Intimidator (24 page)

“We are one,” he murmured. With the hand at her nape, he rearranged her hair, stroking her. She could tell he had more he wished to say and so she waited without speaking. His sigh seemed to travel all the way to her toes. “Willow. I love you.”

If she screamed he might drop her, so she grinned instead. “Yay.”

He’d said the words. She’d known he would, one day.

“And I love you.”

“Mmm. I thought so.” He mouthed her neck then rested his forehead on hers and spoke with his lips an inch away from hers, their breaths mingling.

“Did you know that your fingers were on fire when you came?”

“No!” Alarmed, she checked, expecting to see burns on his skin. He was perfect. Unharmed.

“I saw it, but couldn’t feel it.”

What did she say to that? “Sorry?”

“Forgiven, my love. Next time we might try the pool again. Just in case.”

She grinned and hugged his neck. “Crazy man.”

“Yes. I think I must be. But if you ever set my cock on fire, I will spank you, very, very hard.”

Rimmil strapped on the small arsenal they’d allowed him. The squad was readying for yet another aerial and ground search of the coastline, north of Brisbane. That Brask put some weighting on his, Rimmil’s, guess that the missing woman had gone in that direction seemed strange. He hadn’t been told why. He knew Jadd’s and Stom’s histories. It was ridiculous to assume that minor sexual intrigue might mean anything.

He’d not even touched her. All he’d done was shoot the Bak-lal about to kill her. That and filmed her disappearance.

He shut his eyes. There she was, flawed, yet in an ethereal and ominous way, beautiful. White hair spread about her in a halo of brightness that drew him. And then her eyes, her white eyes. Why had no one else remarked on her white eyes?

Every tendon in her hand was taut as she somehow froze that man. The drill above. Blood dripping from her hand and down her wrist.

Then. Gone.

He slipped his Berskald rifle into the sling. They could use their weapons now, within limits. No disturbing the natives, of course. Unless they were enemy.

Things were changing.

Beep.
Operations control.
Global message
, said the fine print on his retina.

“News: an astronaut launched into space by the Chinese government was a Bak-lal. From orbit, she sent a focused message to the enemy. Expect the unexpected from now on. This planet will now be on the Bak-lal agenda for invasion.”

Ally took a breath and smiled. The grass stems around her head swayed in the breeze. The tiny purple blossoms dotted on the stem were as pretty as a whole vase of cut flowers. She loved the small things of nature. This farm was a lonely one, lost on a back road miles from the main highway, with only Mrs. Stewart and her. On the day she’d arrived in the kitchen garden, the poor woman had looked astonished.

Her toe ached like crazy now and then but she’d grown used to that and Mrs. Stewart thought the stitches looked fine. She couldn’t remember the suturing. Someone had cut off her toe then stitched her up and kept it clean, maybe given her antibiotics.

The disharmony in that made what had been done seem more evil than just chopping it off.

She shivered. Those days were hazy memories. Except the last minutes, last harrowing seconds, when she’d done something to that half man-thing who’d wanted to kill her.

It was calm here though. Beautiful. She shivered again but from a stunned sort of wonder.

Outside. She was
outside
. Sun on her face. Wind. Living plants, grass, trees, birds. Birds were the best. She’d often watched them from her window. Those few times she’d managed to climb the reservoir with Willow and lain down on her back to stare up at the evening or morning sky, there’d been birds passing overhead. Birds said freedom.

If she didn’t go inside soon, Mrs. Stewart would chastise her for getting sunburned. Ally grinned. Sunburned. How amazing was that? Maybe her skin would even peel like Willow’s had.

Willow was the one thing she missed, but she’d see her again soon. Soon as she worked out what to do.

She and Mrs. Stewart had read the news announcements together and decided it was for the best if she stayed anonymous for now. Until she got more practice. People wanted her to help them. That idea, she liked in theory. Reality though…
Hmm.

The sun was over there beyond her left shoulder and a cow was munching grass to the right. The third Bak-lal in a week was four hundred yards over farther. Random. But dangerous.

She’d stay silent. He’d wander off or Mrs. Stewart would kill him. There was that too. The woman was good with a shotgun.

The scritching in her head intensified.
Crap.
More pain killers needed, especially with her foot now throbbing also. That one nerve chewer left was going to have to go once she figured out how to shift again. In a way, she could
see
it, could make it stay put, but one day it might get loose. Disaster, if that happened. If she wanted to deal with those who had hurt her and Willow, she needed to get rid of it.

The day of the battle flocked into her head, spinning, making her nauseous again. Black coats, red blood, screaming, people dying. The noise of thoughts. Death.
God.
Her head nearly exploded again. She’d be no use to anyone insane.

He’s here.

Talia surveyed the floor under the heels of her tan boots, trying to seem nonchalant and innocent. Her butt was hurting. She’d been sitting here too long, but the noises said they were approaching – the
thwumm
sound of their unshielded engines. Below, the lifts had started up and there were stealthy footsteps on the stairs coming down from the rooftop. Their craft must be hovering somewhere in the sky outside this skyscraper. She was on the nineteenth floor, so it could only be that.

It had taken her weeks to find some Bak-lal she could use. But now, he was coming too.

No more avoiding her. If she couldn’t get to him, he would come to her. Her text had mentioned his name. She bet that had grabbed his attention.

The news headlines were screaming things like
Aliens are real
,
The flying saucer has landed
, and,
Should we shake hands with aliens?
It hadn’t taken long for her memory to jigsaw itself back together.

She remembered the killing, the bodies, blood. Remembered being fast and deadly and the gleam in the man’s eye as he watched her. He’d said her sister’s name.

There’d been nothing in the news about missing women, but she remembered him taunting her. Brittany was alive.

Her memory wasn’t perfect, but she knew he was an alien. Brask. One of the Preyfinders, as they called themselves in the news. Finders of the evil Bak-lal aliens, or so they said – she wasn’t taking anything at face value.

The more she thought about him, the more dangerous he seemed. The more he bothered her. Gut instincts? Subconscious impressions? Whatever, she knew he wasn’t just a fighter. He’d been as intrigued by her as she was with him. She’d imagined him touching her, her touching him, and she’d thought over and over about that so much that it frustrated her. Then she’d fantasized about putting a sword through him.

Being near him did something to her and if she found out it wasn’t natural, she was going to be extremely unhappy.

But…she flexed her hand, watching the tendons shift. Would he come?

The door at her back banged as the man inside butted into it again. She’d done her best but like this, alone, seemed she wasn’t as fast as she recalled.

He, Brask, must be the key. Her analytical brain had tweaked her, whistled, and said,
Hey, stupid, when he was around you were like the fucking wind
.

“Bugger the wind,” she muttered.

Men slinked from the stairway, guns out. The lift doors slid open and two more erupted from that then ran along the corridor toward her, covering each other. Brask exited behind them, slow and deliberate.

Electricity. The plucking of a thousand violins. And her heart sped up like she’d been racing a jet plane down a runway. Her ovaries waved maracas, just a little.

Fuck.
She did not need this shit. “Not natural” fairly screamed its way into her head and bounced about waving a placard.
And
she needed a change of panties.

He was so hot the air should be steaming.

She yawned to cover up her sigh and struggled to her feet, her back sliding up the wall. So they could see she wasn’t armed, she kept her hands out, and stepped away from the door.

“In there.” She jerked her head at the door and went sideways. “Be careful. I only wounded him.”

In a couple of seconds, they’d scanned the door with some device, booted it open, and scampered in to restrain the poor guy. One of them, the last through, flinched as he stepped over the threshold, and looked back at her.

She shrugged. “He tried to kill me but the news report said you wanted one alive. I figured you’d get here quickly.”

Cutting off his hand had been her last resort. The bugger was fast and he hadn’t bled as much as a normal human should either. The small sounds as they restrained him became background noise. Brask had arrived.

In one hand was a katana. A real one. Edo period possibly. Worth oodles.

It seemed wise to keep some distance, so she backed off. Already, her body felt more alive. Like she could stick to the ceiling and run along. Ninja moves, and she wasn’t blinking much either. Her hand itched for the sword.

He holstered his pistol under his coat and she caught a glimpse of a second holster.

“Hello, Talia.” Brask smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You called?”

“I did,” she drawled. “I remembered you. Where is my sister?”

The hiss through his teeth sounded exasperated, yet he looked her up and down in a leisurely way – the way of a man assessing a pretty body.

“Up here.” She indicated her face.

That got her a proper smile. “It’s lucky I like what I see.”

“Why?” Arrogant smarmy bastard.

“This is for you.” He held out the sword, his fist around the scabbard. “I noticed you liked them – Japanese swords.”

“Again, why? I just want my sister back. If you, whatever you are, if you have hurt her…”

“No. We haven’t. I’m giving you the sword as a gift.”

“A gift?” She adjusted her stance, certain that he expected more than a thank you in return.

The Preyfinders had taken the man further inside, toward the apartment window, and from the sounds of it, were evacuating him via that onto the flying craft.

“Thank you for finding the Bak-lal. There are very few being detected and we needed a live one.”

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t budge and waited for him to lower the sword. Didn’t tell him that she could detect a Bak-lal when she saw one, feel the nasty vibes, identify the difference in how they moved. It made her wonder about why she felt him when he was near too. “My sister?”

“You know,” he added, as if he’d read her mind, “I could tell you were here, in this building, before I saw you. I could sense you.”

The subtle twitch of his lips said it meant more to him than she guessed, and he wanted her to ask him for the reason.

“So? I can tell when you’re near.” Though she was dying to understand, it was never going to be said. She was not going to feed his arrogance.

“You want to know about your sister? You’ll find out, after I kiss you, once you’re mine.” As he’d spoken, his hand had darted toward her wrist.

She let him try, but twisted aside at the last second and skipped backward. The reverberation of that near touch hummed through her in a small earthquake of arousal.
Damn
.

Kissing him. What an idea. She couldn’t stop herself staring. Tall but with a solid physique. He looked constructed just so a woman could trace her finger along his muscles. Gold glints at the tips of his short blond hair, mean looking, with a big M. Those weird blue cheek tattoos. Just her type.

Sure, she could go with kissing him. If she didn’t have a brain.

Her mouth was open. She snapped it shut.

She could resist. He entranced her, but she could resist.

“Whatever the fuck you are doing to me, mister, it isn’t going to work. Tell me or I go to the news with my suspicions about what you’re doing to women. You want us to help you against these Bak-lal? I promise you, if people hear about women being kidnapped by aliens, they aren’t going to be friendly.”

He’d never kiss her because whenever he came close, she went all ninja-fied. She breathed in deep and regular, watching the hallway sparkle with information. Yes. She
could
run on the ceiling for,
ohhh
, about a half second, bounce off it anyway, and even that was awesomeness multiplied. If she’d eaten her oatmeal this morning she’d maybe do it longer.

She swore his nostrils had flared at her statement, like a bull about to charge.

“Oh, it’ll work, Talia. Once I get reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements?” She chuckled, ignoring the wave of goose bumps that had swept her at his threat. “To kiss me?”

Impasse. Her threat was shaky. She had no evidence and, if she made these guys angry, who knew what they’d do to her sister?
Bugger.

She shoved back her hair from her face, scowled.

“Let me raise the stakes. Give me back my sister and I’ll find you more of them.” She indicated the door and threw her card on the table. “I can see Bak-lal. I can find more for you.”

“Can you now?” From the tone, that intrigued him. “But you’re going to tell me anyway, because we’re going to be bond mates.”

She cocked her head. “Say that again. What the hell are bond mates? No wait, don’t answer. It’s bad. I can tell. Let’s stick to being polite to each other and you keep your dirty fantasies to yourself.”

His reply was quiet yet assured. “You cannot avoid me forever. You see, Talia, there’s a god interested in you, and nothing moves faster than him. Do you dare deny a god his desires? Do so and I guarantee
polite
is the very last word in your language that could be used to describe what will happen to you.”