Intimidator (8 page)

Aliens weren’t that far a stretch when your house might be alive.

The reservoir loomed high above her. By midday it would be radiating heat. You could put your palm on it and be pleasantly warmed on autumn days. You could lean on it and be comforted, like a child cradled by their mother. It was so big, so indestructible, and so
solid
.

She’d be sad to leave here, didn’t
want
to leave here.

Like someone stretching out to check their lover was still in bed with them, she placed her hand on the timber of the back porch then heaved in a long breath. This place was in her blood. Most of the years of her life had been lived here. No way was she upping and leaving just ’cause someone told her she should.

Ally came out wearing one of the light summer dresses she favored, sat beside her on the step and said, “You okay?”

The clarity and brightness of Ally’s gaze often surprised her.

“Yes.” She squeezed Ally’s hand. “I’m fine.” Telling her about her weird deductions was out, especially about getting a gun, except maybe, just in case they did have to, she had to be told about the move. “We might have to leave the house, for a while. Go stay somewhere else until things settle down. Is there anywhere you want to…”

Her gray eyes widened, alarmed. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. She looked away, down at her knees. “I don’t want to leave.”

“What if we have to?”

“No.” Though she said it sharp as a nail banging into a wall, her voice shook.

“It won’t be straight away. I’d have to organize stuff. Ally?”

“I can’t. I can’t.
I can’t!
”

Ignoring her, the girl rose and went back inside, the fly-screen door snapping closed behind her.

“Fuck.”

That had gone well.

Willow took a few deep calming breaths then picked up the phone and found Nicolai’s number. She was pretty sure she recalled his code for buying off him. He wasn’t a man for exchanging long messages on text. A minute later, she had a place to meet and a date to collect the gun. Tomorrow, six am. Two hundred dollars, cash, and that was at a big discount from memory.

The old piggy bank, her purse, the change in the car, and the coins she scrounged from around the house brought her up to being only three dollars short. Going out, weaponless, to visit the ATM made her feel queasy. This would do. It would have to, though they wouldn’t be eating much even if she braved the ATM. Not with her not working.

For all her attitude, she was scared. Stom had planted a seed of disturbance. Being beaten while held against a wall by two thugs had a part in that too. Fucking scary. She’d need to be ice woman for that to not bother her.

She piled all the money on the quilt of her bed, spread the coins around. “If I spend this on a gun…” And if it turned out Kasper didn’t want to skin her alive after all… Skin her alive, shit, that was a scary thought. Yeah, spend all this and not need the gun? She added in a deadly quiet whisper, “I’d almost be disappointed.”

The throb in her groin took her by surprise. Heat. Wetness. Visions of Stom over her, lowering himself, impaling her on his cock.

What. The. Fuck?

She buried her face in her hands but the animalistic need stayed, banging away at her, swelling outward and making all her sexual bits, and then some, drum at her hotly.

Shit. She hurried out and found the lighter in the kitchen drawer then went and sat on the porch again, spent a moment with her fingers pushing onto her pussy through her shorts. Her tight grasp on the lighter dug its plastic edges into her other hand. Such potential there, to defeat this bodily need.

Stom.

Willow groaned softly. This wasn’t going away. She didn’t need this shit. This ridiculous want, this lust for a man she barely knew.

But she’d not done this for years. The melted scar on her forearm reminded her of why she did this, and yet also, why she mustn’t.

She flicked on the lighter. The heat seemed to radiate outward to her eyes…dancing.

Using it beckoned. She hated doing this but the eternal fascination with fire lured her. The sweet flickering yellow and orange.

She held her hand six inches above the fire, three inches, two.

Heat. Flame. The smell brought memories back. Bad ones. She needed this pain, deserved it so much.

A tear blotted onto her forearm then another.

Nothing beat the pain of fire. Nothing. The little tongue curled and strained upward toward her skin.

Lust vanished, hissing into the concentrated heat of the lighter flame licking across the palm of her hand.

Yes.

Oh yes.

Forearm tensed, she screwed up her eyes and let it take her. Stopped. Held her hand out. Did it again.

She deserved this for not saving her parents. Fire had taken them, why not her?

Her sobs were quiet because she didn’t want to disturb Ally. This was between her and the fire.

Stom slammed the heel of his hand into the base of the glass console. “What is she doing? She’s burning herself? Gods! And she’s getting a weapon? Why isn’t she running like I told her to?”

He glared at the one active, glowing square in the long, curved bank. That screen showed the view from the surveillance drone he controlled. The thing was the size of a bug and poised above where Willow sat on the back steps.

Brask barked out a laugh and smiled. “I thought she wasn’t your concern?” The Igrakk Preyfinder was lazily reclining on the long white seat. “Hmm?”

The off-duty dark shirt and pants he wore were a lie. Stom eyed him sourly. If he hadn’t grown to like the man, he’d have punched him, despite the audience behind them. Curse the Preyfinder system. None of them were ever truly off duty.

He never had a moment alone to contemplate what was happening…why he wanted so dearly to dive back in and slap some sense into Willow… He glared again at the screen, and at her, where she sat in her shorts, the sun gleaming off her long thighs. Slap her, then, in the dirty earth syntax, fuck her brains out.

“She’s not my concern. But I gave her an out. If this woman would use it she’d survive for many years before this Aids takes her life.”

What a waste that would be.

“I’ve been watching as you have. You know why she’s not running. It’s her friend, Ally.”

She’d stopped burning her hand, had put away the device with the flame. Now, demons take everyone and chew on their bones, she was only crying quietly.

This earth woman was slowly killing him.

He sighed, sat back, and let the tension subside. “Yes. I know. She cares for her and this other one has problems adapting to new situations.”

He absentmindedly traced the red spiral groove on his left bicep, remembering the first time he’d seen the matching one grow on Nasskia – a smaller, beautiful copy of his mark. Such wonderment had possessed him at the realization that he’d found his bond mate. Then he’d lost her and he’d vowed never to forget her, yet here he was lusting after this earth woman. Terrible.

What sort of person was he to so easily forget a vow?

“Even Feya sometimes take pets, Stom,” Brask said gently.

“I never thought I was so shallow.” He swallowed, unhappy at how he must look, sad, perplexed. The Preyfinder needn’t know his every weakness.

For a second Brask lowered his head then he looked Stom in the eyes. “You’re a Feya and a man. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.

“Vows are not seeds blown in on the wind, they are rock.”

“What did you avow?”

“Never to forget her.” He inhaled, exhaled, thinking back to the time of her death and the destruction of Grearth. “Never to take another mate.”

An Igrakk’s hand descended on his shoulder and squeezed. Jadd, another of the big Preyfinders and one he knew had found a bond mate among the earth women.

He squatted beside Stom then gestured at the screen. “I know of your troubles but consider this. Sometimes we don’t find our mates, they are given to us. I see much emotion in how you regard her.”

“Emotion?” He shook his head, chuckling. “This is a hunt, not a women’s meeting. And calling her my mate? You pervert the word. We are blessed with one true mate in our lives. One! I will not diminish that.”

Perhaps he’d insulted Jadd. The man was trying to aid him. The two Preyfinders stared at him, saying nothing even though it made the silence ever more awkward as the seconds piled up.

He looked from one to the other. “You think I should go after her? Both of you think that?”

“I only give you a new fact to consider. It’s up to you what you do.” Jadd unfolded his legs and stood.

“Go after her?” Brask pulled an ugly face then gave Willow a long examination. “No. I think you should go fuck her.”

“I see. I’m grateful for your astute advice, Brask.”

“Of course you are.” He grinned good-naturedly. “You know you want to.”

“I do not want to go fuck her. I want to go drag her out of the danger area. I want to kill her enemies.”

“And then?”

“Nothing. Leave.”

But he stayed at the post watching her for many more hours, even as night descended, thinking, debating within himself. No one else was allowed to steer the drone, or to physically aid him in this surveillance. He had to sleep sometime. The nano-chem would have matured in her system by now. He could, theoretically, go out there, pretend to chase her, lose her, and leave this planet behind him, until naught was left of his memory of her except a scintillating warp trail disappearing into the black of space. His obligations would be done.

He could.

When it was one am, he parked the drone on the roof of her house, and shut it down. Then he turned onto his side on the thinly padded recliner, and forced himself to wind down.

She had a meeting tomorrow with this gun seller.

The truth was, he longed to do what Brask advised. He just didn’t understand his desires. Why? Even while concentrating on battle he’d encountered many females, and he’d never desired any of them. Why Willow? Why did he also detest the thought of leaving her to her fate?

He set his internal wake-up to five am. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was her worried face as she chewed the nails on her pretty fingers. And the burning. He imagined himself cuddling her into his side and soothing her with touches and words. He smiled and the gentle tide of sleep washed over him.

The lightness of cloth registered on his skin. Someone had covered him with a blanket. A woman spoke, gently resting her hand on his arm. “You’ll find your way, Feya. You will. You remind me of Jadd when he came to me. He and I will be one forever.”

The saccharine advice dragged him up from dreamland and he popped open an eye then grunted. It was Jadd’s bondmate, Brittany, a sweet woman. She made him think of gamboling mindless deer like in a film Brask had recently subjected him to. Bambi? That was it.

“Listen, Bambi. I appreciate your helpfulness but I need to sleep.”

“Brittany.” She smiled hesitantly.

“Go away. Please.”

“Sorry. Of course. Sleep.”

He awoke in a ruffled mood at five am, stripped his weaponry from the dummy awaiting him and strapped on his Heckler and Koch and the twin Magnums.

The drone routine was a standard warm-up, so he took the tablet to breakfast. With a triangle of toast in his mouth, he tapped buttons as they turned green. Toast and strawberry jam had taken some getting used to, the first times. Human food was different but tasty. He was careful not to get jam on the weapons.

Being armed at the breakfast table caused a few rude stares. He concentrated on the tablet.

“The Feya’s got PMT,” was all he heard Brask say. PMT? Whatever that was. The language app glitched at times. What did they all know about being a Hunter? Not that he was one. Or should be. Why was he doing this when he needed to leave this planet? The whole idea of chasing this alien female was anathema and the very opposite of what he should be doing.

He hadn’t even said goodbye to Nasskia or seen her grave, or the graves of his children, and he never would. This was complete stupidity.

The last bite of toast a dry lump in his throat, he walked out to the surveillance room and flicked the switch. Screens flashed to life.

He sat to watch.

While cinching in the holster straps, he observed Willow sneak past the reservoir and through the trees for her meeting with the gun merchant. The little mellow green light on the life monitor on his chest strap flashed. His pulse was steady, blipping away. Good.

He was calm until the weapon, a Glock, was placed in her hand. Seeing her loading it and checking out the slider and the magazine, made something rumble to life inside him. When she tucked the gun into a bag, he hit some unexpected limit.

For a few moments, he pressed the center of his forehead with two fingers, circling, massaging away the tension. Instead of Nasskia when he woke up, his first thought had been of her, Willow. Was it just that she needed him?

That weapon in her hand had looked as out of place as a flower would in his. Killing was his occupation.

He stopped and stared at nothing, forearms leaning on his thighs. She did need him. So what if she was alien and there were a trillion more here also dying of one thing or another? This one, he could help.

This one had a sweet body that seemed to have been made to tempt him. His tongue remembered her taste, the feel of her nipple springing up as he sucked on her. The wetness between her legs, her groans and sighs…

“Dreaming, Feya?” Brask lightly punched his arm.

He grimaced. “Yes.”

“Her?”

He dropped his head, clasped his hands. Why not say? “Yes.”

“Look, if it’s hurting you this much, just give her to me, I can get permission to take her off your hands. She can be my pet.”

“What?” The idea of Brask touching her, running his hands over her. “Don’t you dare –” He glared at Brask and found him smiling, with his hand out, and a red harness bunched up in his fist.

“You might need this with a spirited one like her. Collar, leash, gag. I can’t take her from you, Stom. She’s yours.”

He eyed the thing – straps, dark red leather, bronzed buckles. Was this what Brask thought a pet should wear?