Authors: Sandra Harris
A loud, double report echoed around the cavern and she dived for the floor. The Bluthen’s hands clutched at her waist. She wriggled from his grasp, rolled to her back, and lashed out with her boot. Impact jarred up her leg as she connected with his knee. He staggered back, recovered, then groped toward her.
Fear locked her eyes on him and she reached out a blindly searching hand. Her groping fingers closed over her torch. The Bluthen loomed over her. She lunged up, struck at him with a clawed hand, and kicked for all she was worth with both feet.
He dodged her blows, and she swung the torch with all her strength. A sickening, grinding crack turned her stomach as it connected with the side of his head. He lurched, fell sideways. His skull slammed against the rock wall of the cavern and he slid to the ground, motionless. She scrambled for his weapon and raised the rifle. He remained corpse-still.
She swung the weapon towards Eugen. With his back against the wall, one arm raised high above his head, Eugen used his other hand to drive the remaining Bluthen soldier head first into rock. Repeatedly.
Damn, he’s strong.
She aimed the rifle toward the cave entrance. Nothing threatened. The soldier Dexter had attacked lay immobile, his head crooked at an awkward angle. She swung back to the Bluthen she had fought. Dexter, tail arched in lethal readiness, bone blade exposed, prowled over the body. At a patch of grey skin he placed a foot and balanced. His frill fanned out with jarring suddenness, then almost immediately he relaxed, then scrambled off the body and settled untroubled on a large stone.
Her self-preservation instincts subsided. Adrenaline ceased its rushing pump and left her body in shuddering waves. Relief folding her knees, she dropped to the ground and with a shaking hand massaged her face. After a while, her wits regrouped, and she sent a wary glance up at Eugen. He’d finished rearranging his enemy’s bone structure, the unconscious or dead body now on the floor by his feet.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
“No. You?”
“I am not.”
He seemed in full control of his faculties, but until she was sure, she wasn’t going anywhere near him. “How are you feeling?”
His calm gaze drilled into her for a moment. “I am no longer experiencing the effects of”—he paused—“whatever was affecting me.”
She shot a closer look at the arm he still held aloft and her eyebrows rose in bewildered surprise. “Are you chained to the wall?”
“Yes. One of them managed to secure a manacle on my arm. He attempted to shoot the retainer into me.”
She winced.
That would have been a big owie.
Rising to her feet, she studied their predicament. A metallic clamp with blinking lights enclosed Eugen’s wrist. From it, a thin cable, about a foot and a half long, ran to a bolt buried in the rock.
“You can’t pull it out?” she asked.
Idiot, if he could he already would have.
“I cannot.”
“Can the wire be cut or shot?” She hefted the rifle.
Eugen shook his head. “We have not in our possession the equipment necessary to severe this type of cable.”
She sighed.
Eugen, I really must teach you the simplicity of the word no.
“How do we open the clamp then?”
“If you can force something between it and my arm and apply pressure at the same time that I endeavour to extract—”
“Yeah-yeah. I get the picture.”
She stared up at the problem. Eugen’s wrist was quite thick. Perhaps the cuff wasn’t well secured. If she could lubricate it, he might be able to, with effort, slip his hand out.
“It is unlikely we have much time. If you cannot succeed directly, you must go.”
“Oh?” She advanced on him.
Who’s going to make me?
“These soldiers no doubt notified others of our position.”
“Ah.” She handed him the rifle. “I’m not sure if Freddy over there”—she jerked her chin toward the soldier she had fought—“is unconscious or dead.”
Eugen nodded and trained the weapon partway between the door and the questionable Bluthen.
“The other one, the one Dexter attacked, is dead,” she said.
“I know. I heard.”
She smiled and placed a foot on Eugen’s partially bent knee. “Yes, Dexter’s almost as dangerous as you.”
She loaded her weight in her foot, pushed upward with the other, then laced her hands behind his neck. Her breasts confronted Eugen’s face. He grunted as she steadied herself on his knees.
“I feel I must apologize for my inappropriate actions.” A tense quality threaded his formal tone. “However, I meant what I said.”
“Really.” She gazed upward for her next handhold. “I’m surprised you can remember what you did
or
said in the condition you were in.”
She stretched up to test a knob in the rock for stability and her body swayed closer to Eugen.
“I recall very clearly . . .” Eugen’s voiced trailed off into a gruff growl.
Her breasts responded to the gusts of hot air from his breath. She strangled a moan and leaned into the rock for support. A nipple traced one of Eugen’s cheeks with teasing lightness. Fingers of sensuous delight streamed from the tight bud and flushed over her skin.
This probably isn’t a good idea.
She lowered her arm and forced her body to draw back.
“Right, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to push hard with my left leg and get my right knee on your shoulder. Ready?”
“Do it.”
She put her weight in her left foot then shoved upward, flexed her right leg, and landed her knee on his shoulder. A second later she slid her other knee into place and straddled Eugen’s head. Surprise that her manoeuvre worked almost startled her into falling backwards. Through her river-damp trousers, Eugen’s body warmth caressed her inner thighs and her undisciplined libido spurred her imagination into thoughts on just how and where she’d like his head between her legs. A rush of moist heat rippled through her core. She leaned into the cavern wall, barely constraining herself from banging her forehead into the rock, and squeezed every one of her quivering muscles into rigid obedience.
Goddammit, woman, get a grip!
She gathered her wits and inspected the manacle. Optimism flared at the marginal space between it and Eugen’s wrist.
“Sandrea?”
“Yes, General?”
“Do you accept my apology?”
“Yes, General.”
“Do you believe I mean what I said?”
She wiped oily sweat from her arms and took a deep breath. “I have to admit that I’m having trouble convincing myself of your sincerity.”
Silence filled the cavern.
“I see,” he said. “For what reasons?”
“Because your words contradict what you said on the
Vega
.”
He shifted below her. “I’m afraid I do not understand.” A frown coloured his voice.
“After we had sex,” she stated baldly, her heart stinging for she’d thought they’d made love, “when you said that I need not worry that my position with you would be affected.”
She leaned and smeared a mixture of perspiration and body cream as far as it would go into the clasp.
“But I . . .” He paused. “I’m sorry, how does what I said then contradict my statements of earlier today?”
“General! You accused me of sleeping with you in exchange for not being abandoned by the Al—”
“I did no such thing!”
“And I got the impression you found the whole incident distasteful and certainly had no wish to pursue a physical relationship with me.”
“No! That is
not
true.”
“What
did
you mean then, General?”
“I did not find our union distasteful, quite the opposite I assure you. And I did
not
accuse you of offering sexual favours to gain our support.” His sigh sounded . . . regretful. “At least that was not my intention. I thought, after the damage my caresses inflicted, that you would prefer I never advance my attentions toward you again.”
She thought that over. “What damage?”
“
Sandrea,
scratches blemished your skin, all the result of my actions.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So I thought you might be horrified and repulsed and I wanted to assure you that you would not have to endure approaches from me if that was your wish.”
Hope bloomed. “So you
don’t
find me objectionable?”
“I really did mean everything I said, Sandrea.”
A blaze of joyous bliss melted her heart into a happy puddle. Sharp exhilaration ignited in her every cell.
He really loves me! Oh thank the Good Lord, he loves me!
“I promise you,” Eugen continued, “I am exerting an enormous amount of will power right now to not show you precisely how much I
don’t
find you objectionable.”
A hot sun of elation blazed through her body, and she couldn’t prevent a triumphant wiggle. “Oh, Eugen, I—”
Dexter barked several times in quick succession.
Damn!
“T’Hargen’s coming,” she said.
“Not that I doubt you, but how do you know?”
“That grumbling chatter Dexter just made. He does that when T’Hargen is about. In fact, he’s got a sound for every member of the outfit he’s met.”
Mhartak peered into the gloom of the passage leading to the cave and tried to focus past the exultation suffusing him and on the approaching form.
She accepts my love! She does
not
abhor my touch.
The occasional brush of her thighs against his head proved most distracting and he burned to shower her with the physical manifestation of his devotion. Knowing her sweet sexual centre, hovering just above the sensitive swell of his cranial ridges, was his to—
“Should I come back later?” T’Hargen drawled, leaning against the rock entrance and crossing his arms.
Mhartak glared at his brother, then realized he spoke of his and Sandrea’s unusual position, not the thoughts running rampant through his mind. Though quite probably the enlarged degree of his cranial ridges may have influenced his brother’s remark.
“Oh.”
Sandrea’s murmur of surprise sparked hope in him. “You are succeeding?”
“I have a feeling,” she replied, “that this piece of equipment does not like my sweat. It’s loosened considerably, see if you can—”
Mhartak wrenched his arm free, dropped the rifle, and grasped Sandrea around the waist with both hands. Celebrating the fact he had discarded his armour, he gently slid her down his responsive body to the ground. Then he lowered his head to her ear and whispered a graphic outline of just how he wanted to apologize when time and circumstances permitted. He lifted his head and gazed into her beloved face. Her smile reflected wholehearted endorsement of his proposal.
She turned in his embrace to face his brother. “Hey, Cupcake, what’s the skinny?”
T’Hargen rubbed an ear-ridge with a finger. “That did not translate well. I have absolutely no idea what you just said, nor what you apparently called me.”
“I asked you for news,” Sandrea said.
“Ah.” He bowed low. “I bring good tidings.”
“You managed to destroy that thing?”
The hope in Sandrea’s voice equalled Mhartak’s own. He gripped her waist and pulled her more firmly into him, revelling in the knowledge his touch would be welcome.
T’Hargen shook his head. “No, it’s disappeared, but rescue is at hand. The
Vega
is in orbit. The captain sent a couple of fighter squadrons, and we have beaten off the Bluthen.”
Triumph and relief burned through Mhartak and he tilted his head, buried his nose in Sandrea’s hair and inhaled the coveted scent of his woman. Was she his, though?
Does she crave me as I crave her?
“If we go back to my holding, we can prepare to leave,” T’Hargen said.
Mhartak’s attention snapped to his brother. “We?”
T’Hargen met his steady gaze. “Yes. You don’t think I’d let the two of you wander off without my chaperoning, do you? After all, I’ve taken quite a liking to Sandrea. I’d hate to see her hurt.”
Rough warmth stomped through Mhartak’s heart, even though he knew T’Hargen’s decision was most likely duty based toward the Alliance. Sandrea’s laugh imbued him with profound happiness, like a basin filling with sacred n’rilan nectar. He stepped to her side and linked her arm with his.
She leaned into him and looked up, adoration glowing in her eyes. A river of loving, lustful fire surged through his veins. The sooner they were alone, the better.
“I’ve been given it on good authority,” she said, “that Angrigans don’t
do
water.”
He cupped her chin in his hand and lowered his face to hers. “There’s nowhere I wouldn’t go for you.”
They both ignored T’Hargen’s muttered, “Oh, for the love of g’Nel
.”
Mhartak brushed a thumb over her cheek. “Was it an interface, that . . . automation?”
She frowned. “Honestly? I don’t know. It certainly had the same harmonics as an interface.”
A calm tone carried her words, but he could not mistake the shudder that rippled through her beneath his hands. He gazed into her eyes. She’d said it had been painful, but mere pain did not incite the depth of terror that had consumed her.
He held her close, then wrapped his arms around her and drew in a deep breath. “It’s over now, my love.”
Unease lurked in the depths of her eyes. “Then why do I have this terrible feeling that it isn’t?”
Mhartak found he could not gainsay her because the same dreadful suspicion nested like a viper in his mind.
Sandrea sat in a green hillside meadow with Dexter lolling on her shoulder emitting the occasional soft snore. A gentle surge of profound relief suffused her as the fierce intensity of stress and determined survival seeped away. Fatigue became increasingly difficult to combat.