“Yeah. Exactly.” She nodded vehemently, trying to get through to the knuckleheaded cute-as-hell cyborg in front of her.
“Even if they don’t have a choice.”
“Wait. What? No! Not no choice. There should always be a choice!” She drew in a strangled breath, fighting her anger and marshaling her vocal cords and lungs for another volley.
Lyon shot Archon a look and shoved his hand over her mouth to stem the tirade that was coming. “Archon! Really not helping here.”
She’d never really understood the term “her vision went red” when people spoke about anger. She’d always thought it was one of those sayings people used to explain something that didn’t have a direct description. Until the moment Lyon silenced her in such an arrogant, overbearing manner and red did indeed filter down from the top of her eyes to the bottom, painting everything in shades of scarlet.
A snarl in the back of her throat, she opened her mouth against his palm and bit down. Hard.
Lyon snatched his hand back, forced into a half-second fight with her teeth for possession of the fleshy bit near his thumb, and looked at her in disbelief.
“How dare you?” she demanded, not caring now that he could bend her in half and break her like a twig if he wanted to. She didn’t care she was stuck on his ship, with four beings who had more than enough reason to hate her species. Anger ran through her veins, embedded so deeply that she shook with the force of it.
“Uh-oh. Lover’s tiff. Little woman doesn’t look too happy, boss.”
Eyes locked on hers, Lyon flicked Archon an offensive gesture and moved forward, backing her up against the side of the cabin. Her fury shifted, turning into something equally as hot at the dark, dangerous look in his eyes.
Unwilling to back down, she met him look for look. She knew that if she showed fear now, then he’d walk all over her. He’d kidnapped her, yes. But he’d asked for her, named her as his price for leaving the Valkyrie in one piece. Which meant she had value to him, surely? That she wasn’t some passing fancy to be used and tossed aside. She had to hope so or this whole situation became something far darker and more frightening. Became a situation she really didn’t want to think about.
Her back bumped against the cold metal of the cabin wall, but still he kept coming.
Kept coming until she could feel the heat of his skin beating against hers, even through their clothing. His face was hard as he looked down into hers. His breath whispered over her skin, stirring the strands of hair that lay against her neck.
“I am in charge here, Ms. Williams. Do not forget that. Or make the mistake of challenging my authority. You won’t like how that ends.”
* * * * *
They were a family. For the next few hours as the combat shuttle left the system, taking her farther away from the Valkyrie, Samara watched the four cyborgs as they interacted with each other. Comfortably curled up in the seats at the back of the cabin, she listened as Archon and the female cyborg, Cael, teased each other good-naturedly.
Each comment sparked another and another as they tried to best each other in what she could see was an affectionate game of wits. One she had no doubt had started years ago and would continue for years to come.
Lyon sat in the copilot’s chair, but rather than the usual navigation systems, the console was filled with strange code and other symbols she didn’t recognize. Whatever it was though, the heavily built man seemed engrossed in it, only looking up to fire back a comment when his name was dropped in the argument between Archon and Cael.
The other guy—Eoin, she’d figured from the conversation—had grunted and disappeared out the back door of the cabin without so much as a word. Samara had tried not to stare as he passed. A carbon copy of Archon, he had the same muscled build, coloring and face. But a scowl and scars twisted his features rather than a smile and a heavy medical brace encased one of his lower legs.
She turned back to the others. Cael was beautiful. Envy filled her as she studied the cyborg woman. Tall with dark hair plaited close to her scalp, she had the sort of elegant, slender figure Samara could only dream of. Even the alphanumeric tattoo on her cheek and the metal encasing her left hand couldn’t detract from her looks.
She’d relinquished the pilot’s seat to Archon, but perched on the edge of the row of seats opposite Samara to continue the round of bickering they’d started ten minutes ago after both had rounded on Lyon for trying to interrupt.
Thoughts of the tall, handsome cyborg leader chased each other like eager puppies around her head. Why had he kidnapped her? Heat flushed her cheeks as he looked over his shoulder and directly at her. It was like he could pluck the thoughts right out of her head. They weren’t telepathic, were they? Panic hit her anew, but then she calmed herself. She couldn’t remember anyone mentioning telepathy as a cyborg ability.
She’d bitten him. She still couldn’t believe she’d done that.
Deliberately she shifted the focus of her thoughts. Were all cyborg women like Cael? Were they all that skinny and tall? If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn the woman was a supermodel or something, more used to the glitz and glamour of the intergalactic catwalks than brutal and bloody warfare.
She bit her lip and listened as her self-confidence tumbled down around her ears. If they were all like Cael, then what chance did she have with Lyon? Why had he even bothered to give her a passing glance, never mind seduce her in his cell…?
Her heart stuttered, then stalled in her chest. The ship had been abuzz when they’d rendezvoused to pick him up, but no one had said how long the Fleet had held him prisoner. Perhaps he’d just been away from his people too long and he’d just needed a woman, any woman.
Biting back tears at the thought, she rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Tiredness swept up in a tidal wave and crashed over her, sapping what energy she’d had left. Within seconds, she was asleep.
“She’s very pretty.”
Cael was the first to look over her shoulder when Samara fell asleep. All with razor-sharp hearing and the ability to monitor heart rate and respiration even at distance, they’d easily been able to tell when she was watching them and when she’d finally given in and gone to sleep.
“She is,” Lyon agreed, finally giving in to temptation and looking over at his little prize himself. She was curled into an uncomfortable-looking little ball in one of the passenger seats. They were designed for hulking brutes of marines, so she looked like a child cuddled up for an impromptu nap. Well, she would if it wasn’t for the curves that filled the ship-suit out in a very un-childlike way.
Cael sighed. “I’d die for a figure like that. You see the bust on her?”
“Oh yeah…” Archon muttered, a comment which was quickly followed by two slaps to the back of his head; one from Cael and one from Lyon.
“You keep your eyes to yourself,” Lyon growled and looked at Cael curiously.
She shrugged. “I felt left out. Do I need a reason?”
“With him, no.”
“She’ll get uncomfortable like that.” Lyon pushed away from the console and stood.
A couple of strides took him across the cabin until he was stood over her. She was sound asleep, dark eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks. Peaceful, like an angel at rest.
Careful not to disturb her, he gathered her into his arms as though she weighed nothing. To him, she didn’t. Mumbling something unintelligible, she nestled against him, her face in the curve where his neck met his shoulder. Her lips brushed gently against the skin there, the softest of touches, but one that speared right through his body to his cock.
He closed his eyes for a second to control his bodily reactions. He’d never had such strong reactions to any woman before. Ever. So why this one? He entertained the thought that she was some kind of human witch, designed to drive cyborg men mad, then shook his head, amused at his own ridiculousness.
He tightened his arms around her and rested his lips and nose against the top of her head. She’d used some kind of floral shampoo. Probably last night. He savored the fresh smell and the feeling of her in his arms. A rush of protectiveness surged through him. He’d take her through to his cabin. The bed was small but she would be comfortable there and wouldn’t wake up with the kinks in her back and neck that she’d get sleeping in the chair.
“Lyon?” Cael’s voice stopped him as he turned to head out of the main cabin. He looked over his shoulder. Her face was curious, her head tilted to one side. “You could have asked for anything on that ship. Why her?”
He didn’t need to think about the answer.
“She makes me feel human.”
She was comfortable and safe. Murmuring contentment in the back of her throat, Samara snuggled closer into the warmth that surrounded her. Warmth that finally resolved itself in her sleepy brain as a hard male body in the bed with her.
She shifted, her hand wandering over her pillow to test the solid muscle there. Yes, she thought so. It was definitely a male chest. A hard male chest covered in satiny skin—her fingers paused on a ridge to explore its length—and one covered in scars that told of a life of violence.
Lyon.
She kept her eyes closed and floated in that delicious state between asleep and awake. If she stayed here, she didn’t have to think about yesterday or deal with it. She could just lie here and enjoy the novelty of waking up in someone’s arms and feeling cherished.
Five more minutes.
A deep chuckle reverberated through the wide chest she had her head rested against. “I know you’re awake.”
“Am not,” she protested, but opened her eyes as he shifted. A warm green gaze locked onto hers. She couldn’t help it, she smiled back sleepily. They were crammed into a small bed… Well, it would have been a large bed had she been the sole occupant, but with his large frame wrapped around her, even an imperial prince’s bed would have seemed on the small side.
The color of his eyes shifted. Moss green darkened to the color of pine forests during a storm. Heat flared in the darkness as he dropped his head to claim her lips.
Thoughts crowded into her head, fighting for her attention like hyperactive children in a classroom. She ignored them and opened up for him, kissing him back with a hunger that surprised even her.
Just five more minutes, then she’d deal with them.
He moaned, more of a growl from the bottom of his broad chest, and rolled her onto her back. His battle-hardened body stretched out over hers, all hard planes against her soft curves. A hair-roughened thigh slid between hers.
Her eyes shot open as she realized he was nak*d. The press of his cock, hard and heavy, against the bare skin of her stomach informed her that so was she. She’d remembered falling asleep in the main cabin and she’d certainly been fully dressed. Her heart melted at the same time her body flooded with heat. He must have undressed her before putting her to bed. What kind of kidnapper did that?
One who intended to have sex with her, that’s who, the cynical voice in the back of her head sniped. She ignored it. Again, even though she knew, could feel, the restrained strength in his body, she knew that he wouldn’t hurt her. If she said no, he wouldn’t push her. He wouldn’t force her.