3
Dallas reeled as a thousand and one thoughts rolled through his head. This woman . . . she was the one he’d seen in his first waking vision. The naked intruder who’d reclined in his chair, drunk his single malt, changed color like a chameleon, and asked oh, so seductively to play a game of pretend.
With her sharp angles and even sharper tongue, she wasn’t even close to his type, but . . . he wanted her in his bed at his earliest convenience. Or now. Yes, now would do.
After she’d been nailed with Devyn’s drug, she’d changed colors again and again, even silver like the bars around her. When finally she’d fallen, she’d remained black from head to toe, perhaps his favorite. But really, color didn’t matter. Alien or human didn’t matter. Only the heart within. Problem was, he had no idea what type of person he was dealing with here.
And okay. He couldn’t stop looking at her, and he was totally contradicting himself about only the heart within mattering. She was just so damn beautiful. She was tall and slender with a glorious ebony mane of braids. At her temples, the braids were twined with a string of blood-red rubies. A perfect match for her lips. Blood-red today, but always heart-shaped. Provocative and provoking.
Up close and personal, he realized her eyes weren’t simply catlike; they had the allure of a Teran’s. Before her eyes had closed for the final time, her irises had been deep, an endless span of ocean crowned by the darkest night.
Every time she’d looked at him, he’d been set adrift in that ocean, lost and drowning. The worst part? He’d had no desire to be saved.
He took in the rest of her. She had pointy ears—too damn adorable—and those prominent cheekbones. In contrast, she had a delicate nose. The diamonds forming her eyebrows glittered with otherworldly radiance.
When she’d attacked Devyn, Dallas had caught a glimpse of the emerald green butterfly wings etched into the corners of her eyes and the strands of ivy etched across her forehead. The markings weren’t tattoos, exactly. They couldn’t be. At certain angles, they appeared iridescent, as much a part of her skin as a freckle or birthmark. He’d only ever seen those markings twice before. Once on the woman in his vision and once . . . on . . . what race? He couldn’t remember the name, could only remember the people had been experimented on before total extinction.
The extinction had happened before his time. But when he was a plucky AIR trainee, he’d spent most of his free time studying different human-alien battles, as well as the strengths and weakness of the creatures who’d lived and died so that he could better defeat the ones still in existence.
A feminine moan pulled him out of his head and into a haze of lust he struggled to control.
The prisoner moaned, nothing more, and he shot hard as a rock?
Not exactly the greatest start to their relationship. And they would have a relationship. His visions had never lied.
The rest of her skin glittered as if it had been dipped in fairy dust, not quite as vibrant as her marks, but still gorgeous, as well as an effect he’d only ever seen on Targons. But she wasn’t a Targon. Devyn recognized his own, and he would have pegged her at moment one.
Those sharp cheekbones and pointy ears lent a shocking wildness to an otherwise serene beauty. Even better, she had a voice like sex. A voice that was sex. The raspy pitch had stroked over him, making him think of a feather at the end of a flogger.
The scent of roses and a campfire ablaze with aged wood was stronger here, and most assuredly wafted from her. It only made him want her more. Must taste. . . .
She wasn’t a sweetheart with a ready smile, the kind of woman a lawman like him should want. This girl had a mouth on her. Hold me back! Her mouth. Over and over again his attention had returned to it. So lush and red . . . decadence made flesh.
She was exotic, unique, and that had to be the draw. But honestly, he thought he would have wanted her even if he were blindfolded. That scent . . . that screw me and screw me hard voice . . .
He motioned to the cage with a jerk of his chin. “Open it.”
Devyn sighed. “If you tell me your conscience is bothering you . . .”
He simply lifted a brow.
With another sigh, Devyn opened the cage. Dallas stalked inside, crouched beside the exotic beauty, and gently rolled her to her back. As he touched her, her skin turned the same olive color as his own.
She was a chameleon.
Despite the blood, dirt, and grime caked on her, she still managed to shimmer.
A suspicion about her had danced at the periphery of his mind since the moment he’d laid eyes on her, and now solidified. “She’s related to Trinity.”
“Hell, no.” Devyn crouched beside him. “I would have noticed a resemblance.”
“They have a similar bone structure. Same oval face. Same prominent cheekbones that gracefully taper to a strong chin.”
“ ‘Gracefully taper’? Did you acquire a degree in hideous poetry in the past hour?” His friend’s tone was as dry as the air in No Man’s Land. Then he cursed. “My boy, I think you’re right.”
Perhaps the two females were cousins. Maybe even half sisters. Either way, he could use Lilica to draw Trinity out of hiding.
“She isn’t diseased, is she?” he asked, seeking reassurance even though his friend had already provided the answer.
“She’s definitely clean. I had tests done before I brought her here.”
She wasn’t Schön, then. But what was she? The power she radiated . . . he felt as if he’d been hit by shrapnel, with too many bits and pieces to identify a single source. His Arcadian side had reacted oddly to it, buzzing with a need to escape her and to draw her closer. He thought he understood the latter, though. Once, when she’d glanced in his direction, his Arcadian side had hinted at a very dark future—she planned to kill him.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. . . .
Devyn had mentioned Dallas’s pop-a-cap vision.
Was that the reason Lilica now wanted him dead?
Whatever the reason, she would fail.
But he would not. He would use her as bait. Which meant, he would have to spend time with her. Could he resist her potent allure, or would he willingly risk his life in an attempt to seduce her?
Her in his chair, drinking his whiskey . . . Yeah. He’d risk it.
Desire wasn’t always a weakness; sometimes it could be a weapon.
“I may not survive my association with her,” he admitted. But what a way to go.
Devyn stiffened. “Well, then. She dies today.”
To the Targon, all threats to Dallas were to be eliminated immediately, no questions asked. No investigation.
“Your bromantic gestures always warm my heart, but I’m asking you to stand down just this once.” Dallas traced a fingertip along Lilica’s jaw. Softer than silk. “I’m taking her with me.”
“Like hell. She’s not diseased—she’s worse. My people once warred with hers. The Falle.”
Falle. Yes! The exterminated—well, the nearly exterminated race. Predators to the core. Chameleons able to vanish at will. Wily, even deceitful, with off-the-charts possessive instincts.
“For the first time in my reign, we almost lost a battle.” Devyn held up his arm, revealing the five finger-long wounds that hadn’t yet regenerated. “This one amplifies.”
“And that’s bad because . . . ?”
“With a single touch, she can make you stronger. Too strong.”
Again he said, “And that’s bad because . . . ?”
“Think of it this way. Right now you are able to run faster than the human eye can track. But after contact with her, you would be able to break the sound barrier, and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself. You would run until you died. If your body could contain that kind of power for any real length of time.”
Was that her plan, then? Kill him with his own alien abilities? “You have a way to neutralize her, I’m assuming.”
“Of course,” Devyn replied without missing a beat. “I’ll cut off her hands.”
Of course. “There’s no other less . . . damaging way?”
His friend pursed his lips. “You’re losing your edge, and it’s embarrassing.”
“Just tell me what you know.”
“Fine. My people have indeed developed a poison that neutralizes the abilities of otherworlders, but the effects wear off quickly, lasting no longer than twenty-four hours. And the drug can be easily counteracted by a shot of doctored adrenaline.”
“I’ll keep her away from extreme sports,” Dallas replied drily.
“I said doctored adrenaline. There’s a difference.”
“Give me two weeks’ worth of doses for her.” Surely he could spread the word of her capture and draw Trinity out of hiding within that time frame.
Let’s do this. He straightened to his full six-foot-three height, and her skin returned to that luscious black. “Also, I’m going to need a few hours to get my shit together. Do not—I repeat, do not—hurt her while I’m gone. You do, and I will be highly displeased.”
There were cuts and bruises on her neck, arms, and legs, and probably more under her clothes. Dallas wasn’t against the use of torture whenever warranted—he believed in equal opportunity and all that garbage. But he didn’t like the thought of Lilica’s lovely face twisted with pain or her voice screaming with torment rather than moaning with pleasure.
The protective instincts could be linked to his desire for her, but the intensity of that desire baffled him—until he remembered the pheromone Trinity released. He’d assumed it came from the Schön, but perhaps it came from a shared familial line.
Devyn scowled at him. “What the hell is this?”
“What the hell is what?”
“This look.” A finger zigzagged in front of his face. “Are you fantasizing about our bait?”
Bait. The guy had already deduced Dallas’s plan. Shocker. “Now you’re the one being ridiculous. She isn’t my type.” The absolute truth. And yet . . .
She tried to amph and kill my friend, and I got a hard-on for her.
Well, another hard-on for her.
Devyn’s scowl only deepened. “Do yourself a favor and remain detached with her.”
Something in his tone hinted at a deeper meaning. “You’re going to use her to amplify your powers, aren’t you?” Dallas demanded. “You think you’re going to stop her before she goes too far.”
“Think is incorrect. I will use her, and I will stop her before she goes too far.”
Power-hungry Devyn. Nothing new there.
“There was another girl at the institute,” Devyn added. “I sensed her but couldn’t find her. I’ve had an agent watching the place since I left with Lilica.”
“Which agent?”
“John No Last Name.”
John, who’d been little more than a feral animal the last time Dallas had seen him. Poor guy had only recently been found and freed after months of torture—his skin flayed from his body over and over again.
“Perhaps the other girl will help convince Lilica I’m the lesser of two evils,” Devyn concluded.
Dallas couldn’t come up with a valid reason to argue over the matter. Lilica meant nothing to him. Proof: the slight prick of irritation in his chest stemmed from a sense of urgency to find Trinity, not a desire to protect Lilica.
“I meant what I said. Don’t touch her while I’m gone, or you and I are going to have a problem.” He didn’t want her skin to match his friend’s. Only his. And when it changed again and again, he wanted the sight to belong to his eyes and no one else’s. “The only contact she’s to have is with the needle you use to dose her.”
Devyn studied him for a long, silent moment. Understandable. Dallas had never spoken to his friend so harshly. To everyone but his enemies, Dallas was a happy-go-lucky bachelor without a care. In this, he blamed Lilica and her mystical appeal.
“All right,” Devyn said with a nod. “Consider it done. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t, but that’s not going to stop me.”
Bang, bang.
Lilica dreamed of taking over IOT . . . of the day she finally uncovered the truth about herself and her sisters. Turned out they were a mix of twenty-three alien races, plus the human race, and each girl exhibited different dominant qualities found within the different species.
Jade took after the Maleahdolla, a warrior race feared throughout the galaxies. Their ability to read the minds of others gave them an edge in combat, technological advances, medicine, and even relationships.
Lilica took after the Falle, a corrupt race AIR had tried to exterminate during the human-alien war. And AIR wasn’t the first to try! Centuries ago, the Falle had nearly been obliterated by the Maleahdolla. The survivors were enslaved and used to amph their masters. But the Falle—insidious creatures who strengthened themselves by killing others—had bonded their lives to the lives of their captors, ensuring one race could not survive without the other.
Her voice voodoo came from the vampires. A specific vampire, actually, someone identified only as “the bride.”
Trinity took after the Forførn, a seductive race lovely beyond compare, with saliva as addictive as any drug. They’d once been hunted and used as sex slaves, but were now nearing extinction.
Something else they’d learned? Years ago, the staff at IOT had decided to use Trinity’s beauty and abilities to their advantage by sending her on a dangerous mission. Of course, they’d threatened to kill her sisters if she failed to return. Her objective: Find the king of the Schön and, through any means necessary, obtain a sample of his DNA.
She’d obtained a sample of his DNA, all right. Inside her veins! She’d absorbed his alien life force—a parasite—and in the ensuing weeks, the infection had spread through both her mind and her body, completely taking over.
Telepathic conversations with her had ceased, their bond to their eldest sister broken. Sweet, shy Trinity had then seduced her way out of the lab, infecting several doctors and guards. Doctors and guards who’d soon sickened. They were contained, studied, and eventually rotted to death inside their cells.
Once Lilica and Jade gained their own freedom, they’d left the lab for the first time in their lives, hoping to find and save their sister. But the crowds had been more than Jade could withstand, the onslaught of thoughts and possible futures . . . of evil . . . making her crazed. For Lilica, the stares had been disconcerting. In a world filled with humans and otherworlders of every kind, she and Jade were still freaks. Dejected and ill prepared, they’d returned to the lab.
Bang! Bang!
Lilica awoke with a jolt and jerked upright. A flood of dizziness sent her crashing back onto the mattress. A soft mattress, not like her hard cot at the institute, or the cold concrete floor in her new cell.
The cell . . .
Memories swamped her, and anger sparked.
Devyn . . . Dallas. That stupid dart.
When the dizziness subsided, she sat up slowly, gingerly, and catalogued her surroundings. A spacious room with four white walls and a closed metal door. The only piece of furniture was the mattress she rested upon. A stack of clothes and a basket of toiletries perched at its foot.
There was no sign of her captors.
Nausea churned in her stomach as she stood to shaky legs. Deep breath in . . . out . . . Cool air kissed her bare skin. Bare? Heart hammering, she looked down. Her filthy scrubs had been removed, but her plain white bra and panties were still firmly in place.
Which man had stripped her?
Did it really matter? When cameras recorded every aspect of your life from birth to adulthood, a panel of men and women watching from the other side of a two-way mirror, you never developed a sense of modesty. Of course, as soon as she’d learned to control her ability to camouflage, no one had been able to watch her do anything. They’d had to track her through a metal wrist cuff she’d been unable to remove until taking over the lab.
Her balance steadied as she searched the basket. No razor, only soaps and lotions. Great for beautification, useless for defense.
Bang, bang, bang.
Once again, she jumped. The sound came from beyond the door.
She ignored the clothes. Countless times, her jumpsuits at the institute had been washed with chemicals meant to alter her state of mind. She quietly padded across the room and tested the doorknob. Unlocked. The Targon and the Arcadian were suspicious bastards; they wouldn’t trust her with a button, much less give her free rein here, wherever here was.
If they’d wanted the door locked, it would have been locked. Neither was the type to make such a critical mistake. So. This had to be a trap of some sort. She used a stream of power she couldn’t afford to lose to force a thought out of her head and into Jade’s.
—I’ve been transferred to a new location. Don’t know where I am, or what’s planned, but I’ve found the arctic-eyed man.—
Unlike every time before, the power fizzled before leaving her, and she frowned. She tried again . . . with the same results. She waited one minute . . . two . . . breathing deeply, hoping for a reply, but only silence greeted her. Her hands curled into fists. What had Dallas and Devyn done to her?
She couldn’t risk trying again. Already she’d used up the energy needed for cloaking. If she lost any more, she would have no protection against her captors.
As she sneaked into the hallway, the anger she’d lived with most of her life blazed with new heat. The males planned to kill Trinity. They had to die . . . but not until after they’d helped her find Trinity.
No. Can’t risk it.
Never wait to slay. Missed opportunities only led to regrets.
Her captors needed to die, so they would die.
The smell of warm syrup and—Lilica sniffed—raspberry jam saturated the air, but there was an even sweeter scent . . . the one she’d encountered in the cell, when Dallas arrived.
He was here.
A sense of eagerness and excitement overtook her—angering her further. She moved forward at a brisker pace, noting details along the way. The walls were as bare as the walls in the lab that had been both a hell and a home to her. The only home she’d ever really known. Around the corner was a living room with only two folding chairs, which had been nailed down.
The banging continued. Pots and pans, she realized. At the entrance of the kitchen, she paused. A tall, muscular man had his back to her. He wore a tight black tee and jeans. His hair was dark and rumpled, his skin bronzed. Arcadian power stroked over her, making the blood in her veins warm . . . catch fire.
He was here, and he was right in front of her. He was here, and he planned to kill Trinity. There was no better time to strike.
Should she go with her amph ability or voice voodoo?
If she made the wrong choice, she would have to rely on her physical strength, punching and kicking like a champ, hopefully getting her hands on a blade.
He stopped slicing . . . whatever it was, and placed a knife on the counter beside him. Scratch hopefully. Add definitely.
Without making a sound, she prowled toward him—and leaped on his back, winding one arm around his head, the other around his neck, and her legs around his waist. While applying enough pressure to choke him out, she sent a blast of power through—nope, no power. The blast remained trapped inside her.
He didn’t judder with surprise or panic but reached over his shoulder, grabbed her by the nape, and flipped her over his head. As she fell, she managed to grab the knife. Impact emptied her lungs, but she ignored the pain to pop to her feet and face him, holding the blade between them.
Meeting his arctic gaze threw fuel on the already blistering fire in her veins. “You will stay still,” she told him, deciding to give voice voodoo a try, since amphing had failed. “You won’t move.”
He moved, crossing his arms over his chest. Argh! None of her abilities were working.
“Well, well. Sleeping Beauty awoke at last.”
His tone lacked the taunt Devyn always used. Dallas might actually . . . consider her a beauty?
No, another trick, surely.
He looked her over, and for a moment, only a moment, she forgot all her troubles, the air between them crackling with hotter heat and sizzling electricity. Goose bumps broke out over her arms, along her spine.
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Is that any way to greet the Prince Charming who oh, so carefully undressed you?”
By mentioning her state of undress, he hoped to disconcert her, didn’t he? Well, it would take a lot more than that.
“No, it’s not,” she said, and finally he juddered, his pupils spilling over his irises. He was turned on? By what? “I should have greeted you like this.” She faked left and stabbed at his right side.
He managed to block—somewhat. The blade sliced through the center of his palm and came out the other side. Blood dripped, and he hissed. He latched onto her wrist with his uninjured hand and twisted until she released the weapon.
He clasped the hilt and wrenched out the blade, causing more blood to drip to the floor. The sweet scent of honeyed champagne intensified. Yes! That was what she’d been smelling . . . it reminded her of the bottle of bubbly she’d stolen during her trip outside IOT. Her head swam.
She acted anyway, making a play for the weapon. He spun out of reach, saying casually, “I wondered how hard you’d come at me. Now I know. I’m only surprised you didn’t change colors.”
So. This had been a test.
As she stalked around him, he spun with her, his gaze remaining on . . . her puckered nipples peeking through her bra.
“What did you do to me?” And he had done something. Otherwise he would have bound her.
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Don’t worry, sweetness. You’ll regain full use of your power . . . one day.”
He’d drugged her with more than a sedative, hadn’t he? Just like the doctors at the lab.
Well. She just happened to have the antidote to power negation too. “Where are my shoes?”
“In the trash, where they belong.”
“I want my boots! They’re my favorite pair.”
“I’d venture to guess they are your only pair.”
True. “I want my boots,” she repeated.
“Why? So that you can kick me in the balls with them?”
She smiled with saccharine sweetness. “Your friend devoted countless hours to my torture, and I just woke up in a strange place, wearing only a bra and panties. Of course I’m going to continue attacking you. What else am I supposed to do? Thank you?”
“Yes!” He rubbed his lower back. “You’re heavier than you appear. I injured myself carrying you up a thousand flights of stairs.”
How dare he! “I’m not heavier than I appear. You are weaker than you appear.”
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to grin.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. All right. Anger, sarcasm, and demands had failed. Light flirting? Worth a shot. “If I do kick you, so what? You’re so strong . . . so powerful. Surely you’ll overcome me.”
“You just called me weak.”
Argh! She tried a different path. “Think of the perks. If you block my kick, you prove your skill. If you don’t and my boot makes contact, your manhood will swell, and you can finally tell your girlfriends you’re hung like a champ—and mean it!”
His lips twitched at the corners. “Let’s circle back to the boots and my swelling manhood. First, I want to know if you have a familial connection to Trinity, the queen of the Schön.” He pressed a towel to his wound. She sucked in a breath. He knew about the familial connection. How? Like Devyn, he should have assumed Lilica and Trinity had both been prisoners or employees at IOT.
“I supposed cousins, but didn’t rule out sisters,” he said. “Now I’m certain. Sisters, it is.”
“You’re planning to kill her.” An accusation, not a question.
He answered anyway, not missing a beat. “Yes.”
How easily he spoke of murder! Her hands once again curled into fists, her nails cutting into her palms, drawing blood. “In that case, my kicks aren’t the only thing you should fear. I’m going to be on you every chance I get.”
“Is that a threat . . . or an attempt at seduction?”
She mimicked Malevolent and snapped her teeth at him.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m totally open to seduction.”
Bastard! “Good luck surviving until one day.”
He heaved a sigh. “If you’re going to start a Taming of the Shrew role-play, you’ve got to set the scene for me first. Am I so afraid of you that I run away and you give chase so you can capture me and give me the tongue-lashing I so richly deserve? Or am I supposed to put up a well-intentioned but hopeless fight?” He air-quoted the word fight.
Frustrating bastard. Did nothing faze him?
And he wasn’t even done. “Also, I should probably have a safe word.” Leaning toward her, he placed a hand at the corner of his mouth and whispered, “It’s ‘Beetlejuice.’ ”
For a woman who’d only ever dealt with scientists and orderlies who’d viewed her as a commodity—or worse, a thing—being a desirable, sexual object was new . . . and wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Stop talking about sex. We’re enemies.”
“Please. We’re frenemies at worst, and we’re going to live together in harmony.”
“Me? Live with you?” She laughed, a sound both husky and purring. “Never.”
He lost his air of superiority, his eyelids growing heavy. “Your voice . . .”
The sensuality of his reaction affected her, making her shiver.
Keeping his gaze hot on hers, he reached toward the stove and picked up a fork already loaded with pancake. “I know you want to find Trinity as badly as I do.”
“More badly.” Her mouth watered as he chewed and swallowed, and she licked her lips. She didn’t even care that she’d abused the English language.
He speared another forkful and, his hand trembling slightly—had she weakened him? Or had his desire done the job for her?—offered it to her. She wanted to protest. I’ll accept nothing from you! But her stomach twisted with hunger. Devyn hadn’t fed her much, preferring to keep her feeble.
Unable to resist the goodness, she snatched the utensil, devoured the bite, then went ahead and snatched the plate to polish off what remained of the pancakes.
“Was the taste to your satisfaction?” he asked, clearly trying not to grin.
Irritated with her show of fragility, she forced a casual shrug. “I’ve had better.” In my dreams.
He laughed . . . and then he began a slow stalk toward her, closing what little distance there’d been between them. For the first time in her existence, she found herself backing away from an opponent, unsure how to proceed but knowing she needed space if she wanted to think clearly.
All too soon, her back hit the edge of the counter, stopping her retreat. He paused only long enough to pick up the knife she’d dropped.
She lifted her chin. “Go ahead. Cut me.”
“Why? Do you crave pain?”
After everything she’d already endured in her short life? “Never.”
“Then why would I cut you?”
“To torture me, of course.” Why else?
“With you—with us—torture will never be on the table.”
“There isn’t an us.” She glanced at the only bay window in the kitchen, where a small, round table had been centered. “And there is nothing on the table.”
He chuckled softly, pricking at her ire. “How about I put you on the table? You ate my breakfast, so you owe me another one.”
As she gaped at him, he stepped closer to her; his strength enveloped her. His complete lack of fear—well, it did something to her. Amplified her, her blood sizzling, boiling. Bone-deep tingles raced through her before rising to caress her skin and collect within the lines of her tätoveerimine. The glittery green markings she’d had since birth. They stretched over her forehead, around her eyes, and along her sides, also around her waist and down her legs.
She gasped. This was the first time she’d ever felt them, which was why she’d always thought they were purely decorative. Now she wondered . . . was some alien part of her reacting to the alien part of him?
“Exquisite,” he rasped, as if entranced.
Tremors caused her to sway. “What are you doing to me?”
“Hopefully the same thing you’re doing to me.”
She wanted so badly to lean against him. To rub against him. Resist!
“I’m ready to bargain with you, Lilica.”
Her name on his lips . . . She shivered, heated another thousand degrees, but forced herself to say, “You have nothing I want.” Her sister’s well-being mattered more than anything. Always had, always would.
His smile bloomed, slow and deliberate. “I may not have something you want, sweetness, but I have something you need.”