, revealing
tanned skin and defined muscle. “You can suck me off now.”

“I didn’t agree to that.” But she wanted that.

“That isn’t the message your body is communicating.”
He curved his big hands under her ass and stood, lifting her onto
the console. Other males struggled with her weight. The warrior
didn’t even breathe heavily from the effort. “You’re wet for me, my
female.”

“From the pheromone-like aerosols you’re exuding,
not from you.”

“Other females were unaffected by my pheromone-like
aerosols, as you call them.” He removed his body armor quickly,
efficiently and her indignation vanished. Every part of him, from
his broad shoulders, cascading abs, the vee at his hips, to his
long legs, was finely honed, not a pinch of excess fat on his
physique.

His battle gear hadn’t been deceiving. His cock was
long and thick, no hair at his base to distract a female, and he
was fully erect, his shaft straight and hard.

“Ummm…” Tifara swallowed, her throat dry. “Other
females were unaffected?” Were their senses impaired? Even if they
were somehow immune to his aerosols, Death was the perfect male
specimen. “That’s impossible.”

She hopped off the console, scientific curiosity
trouncing her shyness. The heels of her boots clunked against the
floor tiles. “You have a heart.” She drifted her fingers over his
pecs. “I feel it beating against your frame.” She listened. “In
triple time.”

He shuddered. “Cyborg hearts are larger and have
additional valves.” His muscles rippled, the movement drawing her
gaze.

“Why do you have veins as well as circuits?” She
pressed her fingertips against his wrists. His pulse was strong.
“It’s a duplication in systems, which would be clever, except the
veins are exposed.”

“Those veins are non-essential.” He stood still,
allowing her to examine him. “Key veins, organs, and circuits are
protected by my frame.”

Tifara circled him. His ass cheeks were clenched,
his spine proudly straight, his biceps bulging. She traced his
backbone. “This is a vulnerability.”

“It’s protected by body armor and the metal utilized
is the strongest available. It would take multiple blades to cut
through it.” His voice was curt, his tone haughty. “And I’m not a
frail human. If my spine is pierced, my nanocybotics will repair
it.”

“That’s impressive.” Her lips twitched as she faced
him. She’d insulted her proud cyborg by implying he was vulnerable.
“I’d like to take tissues and blood samples.”

She’d take those from herself also, confirm that his
nanocybotics had remained inside her, permanently changing her.