Parallel Seduction (8 page)

His quiet laughter echoed over the line. "Way, way too smart to have gotten into such a mess."

She shut her eyes. "You don't know anything," she repeated one more time.

"I know you're out to prove something, just like always."

"Shut up! Shut up,
shut up
!"
she cried, and hit the
end
button with a furious stab. He was undoubtedly doing everything in his power to lock on her position, and she'd already promised Scott that she wouldn't talk long enough for that. Scott had been trusting and fair enough to give over her cell phone; the least she could do was keep her call short.

Shoving the phone into her back pocket, she collapsed onto the sofa, considering exactly what lengths Chris might go to in order to shield her. For the first time in days she wondered if coming here had been a terrible idea … especially given her twin's protective streak. He never could let anything go; she hoped that she—and her foray into the aliens' compound—might somehow be the exception to her brother's rule.

J
ake Tierny studied the darkened
sky and knew that the time to make his move would soon be upon him. He would go directly to his king; that was, if he could enter the compound fully undetected. Only one man present might pinpoint his identity, the only man who could track a fellow Antousian for several miles, going off scent alone: Lieutenant Scott Dillon.

Don't let me see the bastard,
Jake prayed.
Gods, not him.

If he could make it past Dillon—around the man's perimeter and sensory skills—then he might have a decent chance of getting Jared to listen. On the other hand, if his path and Scott's collided, this entire mission would likely become dust. Hell,
he
would likely become dust … and if he failed tonight, there would be no one else to stop Marco McKinley before he could accomplish whatever his objective had been in coming back to this time.

All these years, so many battles, and it had boiled down to this. One moment, one choice, one destiny. Was it really possible that he'd lost so much over the past years? Glancing through the forest, he marveled at the pristine world around him. No war yet. No real war, anyway. No ruin and loss. It was all here—including her. His one true love. She was here even now—she had to be. And if not here in the compound, here somewhere on Earth, not lost to him forever, as she was back in his own time.

Jake battled a spasm of pain, the kind he'd long ago learned to push down rather than allow himself to feel. But being here in her world was almost more than he could bear, so strong was the temptation to find her, and to save her this time.

I
have a mission, nothing else,
he thought darkly.
It's not about us anymore. It hasn't been, not for a long fucking time.

Checking the weapon at his hip once again, he stood from his crouching position and began to advance carefully upon the compound.

"W
hat did your brother have
to say?" Scott reclined on her bunk, pretty much in the same position she'd left him in earlier when she'd gone to call Chris. She settled beside him, not wanting to relate any of the highly irritating conversation with her twin. "He knows I'm okay; that's all that matters."

"Are you sure?" came Scott's throaty, seductive voice out of the darkness.

"I've got to hit the medical complex again. I need to pick up some insulin." She swung her legs onto the side of her bed, having had enough of men trying to control her for one day. "And you should go there, too—you have no business being out so soon."

Lying on his back, he grumbled, "I'm not staying in that place another minute."

"How will you get better?" She glanced over her shoulder.

"You seem like a perfectly appropriate nurse to me."

"Was that your big plan? To come lie around in my bed for as long as the recovery process takes?" Her face burned suddenly just at the thought of how he might define "recovery." Sexual healing, indeed.

"You've pretty much got the picture."

She forced a serious expression onto her face. "Well, I'm not playing along. You were critically injured, S'Skautsa," she told him in his own language. "You know where you belong. Besides, I have to find a real place for myself here in this world of yours. Not just hole up in my room with you."

"I've already spoken to my commander," he told her quietly. "We have a position for you, translating our intercepts of your own people."

She jerked her head in surprise. The Refarians were taping humans? In what capacity? The role reversal was mindboggling. All this time she'd been analyzing the FBI's intercepts of these aliens, when, in fact, the aliens had tapes of their own.

"What kind of intercepts?" She struggled to sound calm. "It seems that you all speak English quite fluently."

"Well, it's not translating, per se, but analyzing. Interpreting subtext. Helping us to understand the score between our people and yours."

She smiled; he obviously cared for her a great deal if he'd gone to bat for her already. And he truly "got" her too: She could never be part of his world and simply remain idle. She needed a purpose, a driving ambition, no matter where she lived or made her home.

"Sounds intriguing," she said. "We can talk about it once you go back to the hospital."

"Won't happen," he told her simply. "I have things to do, responsibilities. I need to get on my feet now, not later."

His pigheadedness angered her, but she sensed it wasn't wise to argue. She rose cautiously to her feet, unfolding the cane she'd been keeping in her back pocket. "I understand that feeling." She understood because she never wanted her own limitations to slow her down. "Listen, I have a question for you," she broached, thinking of the nurse's earlier suggestion. "What is genetic therapy, at least what is it here, among your people? How could it help me?"

"Forget it." She heard him jerk upward in bed and make an abrupt inhalation at the pain such quick movement caused. "It's not for you."

"Why not?" His angry, dismissive reaction puzzled her.

"Because it's a lousy idea, that's why," he blurted. "It could hurt you … or worse."

She turned to face him. "Then why did they suggest it?"

"Genetic therapy is a great idea, Hope. A perfect fucking idea that could heal you of your diabetes completely. Except for the side effects." He reached out to her, touching her shoulder. "And there are always unintended side effects."

She shot a scowl in his direction. "I don't see why you're so angry."

"You wouldn't."

She found his aggressive reaction perplexing, but it also pissed her off. No man would tell her what she could and couldn't do—not even up here, in her own personal
Twilight Zone
. It was enough that her twin always tried to smother her. "Look." She gave a shrug and launched herself off the bed. "I'll talk to you later." He yelled after her, but she plunged ahead into the darkness, working her cane to feel the way. "Later, Dillon. Okay? Just later."

Even when she left the room, she could still hear him trying to call her back, but it was one thing for him to be so stubborn about his own recovery, and quite another to try to block her own potential healing after a near-lifetime of disease and limitation. Too many men in her life were always trying to prevent her from making her own decisions; she'd be damned if Scott Dillon would be yet another in that long line.

J
ake shifted form, feeling
first the telltale lightness of body, next the wooziness in his head—and then the ultra-heightened physical sensations that always came with assuming his formless Antousian state. No one could see him; he was nothing more than a ghost. But the result in his own essence was as if a thousand prickling dust particles were imploding against his transparent skin. As if light and heat were impaling him. Were he with a lover, it would be the most excruciatingly erotic proposition possible. And he'd been down that road too, he thought with a wave of melancholy that rolled through him. But there wasn't time for that kind of grief, not today.

Hurtling through the woods and up the mountainside, he focused on his mission. Every movement caused him pain and ecstasy all at once, a whirlwind of primal sensation.
Ignore. Move. Act.
He coached himself through the maneuver. No wonder he hated this Change of his so much. Hated it and craved it, too, a perverse mix of reactions to his formless capabilities.

He arrived outside the main cabin, interpreting his data. Jared was somewhere within … yes, in his main chambers; he easily sensed that fact. But alarmingly another reality practically speared his essence: Lieutenant Dillon was inside the main compound too.
Damn, damn, damn,
he cursed inwardly,
no time to wait.
Bolstering his resolve—and preparing for the peculiar physical sensation of passing through walls—he slipped into the cabin and plunged forward toward Jared's location.

S
cott was flat on his
back, staring at the wooden slats on the bunk above him, the one that Anna slept in every night. Vaguely, he wondered what it would be like for Hope having his fellow soldier and comrade as her roommate, what the two of them might share late at night when both were simply being women, not soldiers or FBI linguists or however else they defined themselves. They were bound to become friends—he knew they would get close, no way around it. With a shudder, he realized that Hope might share with Anna how their relationship was heating up.

Anna. The one woman in the ranks whom he'd ever tried to kiss—and who had laughed right in his face after the attempt. He could hardly blame her; none of the Refarians found him the least bit attractive; he'd figured that much out long ago. Why else would she have scoffed at his advances?
Gods, please don't let Anna tell her that I'm an ugly son of a bitch.
With Hope's near-blindness, he could at least maintain the illusion that he was a decent-looking guy. She already seemed to think so, a lucky enough break in his otherwise luckless life.

Stretching his legs, he winced in pain. Of course, Hope was absolutely right—he had no business being out of the hospital. But the thing was, he hadn't been able to stay there another moment; nor could he deal with Hope seeing him in such a powerless position. He was too restless, too edgy. And despite being a gazer—his one true gift from All, the gift of being able to see into people and situations—there was one damned thing he just couldn't lay hold of down in that rat hole. Where his future was heading: not with Hope, and definitely not in general. Getting out of the medical complex had been essential, but now that he was here in Hope's bed, the pain was descending upon him anew, threatening to devour him with its dark face of menace. Fumbling in his pants pocket, he found a bottle of pain pills and, popping the cap off, downed a few of them.

There,
he thought.
There. I'll just grab some sleep, and then everything will feel better. Just a little sleep, and maybe Hope will return. Maybe then I can figure out why I can't see my way through things right now.

As sleep began to take him, something unsettling made his eyes fly open. With a quick sniff of the atmosphere about them, he knew exactly what that thing was: the creeping, subtle scent of their enemy.

Jerking up in bed and staggering to his feet, he punched the comm on his forearm. "Jareshk!" he roared. "Intruder! We've been penetrated by the enemy! Jareshk, get to the bunker.
Now!"

N
estled in the safety of
their bed, Jared cradled Kelsey's naked body against his own. At the periphery of his dreamy awareness he thought he heard something, but then shook it off, slipping back into an exhausted, mating-induced slumber. But the noise was persistent, loud, and at last he opened his eyes. His comm was erupting in an almost unintelligible array of noisy chatter. Commands, orders, chaos.

Leaping to his feet, he took hold of his uniform jacket, fumbling with the comm and reaching for his pistol simultaneously.

"Bennett here," he called.

Scott's voice crackled back over the link, "Get to the bunker, Jared. Get to the bunker now."

Turning toward Kelsey, he tossed her clothes to her; she sat up in bed, disoriented from interrupted sleep. He motioned for her to dress as he answered Dillon, "What's happened?"

This time Thea replied. "I'm on the way to him. Marco is with me. Jared, stay where you are—we will get you into the bunker. Stay."

"Get the hell out of there," Dillon contradicted, and buzzing mayhem erupted again. Jared pulled on his pants with one movement and took position in front of their chamber door.

"Kelsey, go to the closet and stay there," he commanded calmly. "But whatever happens, do not move. Not a muscle. Go!"

She stared at him for a split second, stunned, so he thundered, "Go now, Kelse! Now, now, now!"

"Okay," she said numbly, rushing past him toward the other part of their bedroom. "I'm moving, but what's happening?" He could sense the fear in her usually strong voice.

"You will be safe, love. I promise you that." He didn't want to terrify her; nor did he wish to tell her that no intruder, not once, had ever made it past their security force before now.

"And what about you?" she called from the next room.

"I'm not going anywhere." He tilted his chin up, assumed a firing stance aimed at the door, and added, "And I'll be damned if any enemy makes it past me, either."   

J
ake Tierny slid within Jared
Bennett's chamber, soundless. Formless. And found himself eye-to-eye with his beloved king. Young, still handsome, and with a weapon trained right on Jake, looking for all the world like he would blow Jake to pieces the moment he materialized.
Bad strategy, perhaps, this plan,
he thought, swirling past the commander. Jared swung his weapon, first in one direction, then another. The man was a high-level intuitive, at least in the future. Back here in their past, not so much.

But he clearly sensed Jake's presence, even as Jake swirled past him invisibly, taking a position by the hearth. With a prayer to All for protection, he materialized on the far side of the room and shouted simultaneously, "Hold fire, Commander!" The words came out slightly garbled because he wasn't even finished with his Change when he shouted them.

Not that his words mattered, because Jared did, in fact, fire upon him—several quick rounds from his pulse pistol that sent Jake ducking behind the large sleigh bed. "Jared, wait! Hold up! I'm not your enemy. I'm your friend. Hold fire!"

"Like hell you are,
vlksai!"

Another few sparking rounds whined past Jake's head, and he hunkered even lower against the hardwood floor.

"I used the mitres to come back in time," Jake rushed to explain. "I am here to protect you, not bring you harm, I assure you." A rough growl was the king's only reply, along with his running boot steps. Any minute and Jake would be toast. "I'm here with a warning! Jareshk, listen to me. Gods, you can trust me!"

The butt of Jared's pistol cracked into Jake's skull, filling his eyes with bright spots. "I don't trust any of your kind," Jared snarled at him.

"Lieutenant Dillon," Jake barely managed to grunt. "You trust
him."

"With my life," his king answered intently. "With my very life. But you,
vlksai,
are not him."

Of course he wasn't Dillon, and explaining precisely who he was—and why Jared should trust him—suddenly seemed an impossible task.

So he said the only thing that came to mind: "An enemy is traveling back from the future. I'm here to stop him. If you don't trust me, you'll regret it."

"Which enemy?" Jared asked coolly, jamming the barrel of his pistol into the base of Jake's skull.

"Marco McKinley. He was your protector in the future, but he betrayed you. And he's on his way here to destroy you. All of you."

A deep, gravelly voice surprised Jake in answer. "That's funny. Because I'm here right now, and I think Jared would attest to my loyalty."

Jake jerked hard at the familiar voice that was so recognizable, so very familiar—that of Marco McKinley. Jared's once and future protector, the man who had betrayed them, turned rogue enemy all the way. But that was later, not here, not now. How to answer? How to fucking answer? Jake had no clue, but it was Jared who responded instead. "What is the meaning of all of this?"

Jake wondered if his king was truly asking his intentions, or merely reflecting aloud about the strange improbability of it all. Marco had never been in the ranks this soon; he hadn't arrived until two years after now. The whole turn of events was beyond comprehension.

"If you'd let me up," Jake ventured, "I can explain."

"Wouldn't you just like that," Marco shot back at him.

"No, I'm curious," Jared answered with surprising calm. "Let's hear him out. What he says about you traveling from the future has me very interested. On your feet, Antousian!"

T
hea sprinted into Jared's
chambers and found a stranger kneeling in front of Jared and Marco, hands fastened behind his back. He didn't look any more like an enemy than the countless other Antousian hybrids they'd battled. He was unusually large, with a bulky, muscular frame that seemed too massive to be easily contained no matter how many weapons they had on him. And when he swiveled his gaze upon her, she realized he had startling, bright green eyes that stood in stark contrast to his much darker olive skin and almost-black hair. Strange, but his didn't seem the eyes of a bloodthirsty enemy; they seemed … lost. Haunted. And they didn't mirror death and destruction, not like the eyes of most Antousians she'd ever seen.

She took position beside Jared and Marco. "Who is he?" She glanced among them all.

"An enemy," Marco answered simply, his stance beside Jared highly protective; he'd positioned himself between the intruder and their king. Of course, as Jared's Madjin there was no other way Marco would behave in a moment of intense conflict like this one.

"I'm not the enemy in your midst, Your Majesty," the stranger answered calmly, eyeing Marco with a look that could kill a legion of soldiers. He nodded toward Marco. "Now, he, on the other hand, will betray you like the coldblooded traitor he is at heart. As certain as I'm kneeling here, he's your enemy, not I, my king."

Thea shuddered. Marco would never betray Jared, not in this timeline, and not ever again. But then the stranger glanced at her and said, "And that little
mlaisha
is the worst of all. She wants to destroy you, my king. Betrayers are among you. Hear me!"

Thea lunged at the man, grabbing hold of his throat. "Want to say that again?" she growled. "I love my cousin. I love my king, and I would never harm him. How dare you?"

"You did it," the intruder answered, giving his neck a jerk, but she tightened her grip. "You want to know exactly what you do? Because I'll tell you how you bring down your own people—"

"Enough!" Jared cut him off with a roar. "Enough. We already know what the future could bring."

"You think you do," the man began, and this time Jared stepped around Marco. He pressed the barrel of his gun against the Antousian's head, dropping to his haunches beside him, inspecting the stranger.

"I said enough!" Jared insisted. "Silence."

But
then, almost as if in slow motion, the intruder took hold of Jared's weapon, twisting it, and turned it upon him. One moment the man's hands had been bound, and now the worst was happening: Their king was on the receiving end of a pulse gun. Marco made a move, and the enemy hissed, "Stand down. Stand the fuck down if you want your king to live."

As
one,
Thea and Marco backed away, each holding their hands up. "Calm down," Thea said quietly. "Everyone calm down."

Her eyes locked with Marco's, and she heard his thoughts within her mind:
We have to get Jared to safety. Reinforcements are coming
—
I
hear them
—
but we have no time to lose.
There was the sound of loud footsteps of troops on the stairs.

What about Kelsey?
Thea questioned frantically.
Where is she?
At this time of night there was nowhere else their queen would be than right here with Jared. Thea's heart constricted, fear for her new friend and queen almost overwhelming her ability to think clearly. But she forced herself to zero in on current events, to bring every minute detail into sharp focus, including her own mate's mind and thoughts.