Defying Death (14 page)

“No.” She wiggled away from him. “You’re not killing
any beings.” She stood.

“They will all die.” This discussion frustrated him,
as did her desire to escape him. “If the humanoids know cyborgs
have free will, millions of my brethren will be in danger.”

His little human severed a piece of medical tape,
reached upward, and placed it on his cheek, covering his model
number. “There. They can’t confirm that you’re a cyborg.” She
appeared enchantingly proud of herself. “They might suspect but
they won’t know.”

She was correct. They wouldn’t know for certain that
he was a cyborg. His Tifara was an intelligent being. It took all
of his processors to counter her demands. He enjoyed that
challenge. “We need the nutrition bars. You wanted me to give them
something in exchange.”

“Offer them another skill.”

Death frowned. “Cyborgs are skilled at killing and
breeding.”

“No breeding either.” His Tifara waggled her right
index finger at him. “No killing. No breeding. Find something
else.” She looked around them. “Fix their communicators or
something.”

He
could
do that. Humans were inept with
devices. “I’ll fix their communicators. They’ll give us nutrition
bars. We’ll leave the planet and you’ll suck my cock.”

“I’m
not
sucking your cock.” She plopped her
gorgeous ass down in her chair, all of her curves moving
enticingly. “Get that thought out of your brain.”

Death had a processor as well as a brain and there
was no erasing that thought from either. He’d hard coded it into
the deepest part of him, fusing it permanently to his circuits.

His Tifara would suck his cock. He reached for the
half-modified private viewscreen, a small smile curling his
lips.

“I don’t know why you’re smiling,” she muttered.
“It’s not happening.”

It
was
happening. Death left his chair,
wandered to the back of the ship, found what he was looking for,
and returned, plunking the medic pack on the console in front of
his female, a gift and a distraction wrapped in one fabric
container.

“What is this?” She leaned forward.

Death reclaimed his seat. She was a clever female.
She knew what it was.

“A medic pack?” Tifara rummaged through it, her eyes
sparkling with happiness. “Why didn’t you mention you had one of
these?”

There was no need to mention it. He was a cyborg.
His body repaired itself. She was his female. His nanocybotics
repaired her.

“I can heal any wounded beings we meet.” She hummed
with joy.

She wasn’t touching any beings they met but it
would
give them goods to trade if that became necessary, if,
for some unknown reason, he couldn’t negotiate with his
daggers.

“It doesn’t have a handheld, unfortunately.” Some of
her excitement dimmed. “I know, I know. A good medic shouldn’t have
to rely on devices.” She carried both sides of the conversation
herself. “But devices make any diagnosis faster and time counts
when it comes to viruses. Look at how similar Silean 5692 and
Silean 5693 are.”

Tifara listed the similarities in symptoms and then
the differences in treatment, explaining how mixing the two strains
up could kill the patient.

Death listened, watching her constantly moving mouth
and pictured her lips curved around his shaft, her eyes soft with
caring.

She was right. She wouldn’t suck his cock after they
retrieved the nutrition bars.

He’d have those lips of hers around him before they
left the ship.

The next
planet rotation, Tifara popped a freshening square into her mouth.
She’d found it in the medic pack, Death’s gift being a remnant from
the humans who had once owned the ship.

Those humans must be dead. She gazed at the male by
her side. Judging by her experience with Death, killing was a
cyborg’s first solution to any problem. He swept his hands over his
dagger hilts and gun handles, verifying that they were all
there.

The freshening square erased the scent of cum, Death
having ravished her mouth mere moments ago. It didn’t remove his
nanocybotics. They bubbled inside her.

He’d fucked her pussy at sunrise and rubbed his
scent over every square of her skin, ensuring every being knew whom
she belonged to.

He was a savage being.

That shouldn’t thrill her as much as it did. She was
a medic, was renowned for her brain. He treated her like his
personal sex toy.

And she liked it. Her lips twisted. “No killing. No
breeding.” The thought of him touching another female made her want
to take a laser scalpel to the unknown female’s eyeballs.

“No breeding.” His dark head dipped. Medical tape
covered his model number.

He didn’t promise there’d be no killing. She let
that go because she was more concerned about the breeding. He
exuded pheromone-like aerosols at an alarming rate. Simply standing
this close to him wetted her pussy and tightened her nipples.

Death claimed she was the only female who reacted to
him but he hadn’t been exposed to the females on this primitive
planet. They could be susceptible to his aerosols or to his
handsome face or to his broad shoulders.

He was a male in his prime, devastating to the
senses. How could females resist him? They’d throw themselves at
him, try to claim him for their own.

“I need a gun.” She decided. “With a stun setting.”
She was a medic. She couldn’t kill her rivals but she could drop
any female who tried to steal her cyborg.

Because, like it or not, the virus flowing through
her had linked her sanity to his existence. If she didn’t have
contact with him, her nanocybotics wouldn’t die but they would
starve. The hunger for his touch was unbearable.

Death removed the smallest gun from his walking
arsenal. “Do you know how to shoot?”

Safyre had tried to teach her, saying that it was a
necessary life skill, but Tifara, abhorring violence, had refused
to learn. “I can take apart a human heart. I can figure out how to
shoot a gun.”

Death lifted one eyebrow. The arrogant ass didn’t
believe her.

“Give me the gun.” She held out her right hand.

“You won’t use it unless it’s an emergency.” He slid
the lever to inactive, pressed her thumb to the trigger, and then
accessed the controls, calibrating the weapon so she could shoot
it. “When we return to the ship, I’ll teach you to shoot.” He set
the weapon to stun and handed it to her. “Stunning a being still
causes pain.”

“Oh.” She stared at the barrel. “I don’t want to
hurt anyone.”

Death pushed the gun’s muzzle to the left, away from
his chest. “Then don’t press the trigger. Leave the shooting to
me.”

She placed the gun in a pocket in her coat. The
pocket was already stuffed with hand coverings and masks and an
injector gun filled with pain inhibitors. “Are your guns set on
stun also?”

“No.” He picked up the private viewscreen he’d been
working on for the past couple of planet rotations. “This is for
you.” He gave it to her.

“I have a private viewscreen.” It was in her medic
pack. She wouldn’t be taking that with her but it would be ready,
in case she needed to retrieve it in a hurry.

“This private viewscreen is different.” His gaze
avoided hers. “It performs medical scans.”

He’d built her a handheld. She’d feel like a real
medic again, able to heal patients and save lifespans. “You did
this for me?”

Her cyborg nodded.

She activated the private viewscreen and surveyed
the options. “I can perform blood tests?”

“The red circle on the screen contains one of my
sensors. A drop of blood is sufficient for a reading.”

“You sacrificed one of your sensors?”

“Only temporarily.” He shifted his weight from his
right foot to his left, her gruff warrior appearing adorably
embarrassed. “My nanocybotics replaced it.”

“There’s a nanocybotic option on the screen.” She
didn’t know what that was.

“Cyborgs can sense nanocybotics. It was an easy
modification.”

Tifara suspected it required him to sacrifice
another piece of himself. She ran her fingers over the device.
She’d always have a part of him, to have, to hold, to cherish. “I
can determine if you’re infecting any other beings.”

“I claimed you. I didn’t infect you.”

Now, she could detect if he
claimed
any other
female. She hugged the device close to her chest. “I’m taking this
off the ship with me.”

“The device pleases you?”

The damn male was looking for reassurance and he
looked so uncertain, so sweetly unsure, she had to give it to
him.

“It pleases me very much.” She lifted onto her
tiptoes and brushed her lips against his chin. “Thank you, Death.
I’ll treasure it forever.”

“The device won’t last forever.” Her cyborg took her
comment literally. “It will require modifications in less than a
solar cycle.”

“Even if it ceases to function, I’ll treasure
it.”

His forehead creased with lines. He opened his
mouth.

“Because you modified it for me.” She added before
he could point out the futility of having a nonfunctioning device.
“You were thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking of you.” He drifted his fingers
over her cheek, chin, neck, and she swayed into him, her body
reacting to his caresses. “You’re permanently in my processors, my
female.” His voice deepened. “My lifespan is tied to yours.”

He was expressing affection outside of a sexual
encounter. Tifara’s heart melted, dissolving into goo around her
boots. “Continue with that talk and I just might suck your cock
when we return.”

“You
will
suck my cock when we return.”
Death’s eyes gleamed. “When we exit the ship, however, you’ll stay
behind me at all times.” His lips flattened. “You will be silent
and not seen.”

Silent and not seen? That wasn’t going to happen.
“Can I hold your hand?” She grasped his palm.

“No.” He pulled his hand away from hers. “Humanoids
already surround the ship. Be silent.” Her grumpy cyborg opened the
door.

An arid breeze swept inside the ship, sucking all of
the moisture out of the air. The temperature hiked. Tifara’s cheeks
heated.

No one fired on them. That was a good sign.

Death moved down the ramp, his tread silent, guns in
both of his hands. She tried to mimic his stealth. Her boots
creaked. The fabric between her thighs swished, rubbing together.
She drew her gun and held it gingerly away from her form, her
fingers nowhere near the trigger.

Three very large human males faced them, carrying
long guns, bows, daggers, their bodies clad in white animal skins.
They were the same height, width, had the same bone structure, the
same startling bright purple eyes, the same pale purple skin. They
wore their white hair in different lengths from closely cropped to
long and braided but they were remarkably similar.

“They’re clones,” she whispered. Cloning was
outlawed by the Humanoid Alliance. Many species, including humans,
had also forbidden the practice, fearing the weakening of their
genetic material.

Death’s body stiffened.

Oh right. She wasn’t supposed to talk. “Sorry.”

He exhaled heavily.

Tifara pressed her lips together.

“You’re not welcome here.” The clone in the middle
of the group stepped forward, white sand the color of bleached
bones swirling around his ragged boots. The wall of matching white
rock behind him nearly blocked the sun. “Return to your ship and no
one will get hurt.”

“We require nutrition bars for our journey.” Death’s
voice rang out, echoing off the stone. “We’re willing to trade
services for these supplies.”

“And why should we trade with you, human?” The clone
lifted his long gun. His brethren did the same.

One moment, their weapons were in their hands. The
next moment, they skittered along the sand. The males howled,
clutching their hands. Blood gushed between their fingers.

“What did you do?” Tifara smacked Death’s back.

“I’m negotiating.” He pointed his guns at the center
clone.

“You shot them. I told you. No killing.” She moved
to treat them.

Death extended his arms and held her back. “I didn’t
kill them. They’re alive.” His gaze didn’t move from the clones.
“What services do you require in exchange for your nutrition
bars?”

“Curse your nutrition bars.” The male waved his
injured hand. “You shot us.”

“You raised your guns.” Death shrugged, acting
unconcerned.

The clones required medical care. Tifara rushed back
into the ship, grabbed her makeshift medic pack and returned to her
cyborg’s side. “Let me pass. They need a medic.”

“You’re not touching them.”

“I’ll heal them. They’ll give us the nutrition bars.
We’ll leave.” She donned her hand coverings. That precaution was
not only to keep the wounds clear of infection but also to ensure
the virus inside her didn’t spread to them through physical
contact. She was determined to keep the local population safe. “You
can watch over my shoulder the entire time.”

“They won’t touch you.” Death stalked toward the
clones, his expression dark.

The clones backed up, their eyes wide with
panic.

“My female is a medic. She’ll heal you,” her warrior
announced. “You won’t move. You won’t speak. You won’t look at
her.”

“Death—”

“Silence, female.”

He was in a mood. His bout of unprovoked violence
hadn’t calmed him down.

His actions had been too quick for her human eyes.
Tifara hadn’t seen him shoot the males.

He hadn’t killed them. That was progress.

She scanned the lead clone and then examined his
hand. The projectile had exited cleanly, blowing a hole right
through his palm. She sprayed the wound with pain inhibitor,
sanitized the area and wrapped his hand with medical tape.