Chapter Four

Khal

 

 

L yrie stirred beneath me, her eyes flashing open, her hand slamming into my shoulder with enough force to woof my breath out.

“Keep calm,” I ground between my teeth.

“Get off me, you filthy bastard!” I suspected she meant to yell, but her voice broke, cracked around the signs of dehydration.

“Sticks and stones. Listen.” I captured her hand as she bunched her fist and went for another punch. Pinned it against the sirdar slab, where I’d folded the remnants of my shirt beneath her head as she tossed and turned for the last two days. “We’re out of time.”

“What the hell do you mean?” she spat, trying to twist her thin wrist from my grasp. “We have three days. They agreed.”

I jerked back as she reared up, trying to slam her forehead against mine. Hells, she sure didn’t believe in taking any shit lying down. “You’ve been pretty well out of it for the last forty-eight hours. You were feverish. Raving.”

“Damn.” Her eyes were suddenly huge, her body falling limp as the fight left her in a rush. “Did I say anything…anything important? While I was out?”

“Beyond declaring your urgent desire to bear my child, you mean?” She hadn’t, but I kind of needed to keep her mind focused on what was coming up. What we had to do. Though the fact that she seemed totally oblivious to my moodar-stiffened cock jutting into the apex of her thighs proved she was about as keen for this to happen as I was. The rational, thinking parts of me, at least, which were desperately trying to come up with a scheme that’d see us out of here, preferably with both Smithton and Hartlin fried to crispy Glian steaks by the laser wire fence outside the compound. “I think we’ve more urgent issues than worrying about the sordid secrets of your verbal diary. Though you did growl a bit. I figured maybe that was meant to be a turn on.”

She had growled, a feral snarl, her teeth audibly grinding together. But, more often, she’d moaned and sobbed.

Not knowing what the hell else to do, I’d demanded water from the guard and bathed her forehead, trying to lower the fever. Eventually, I’d stripped the sweat-sodden clothes from her rangy form, and wrapped her in the one thin blanket we shared, as the chills wracked her body hard enough to rattle her bones.

About four hours ago, she’d totally lost it, screaming and thrashing around on the stone slab so hard I’d had to hold her still to stop her from harming herself.

Like it’d be possible to add more bruises to her broken body.

Anger ripped through me, the fight to control it sending a shudder of fury coursing along my spine. If these bastards had imprisoned Lyrie to use as a breeder, why the hells had they found it necessary to mess her up so bad? There had to be more to her story.

That outburst, though, seemed to signal the end of the fever, and she’d slept more peacefully.

Until I’d stripped and clambered on top of her.

A shifting of air from the door hatch jerked my head around, and a growl rose in my chest. “Shut the fucking hatch, Smithton, or I’ll rip your damn face off.” Damn, I’d never had to tell a guy anything twice before. My impotence to enforce my command now ate at my guts.

Lyrie went rigid beneath me, her gaze darting toward the door. I dropped my voice, supporting my weight on my forearms, so that my body protected hers, shielding her from view as I spoke low and urgent. “You’ve been unconscious. We’re out of time and Smithton’s out of patience because I wouldn’t…y’know, co-operate, while you were out cold. Hartlin’s been called away from the compound, and Smithton’s threatening to bring in another…candidate so he can report to Hartlin that the job’s been done.”

Lyrie snorted, though her chest barely rose beneath me. “Then fuck someone else. We’re not exactly in a committed relationship, here.”

I tightened my grasp on her good wrist. “Shut up and think. If Smithton believes you can be replaced, then you’re not indispensible. For some reason, Hartlin settled on you as…breeding stock. But the C.O. thinks differently. He has a woman outside the cell right now, and she’s offering to take your place. Smithton’s all over it. Like, in a totally fucked-up, really-into-the-idea kind of way.” I shook my head in disgust, still able to hear the excited lilt in Smithton’s voice, the smell of arousal roiling through the locked door as the woman giggled and whispered to Smithton about what she wanted me to do to her. “You hear them?”

Lyrie shook her head.

Probably just as well she couldn’t hear the lurid detail the woman was going into. Or the wet, smacking sounds that punctuated her and Smithton’s murmurs every so often, and which I didn’t even want to identify. “Sounds like Smithton’s getting his rocks off just considering the idea. And, as I’ve no intention of doing it with anyone else—”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Lyrie sneered, but her lips trembled. She probably wasn’t afraid of me, but damn, she was sick. Exhausted.

“Self preservation,” I countered. “We have a deal, remember? But, right now, we have to give that perverted little shit a show, or we’ve signed your death warrant.”

Lyrie tensed, a quick intake of breath causing her to choke. Damn, she was afraid of me.

Frustration made my tone harsh. “Look, I don’t want this any more than you do—”

“Not what it feels like, shifter,” she snarled.

“Moodar. I assure you, it’s a completely involuntary physical reaction. They keep darting me with the shit.”

“Way to win a girl over.”

Though she kept slapping me with her words, I could see the glisten of tears in her eyes, the nervous bobbing of her throat.

She was terrified of me. Of what I had to do.

Yet she wouldn’t back down.

I deliberately gentled my tone, shifting my hand to stroke the short hair that clung to her head like a damp cap. Even with my enhanced vision, it was hard to tell what color it’d be, if we were out of this filthy, dank, dark prison. “Listen, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Told you. I can take you.”

Hells, no she couldn’t. Not like this. Tight and terrified and traumatized, no way would I ever take a woman like this. “We’re going to fake it, Lyrie. Okay? That slimy little prick is for sure watching us, but he can’t see you beneath me.”

Her eyes were huge now, suffused with blood, but green as the depths of the Aaidarian jungles. “Just do it.” She moved her hips beneath me, I guess trying to encourage me, but pain flashed across her face.

Not pain I’d caused, though. Not yet. “There’s no need. Just give the little armatote bastard a show,” I murmured against her cheek. “He’s got the hatch open. I can hear his breathing. Just get him off, and we’ll be good for another day.”

Lyrie trembled so hard beneath me, it was almost like she was into it. I quickly shifted to one side so my cock could only graze the outside of her hip. Damned thing seemed to have ideas of its own.

Eyes screwed shut, I tried to summon up a display for Smithton.

A display that didn’t involve giving in to the sick urging of the moodar coursing through my blood.

Lyrie’s hand wound around the back of my neck, and I flicked my eyes open. She nodded agreement, though her lips clamped together in a thin line.

I pressed my mouth to her neck, unwilling to look at the mix of fear and determination on her face, and let out a growl I knew would vibrate through her. No reason for her not to enjoy this, at least a little.

She lay silent and unmoving, and I shifted onto one hip, making sure Smithton caught glimpses of what I was doing. Hopefully, enough to get him off.

My hand smoothed over the swell of Lyrie’s small breast. Her nipple responded immediately to my unwanted touch, hardening into a tiny peak, and she quivered, squeezing her eyes shut, as though she could deny the reaction.

“I know. It’s just the moodar,” I muttered as my callused thumb rubbed light circles on her bruised flesh, my ears trained on Smithton, noting his bated breath, the fractional shift of the heavy door as he pressed closer to it.

My hand froze; Lyrie hadn’t had anything to eat or drink while she was unconscious, only the water I’d dripped into her mouth.

While moodar was potent, its effects were short-lived.

Yet her body responded to my touch.

I shrugged off the thought. Whatever drug the Regime had administered, at least it’d help her act out for Smithton. “You’re going to have to get loud for him to hear through the door. Pretend you’re into this, and he’ll get off quicker.” Hopefully, then he’d leave us alone.

“I can’t.”

Even though I was so far from turned on by the broken, unwilling body beneath my own, my cock ached, and I bit out the words in a harsh whisper. “Yeah, well, me either. But if you want to live, make the noises you normally would. You know, moan or shit.” I’d never had to beg a woman to get involved before, and this wasn’t a good time to start. “In fact, you don’t even have to pretend you like it, he’ll probably enjoy it more if you don’t. Just fake that there’s something going on in here.”

And I needed to do the same goddamn thing. Somehow, I had to make it look like I was fucking Lyrie. But I couldn’t actually risk getting anywhere near her, because the damn moodar was messing with my self control.

No way would I touch an unwilling woman.

Lyrie’s hand moved to cover mine, pressing my palm against the hard nub of her nipple.

Okay. Fuck. How far could I take this without it being totally wrong?

Movement beyond the door made my ears twitch, my gut tightening as I caught the sizzle of a zip being pulled down.

That wasn’t the only damn thing being pulled out there. Sick, voyeuristic bastard.

Lyrie gasped and I recoiled as I realized I’d instinctively pinched her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, rolling it as I humped rhythmically against her thigh.

She didn’t jerk away, though. She knew we had to make this look real, and clearly, she’d decided to go with faking interest, rather than fighting.

That’d work, too, but she needed to do it loud enough for Smithton to hear. To enjoy.

I shifted to give the sick prick a better view, and bent to Lyrie’s nipple, my tongue lapping at the hot peak. Tasted like soil. Yet my damn cock refused to acknowledge my disgust. “Come on, give it to me,” I growled loud, hoping Lyrie would respond, goading Smithton on. Then we could get this damn farce over.

Instead, she froze beneath me, her gaze fixed on my mouth as I rested my chin on her breast, careful not to press too hard on the bruised flesh. Her whisper was low and intense. “I told you, I can’t.”

“I mean just make the noises. Smithton won’t last long. He’s…into it.” As was the woman out there with him, judging by the wet slurping noises and occasional choked moan. Putting on this damned display was fucking humiliating, and I couldn’t carry it off by myself. I should’ve faked the whole damn thing while Lyrie was unconscious. It would’ve been easier.

Yet I never would. Even for faking it, lack of consent was a total cock-softener.

Well, without moodar, it would be.

Lyrie shook her head, her eyes glittering with sudden fury like a rainstorm-lashed jungle. “I don’t know what noises to make.”

I jerked my head up. Smithton pressed himself up against the door, the synthfab of his uniform rustling as he made the most of his suddenly unobstructed view. “What the hells?” I hissed. “You mean you’ve never fucked?”

“Of course, I have. Just—” Lyrie lifted her shoulder in a shrug, then winced. “There’s never been any need to make a noise.”

I snorted. “Then, trust me. You’ve never fucked.” I shifted to lie alongside her, my back to Smithton. “And if you can’t fake being fucked, then we’re totally fucked.” It wasn’t fair to blame her, but hells, I was running out of ideas, and fast.

Lyrie shoved up on her good arm to face me, her face white with either anger or pain. “I told you, just do it.” She glanced beyond me then straightened her shoulders, making sure Smithton copped a good view. With one grazed hand, she cupped her breast, pinching out her nipple as though she was getting off on it. “Stop being a coward.”

 “Gods, woman! I’m trying to do right by you.” Hells knew why, though. She sure as shit liked to take control. “Your ex-lover who was murdered? Let me guess. You ordered the assassination, right?”

She regarded me icily, but dropped her voice to hiss, “Faking it won’t work, anyway. They’ll…check.” Her chin quivered, and she ripped her gaze from mine, deliberately staring over my shoulder to where Smithton lurked. “They have no issue with invasive investigations. So just do it, all right?”

Fuck. My gut tensed so hard, I could’ve taken a punch from Herc and not flinched. What the hells had they done to her? And why?

Whatever, this wasn’t going down the way Smithton wanted. I needed to buy us more time while I worked out what to do. “No way am I touching you.”

“You have to. We’re all out of options.” She hunched with her broken arm cradled across her stomach, her skin a mottled carpet of bruises, a visual record of physical pain. “Just damn well stick it in, get it over with.”

I shook my head. “There’s not enough moodar in the world to make that happen. Listen, don’t get offended by what I’m about to say.”

“Offended? You’re lying here with your fat prick digging a trench in my thigh, telling me you’re not going to use it because I don’t turn you on, but now I’m going to get offended?”

“Okay, so don’t get pissed might’ve been a better phrase.” I stood, making no effort to cover my rigid, aching dick. Damn moodar. I needed to rub one out, just to take the pressure off. But this was neither the time nor the place.

As I heard footsteps echoing far down the external corridor, I strode across the cell and slammed my hand against the door. “Smithton? Smithton let go of your fucking cock, and answer me.”

The C.O.’s pale, sweat-sheened face appeared at the hatch. “What is it, shifter? You’re out of time, you know.”

“Yeah, well you’ll be out of time when Hartlin realizes your screw-up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Cats are fastidious, Smithton. You should know that. Yet you expect me to rut with this—” I jerked my head at Lyrie. “This filth? She’s sick. You need to get her cleaned up, first. Clean her, feed her, then I’ll fuck her. Not before.”

“You don’t call the shots, shifter. You and your friends are—”

“She’s sick?” Hartlin’s cultured voice cut across Smithton’s sneer, and I thanked all the gods that I’d been right, it had been his fast-paced, precise stride I’d heard clicking against the flagstones.

Smithton whirled and, even with my face pressed to the grille, I couldn’t make out either man. I heard the woman out there gasp, though, and a sudden flurry of hastily rearranged fabric.

“What’s she doing here?” Hartlin said.

“Dismissed, Tina. She’s a, ah, a nurse,” Smithton blustered. “I ordered her here to give a visual analysis of your subject’s condition. Because I was concerned for her welfare. But we can’t get the damn shifter to move away from her long enough.”

“They’ve copulated?”

I slammed my palm against the grille, hard enough to make it rattle. “No. And we won’t until you get this…breeder in better shape. You want me to impregnate her? Well, it’s not damn well happening with the condition she’s in.” It wasn’t happening, period, but I’d deal with that later. “I’m not touching her. And it wouldn’t take, anyway. Smithton’s too much of a damned coward to come in here and give her the hormone shots, and she’s been running a fever for two days. Do you want to waste more time on a guaranteed spontaneous abortion, or do you want that fetus, Hartlin?”

I turned to face Lyrie, trying to silently convey an apology to her. She’d grabbed the centrian-chewed cover from the bed and held it clutched against her breasts. Like I’d not already seen her naked.

Or like she was suddenly ashamed of how she looked.

And that was my fault.

But I was only trying to save her.

The door rattled, the snub nose of a Teyraus rifle poking in.

“Cuff her, this time,” Hartlin ordered the guard.

The guard jerked the blanket from Lyrie, as though he was afraid she hid a weapon beneath it.

Any other woman, stripped naked and cuffed, would be broken. But Lyrie straightened her back, only a faint grimace crossing her face as the guard yanked her bound, broken arm forward to zip the nylonium cuffs around her thin wrists.

Her eyes, though. They were…distant. As though she’d gone somewhere else, far beyond where the pain could reach her. Where she couldn’t be humiliated. Tortured.

Suddenly, I didn’t want them to take her from my cell. Even though I was certain Hartlin would have her brought back, committed as he was to fast-tracking his experiment, there was a chance I’d made the wrong call. With Lyrie out of my sight, there was no telling what they’d do to her.

What they had already done to her.

What horrors had caused…no, enabled…her to cut herself off so completely.

I grabbed the thin blanket and draped it around her shoulders, tucked it together in the front and made sure her fingers held the two sides closed.

It wasn’t much, but it was all I could give her.

As the heavy door clanged shut, I did what I’d done every hour of the last two days; I let out a snarl, pitched too low for the human ear to pick up, more a vibration than a sound.

One that Spike would hear.

Should hear.

Yet, like every hour before, there was no response.

Was it the damn drugs? Were they messing with my mind, as well as stealing my shifter abilities? Had I imagined Spike’s tortured snarl?

My puma brother was dead, killed weeks ago by laser fire from a Regime drone out in the endless desert beyond the walled compound.

I’d tried to retrieve his body, so the rest of the team and I could give him the traditional cremation, scattering his ashes beneath the cold light of the double moons, to blow back to Aaidar. But I’d been stonewalled at every turn. His body had somehow disappeared from both the morgue and from record.

Maybe there’d never been a body? At least, not one without a heartbeat.

But then I’d have been able to hear Spike. To scent him.

I ran a hand through my hair and slumped onto the bed.

Herc, Leo, and Jag had headed across the desert to the Resistance headquarters.

Spike was dead. He had to be.

And now, Lyrie was gone, too.

I’d never been so damn alone.