Thirteen
Two planet rotations later, the yearning for his female had intensified so much, Vengeance questioned the functionality of his processors.
He sat in the council chambers alone, all of the other warriors having left long ago. The illumination in the space had been dimmed, saving resources, the shadows reminding him of rest cycles with his human warrior, the quiet times when she had slept and he had watched over her, awed that she belonged to him.
His need for Astrid was more than physical. He missed the sound of her voice, the sparkle in her eyes, the way she challenged him in every aspect, making activities interesting and different.
Although he realized it would exacerbate his situation, increase his need, he replayed in his processors footage from that planet rotation. His female tested guns in the training chambers, her feet braced apart, her stance strong, powerful, determination on her scarred face.
Too many males gathered around her, yelling advice, teasing her, their gazes too warm for his comfort. His transmissions brimmed with Astrid did this and Astrid said that.
The cyborgs viewed her as one of them, a fellow warrior, a being who had fought in the wars and enjoyed the battles as they had. Even the few female cyborgs remaining had befriended her, sharing tips on how to defeat their male counterparts.
He had tracked all of her interactions, had been unable to stop doing that. That his brethren could interact with her and he couldn’t, irked him. The presence of one warrior in particular turned his vision system red.
Power stood beside Astrid, his body too close to hers. He watched her with a predatory gaze, looking at her as though she was already his.
The E Model would die. Vengeance stood. He’d send the warrior to the Great Battle.
First, he had to devise a strategy to end the stalemate between him and Astrid. He moved across the chamber, out the doors, through the corridors, needing to see her, to reassure himself she was safe, was close, remained his.
The nanocybotics inside her weren’t fading. Death’s female had shared that information with the entire council.
He hadn’t needed to hear it. The connection was there, straining his circuits, pulling him toward his warrior female.
Even if she didn’t host his nanocybotics, there would be a link between them. There had been one since she blew up his ship. He’d been foolish to fight it.
Now, he didn’t know how to surrender. It was no longer about his pride. He would have swallowed his conceit during the first planet rotation of separation if that had been the solution. His place on the council, the esteem of other warriors meant nothing without his female.
The challenge was his female valued strength. She hadn’t admitted defeat. How could he? She’d view him as being weak, unworthy of her.
He entered their private chambers. The sleeping support had been installed, he noted with satisfaction. It had taken resources to locate one. It was a novelty item on the cyborg-dominated planet.
His female lay facedown on its surface, her eyes closed, her body tantalizingly naked. He loomed over her, took a deep breath. She smelled of aroused female and of him, only him. No other male’s scent tainted that delectable mix.
Vengeance removed his boots and his body armor, freeing his rigid cock, rendering himself as bare as she was. He’d been in a permanent state of hardness since they last fucked. His balls threatened to explode.
He surveyed his female’s sleeping form. The wound on her thigh had healed, hadn’t added a scar to her collection. His processors had nearly shut down when he’d viewed that footage. He had to run to her side, needing to determine the damage himself.
Only to be told he wasn’t required. She was a warrior and could survive without him.
She wasn’t surviving very well. His gaze lowered to her waist. She was thinner than she’d been when he’d first met her. He frowned. The separation was taking a toll on her. He’d leave more nourishment bars on the horizontal support.
She shifted on the sleeping support, revealing a hint of black under her neck. Curious, he crouched near her.
“What do you have under your body, my warrior female?” His voice shouldn’t have been detectable by her human hearing.
Yet she rolled onto her back, as though responding to it. “Cyborg,” she murmured, her lips curling upward.
She clasped his favorite sword’s black leather sheath to her chest, the long rigid form pressed between her breasts, cradled between her thighs.
“You’re a clever being.” He gazed at her with pride. She’d found a permissible way to connect with him. There would be no nanocybotics remaining on the object. Touching that item of his wouldn’t affect their test.
“Need.” Her lips parted.
He bent to capture them, yearning to taste her, then stopped when he realized what he was doing. Kissing wasn’t allowed.
And, if he pressed his lips against hers, he doubted that would be the end of their embrace. Kissing would lead to touching. Touching would lead to fucking.
“What do you need, Astrid?” He tortured himself by asking that question, knowing the answer.
She needed him and he needed her. Desperately.
“Need now.” His warrior female growled those two words, clutching her borrowed item tighter to her chest.
He shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other, aroused to the point of discomfort. Astrid, upset with his lack of response, was demanding he tend to her desires. Frag, that turned him on.
“Take.” She backed that word with action, rubbing the sheath over her body, stroking the leather with her fingers up and down, up and down.
He envisioned her hands on his cock, touching him that same way, and a rumble rolled up his chest, his passion for her building.
Her scent filled the chamber, teased his nostrils. Her wetness glistened on her inner thighs. Her body undulated, her soft skin beckoning to him.
The Humanoid Alliance had tortured him and his brethren, subjected them to unspeakable torment. He had survived that, silently, stoically.
He wouldn’t survive his female’s self-satisfaction. That wouldn’t be possible, not without finding some sort of release.
His female was pleasuring herself with an object of his. He could do the same.
Her garments were draped over the back of a chair. He grasped her ass coverings, wrapped that soft leather around his cock.
“Show me how you’d take me, my female.” Talking with her eased the ache in his chest. He missed her companionship, missed her.
She glided the sheath between her breasts, over her mons. He mimicked her action, fucking himself with her ass coverings. The leather warmed, smelled of her.
It was no substitute for his female’s form. Nothing in the universe compared to her. She was everything to him.
“Vengeance.” His name on her lips made his cock bob. She was thinking of him, only him. He was the cyborg she was dreaming of fucking.
And she was the female running through his processors constantly. “Astrid.”
He leaned toward her. Her nipples were taut, tempting him to lick them, to squeeze her breasts around his shaft. She’d offer a token protest if he dared to do that, buck once or twice against him, try to unseat him, his female always pushing back, challenging him.
He loved that, craved it. The past planet rotations had been dull and dreary without her, an endless stretch of uninteresting tasks, predicable conversations. He’d been enduring, not living, counting the moments until the rest cycles, when he could see her again.
How could anything, anyone compare to the vision before him? His female’s long brown hair, loosened from her warrior braids, framed her face. Her lean muscles flexed. She bent her knees, tilting her hips toward the sheath.
“Fuck, yes.” She rubbed against the sword cover harder, branding the leather with her wetness, her scent.
He increased his intensity also, pumping himself faster, his pre-cum slicking the ass coverings, easing the slide. The garments would be cleaned. He always tended to her clothing, polished her boots during her rest cycles. But he’d add back his scent, brush the leather over his skin, before leaving the chamber.
She would smell of him. Every warrior would know she was his.
She belonged to him, only him. He’d kill any being who touched her.
“Fuck. Fuck.” She lifted her hips, ravishing the sheath, her passion invoking his awe, stimulating his processors. “Fuck.”
“Fuck.” He meshed his call with hers, coaxing her onward.
As her desire climbed, his did also. Pressure built at the base of his spine. His balls throbbed, shrieking for release. His pace matched her escalation.
Sweat beaded on his female’s skin, making her sparkle under the lights. She’d taste so fraggin’ good, like salt and arousal.
He curled his lips, baring his teeth, yearning to lave her curves with his tongue, bite her shoulder, mark her form, stamp his ownership all over her.
“Fuck.” Her pitch grew higher, her beautiful face twisting with frustration.
She needed more, was unable to give herself that extra push. He had to help her, had to propel them both over the steep cliff of satisfaction.
Vengeance caught the tip of the sheath, lifted it. She growled, tried to wrest it from his grip. He smacked it down, hard, slapping it against her clit, battering her feminine folds.
She released a battle cry to rival any warrior’s, her body bowing, his female magnificent in her release, her fulfillment driving his.
He pressed his lips together, swallowing his bellow. Covering his cock head with her ass coverings, he came hard, jets of cum spurting from his very depths.
His balls emptied. His cock softened. But a step in the process was missing, the encounter off, not quite right.
He hadn’t achieved full bliss, the processor-frying kind he’d experienced while inside her. He needed his female for that, her arms around him, her body under his, her scent on his skin.
“Fuck,” she whispered, sounding as dissatisfied as he was.
He had to repair the situation. Their standoff was damaging both of them. He sagged against the wall, his processors spinning.
If he surrendered, she might perceive him as being weak, unworthy. He couldn’t risk that.
There should be no ramifications if she declared defeat. He would never perceive her as anything other than the strong female she was.
Requiring an energy boost, he inserted wires into his wrist sockets, bit into a meat bar, chewed, and winced. They remained horrible tasting. He hadn’t yet gotten used to it, as his female said he would.
But he ate them because they reminded him of her.
He had to ensure she was reminded of him. Constantly. His lips curled upward. That was the key to defeating her and righting the intolerable circumstance they now found themselves in. The reminders would strip her control.
It would also leave no room in her thoughts for other males.
He cleaned her garments, rubbed his scent over them, polished her boots until he saw his countenance in the leather, left them and a handful of nourishment bars on the horizontal support.
“You have to eat more, my female.” He told his sleeping human, concerned about her thinning form. “A warrior maintains her energy levels.”
He’d ask Death’s female to scan her more thoroughly, ensure she wasn’t damaged.
“Mmm…” She hugged his sword’s sheath to her chest.
Covered with her wetness, that item now smelled more like her than him. He pulled the sheath out of her grip. Something rattled inside it.
“No.” She frowned, stirring, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks.
“You’ll like this better.” He gave her the armor fabricated for his right forearm. “It has my scent on it.”
She clutched the hard form to her body. Her nostrils flared and she smiled. “Mine.”
“Yes, yours.” He would always be hers. His warrior female had captured him completely. He would never be free.
Judging by her white-knuckled grip, his body armor would share his fate. Satisfied with her acquisition, his female became still once more, her breathing deep, her mouth slightly open.
Did she know he watched over her, protected her?
He brought the sheath to his nose, inhaled her scent. Frag, it was intoxicating.
He turned the sword covering upside down. An object fell out. He caught it in his left palm and his heart squeezed.
It was the predator tooth.
His female had attached a strip of leather to it. No, not a strip, three strips, plaited in a similar fashion to her hair, forming a large loop.
It was too large for her small neck. She’d fabricated that addition to the tooth for him.
Because she cared for him. He gazed at her. She was sleeping. There was no need to hide his emotions. He allowed all of them to show—his adoration, his wonder, his passion.
She was a being unlike any other and she was his.
He donned her gift. The tooth hung between his pecs, close to his heart. He folded his fingers over it.
Cyborgs had been manufactured as weapons. Weapons didn’t wear decorations. They weren’t given gifts.
His female considered him worthy of both. He stood taller.
“Thank you, Astrid.” His voice was husky with emotion. “I will take great care of it.”
As he’d take great care of her. He dressed in his body armor, not replacing the missing piece. They weren’t under attack. That protection wasn’t necessary and he wanted her to know whose armor it was, to have no doubts about who’d given it to her.
It was an inadequate gift, but would have to suffice until he found something better.
He strapped the sheath to his waist, slid his favorite sword into the leather case. His female must have admired the weapon. She had chosen that sheath out of the hundreds in his collection. Wearing it might please her.
He wanted to please her, to impress her. She’d never truly seen him in battle. When he had fought her, he was trying to capture her, not kill her. He’d held back, not wanting to damage his human female.
Battle was where he excelled.
She was a warrior female, admired strength, skill, speed. If she witnessed the full extent of his fighting prowess, desire might overcome her. She might touch him, ending their frustrating standoff.
His female might view him as worthy, say the human love words to him.
“I’ll show you all of me.” He glanced once more at Astrid, filling his processors with her beautiful face. There were mere moments of rest cycle left. She would wake soon.
He turned and strode out of the chamber, determined to set his plan into motion.
Two of his best warriors were stationed outside the doors. They nodded at him as he passed, the males as enamored with his female as the rest of his brethren were.
She was undamaged, safe, remained his. He would communicate with the males later, listen to their updates. There were more urgent tasks to complete.
He found the being he was searching for in the council chamber. Alone.
Power sniffed the air. “You have no control, C Model.”
The reproach in the E Model’s words angered Vengeance. Astrid was his. No one else should feel possessive of her. “I have a surplus of control. I didn’t touch my female.”
“You didn’t touch the female.” Power corrected, his spine as straight as a support beam. “You’re seeking to sever your bond with her. She isn’t yours.”
“She’s mine. My nanocybotics haven’t faded inside her.” Vengeance repeated knowledge his nemesis already knew. Death’s female updated the entire council on their test every planet rotation. “Our bond won’t be severed.”
“Your bond won’t be severed naturally.” Power’s head dipped. “Death’s female is investigating other ways to decrease the nanocybotics inside the female.”
The controlling ass wanted to force the split. Vengeance folded his fingers into tight fists. “You won’t experiment on my female.”
“Why not?” Power lifted an eyebrow. “You’re experimenting on her.”
“She agreed to our test.” He wanted to say his test hadn’t damaged her, but based on his observations, that wasn’t true. His female had lost some of her curves, was as frustrated as he was. Those were signs of emotional damage.
“She might agree to our test also.” The E Model shrugged. “No being wants to be with someone who doesn’t want them.”
He wanted her. More than he had ever wanted anyone or anything. He couldn’t envision a future without her.
Vengeance bit back those words and focused on the reason he wanted to speak with the warrior. “I challenge you to a mock battle.”
Power’s gaze met his. “Council members don’t fight each other in the mock battles. We decided upon that rule solar cycles ago.”
“We unofficially decided upon that rule.” The logic was the council was to always appear unified in front of the other warriors. That prevented the models from fighting. “Now, I’m unofficially changing it.”
Power looked at him. Vengeance met his gaze squarely.
His arguments with Power had grown increasingly heated over the solar cycles, the two of them struggling for control over the council and the Homeland. They would have fought physically eventually. The warrior’s fascination with Astrid had merely hastened that confrontation.
“You want to do this?” Power finally asked.
Vengeance twisted his lips. “You want to do this also.”
His nemesis might be an E Model, but he was still a cyborg. Fighting was the preferred solution to any problem between males.
“We’ll form teams of twenty.” Power, being the warrior challenged, had the right to determine the terms. “The warriors are to be a mixture of Models, and we’ll fight with blades.”
“Agreed.” Vengeance nodded, pleased. Mock death by blade was slow and painful. The E Model would feel his rage.
“Astrid is a warrior.” Power appeared as smug about the impending event as Vengeance felt. “If you lose, you’ll lose more than the mock battle, C Model.”
“I won’t be the losing warrior, E Model.” Vengeance walked away from his rival.
He would win the mock battle and win his female.