Prime Obsession (7 page)

She was asleep by the time her head hit the floor.

One large hand held her head as strong fingers gently shoved her face against the warmth of a firm male chest.

“Breathe,
gemate lubha,
” a deep, raspy voice whispered against her ear. The tone of voice brooked no opposition.

“Wulf, is that you? Grouchy again, huh?” Mel sleepily snuggled closer and took in a deep breath. “Mmm, you smell good.”

More than that, he smelled dangerous. Exotic. Perfect.

Wulf’s aroma sent tendrils of an aching warmth throughout her body. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears, pacing itself to the heart beating beneath her head. Her breasts swelled and nipples puckered into tight achy buds as her womb wept in sympathy.

Some primal part of her brain blared:
Unknown danger ahead!

She shifted and moaned. “What’s happening to me?” she whispered as she tried to rouse from a fog of exhaustion and pain—and lust.

“You are hurt,
lubha.
” Wulf’s lips brushed her forehead with a kiss so gentle she wasn’t even sure there’d been one. “Hold on, we’re almost at the engine room. I’ll attend to your injuries then.”

“Why do you make me feel this way?” she grumbled, almost afraid to find out. No man had ever confused her this way, made her ache. Pain she understood and welcomed, since that meant she’d survived one more battle. But this aching was something unknown to her, something she feared she might not be able to dismiss.

Gathering her even more tightly to his chest, he murmured, “Put your arms around my neck. We have one more ladder and then we’ll be to safety.” One-armed, Wulf held her to him as he descended the ladder. She wound both arms around his neck, noting the softness of the midnight dark hair at the nape. Absently, she played with the thick, smooth tendrils as she curled into his chest even further. She felt safe. No one else had ever made her feel this way. It scared her.

A low very masculine chuckle swept over her skin, raising goose bumps. “You like my hair,
lubha
?”

She ignored him. Her answer would serve only to make him more conceited than he already was.

“I’ve looked forward to meeting you ever since my brothers told me about you.” While his words were superficially those of polite conversation, the emotion behind them poured off him in crashing waves. His feelings were so convoluted she couldn’t separate them, but underlying them all, a strong, strident base note tied them all together.

It was hunger, the primitive craving of a male for a female. A need she’d sensed between other couples, but not one she’d ever associated with herself. Not even Nowicki put off this much lust, and he’d wanted her for years.

Deciding she didn’t want to go there, she brought the conversation back to business.

The current-fricking-life-or-death situation. “You
did
turn off the self-destruct, didn’t you?”

“Yes, after we saw you in the tunnels.” His face turned into her disheveled hair. He inhaled deeply and a low husky groan rumbled past her ear. Nuzzling her, he whispered,

“We’ll talk about your body’s reaction to me—later—after we’ve regained my ship. I won’t let you ignore this topic,
lubha
.”

Mel stiffened. “I’ve no idea of what you’re talking about,
Captain
.” She stressed his title. She had to keep their interaction on a more formal level. They had a job to do.

“I know,” he said, amusement in his tones. “But you will know all—later. And I am Wulf to you. Not Captain. Do not forget that—ever.”

She shivered at his words. Somehow entering the tunnel had changed her life. And where the hell that thought had come from, she had no idea.

Wulf carried her through an open panel into the engine room. Ambassador Maren and Wulf’s two brothers met them. Their shock and concern at her condition swamped her. Yeah, something had happened when she’d boarded this ship. No, it was after she’d entered the tunnels. Her empathic ability worked overtime now and on the highest level she’d ever experienced. Not even in the midst of battle with all the emotions of the dead, dying and injured had she ever read emotions this accurately.

Mel smiled to reassure the three Prime males. “I’m fine.” Wulf’s snort of disagreement rustled through her hair.

Maren walked alongside as Wulf carried her toward a sectioned-off area of the cavernous engine room. Huw and Iolyn fell in, one in front and one behind, as if they were protecting Wulf and her. The other crew members, maybe forty in all, all Prime males, stopped their duties as their procession passed.

Senses blaring a red alert caused her already achy head to throb. The air smelled wrong—a foul stench caused her nose to wrinkle, overpowering Wulf’s disturbingly sexy smell. Something wasn’t right. Something in the atmosphere threatened her—threatened Wulf.

Dammit.
She couldn’t tell where, what, or who. Maybe, she was just exhausted, or, possibly, it was the lingering remnants of the fear she’d been sublimating since she entered the tunnels.

She sniffed the air. No, she wasn’t imagining it. The malodor was strong, the strongest she’d ever smelled. Extreme hatred wafted on the subtle air currents in the large engine room. The objects of the rage were her—Wulf—and also Maren and the two other Caradocs.

Opening all six of her senses even further, she sought the source. She reveled in the strength and breadth of her newly attuned psi abilities.

Wulf’s body stiffened against her as if startled. Did he sense the danger now? She knew Prime were reputed to be able to do so.

She captured his gaze with her own. His eyes blazed golden fire. The emotions pouring off him read as a combination of shock and awe. His body and senses were one hundred percent centered on her—not his surroundings.

He
couldn’t
know what she could do. No way. He might read her emotions, but he shouldn’t be able to read her ability to sense the same. No one knew about her psi ability.

No one could; it was not in her records. She’d never admitted to her highly attuned senses around anyone. Not her parents. Not her crew. Instead, she called her insights, hunches, gut reactions that Nowicki and others believed in one hundred percent.

Searing hot anger cut through her mind like a sharp battle blade, tearing her away from her thoughts. The person, or maybe more than one since the energy was so malevolent, was in a rage.

Mel tore her gaze away from Wulf’s blazing one and scanned the room slowly from side to side. Separating the mixture of emotions in the room, she found curiosity about her, exhaustion from the siege, anticipation for the final battle—and finally the hatred.

Ugly, dark, and red hot. Stinking so strongly that it turned her stomach.

She must have made a noise because Wulf stopped walking. “What is it, Melina?”

“Hate,” she whispered back. “I can’t explain how I know this, but there is strong hatred in this room. For us—you, me, Maren, your brothers.”

“Maren. Huw. Iolyn. Move in closer. Be ready,” growled Wulf. His wrath now swamped her senses, overriding all other emotion in the room.

Funny, the smell of his wrath calmed her. A part of him that should scare her but didn’t.

It was righteous. Strong. Honorable.

“You believe me? You sensed it too, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.” His abrupt answer, his faith in her, for some reason, further soothed her excoriated senses. “Where is it coming from, little one?” His arms tightened about her as if he could absorb her into his body to protect her.

She flinched and he gentled his grip.

“I can’t tell. You have to control your anger, it’s overlaying the other’s emotion.” Wulf grunted, then took several deep breaths. With each breath, his anger lessened until he was in control of it, ready to use it to fight and protect.

“I haven’t seen this in many, many years,” Maren whispered, awe-struck.

“What, Maren?” Mel asked as she swept the room with her senses even wider open.

“Battle symbiosis.” The elderly diplomat whispered so that it carried no farther then the five of them. “You will not have heard of it, my dear. It has been lost to the Prime culture for many, many years.”

She couldn’t be bothered to figure out what Maren meant. Nor why Wulf and his brothers gasped at the older man’s words. She’d just found the source of the enmity—and he was ready to explode into action.

“He’s over by the computer array, next to the main entrance to the engine room.” Wulf turned. “Huw—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the man Mel had located moved forward, a laser pistol in his hand. Without thinking, Mel pulled her laser from the holster between her and Wulf’s body, brought it up in one smooth movement, and shot the man, a full-powered blast into his weapon arm. The would-be assassin fell to the floor, screaming in pain, cursing her ancestors and her in gutter Prime.

The engine room was silent—the air so still it was as if the room held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. All eyes of the crew were on her and the man holding her.

“Huw, secure the traitor,” Wulf shouted so his men would realize Mel had saved their Captain and wasn’t a threat to him. “We’ll question him later.” Looking down at her, Wulf’s lips thinned with some strong emotion.

Well, damn, the man was angry at her! Again! He was upset that she’d defended them!

Stupid male pride.

She sniffed, raised a brow, and dared him to say the words she knew he wanted to utter.

Growling under his breath, Wulf shook his head. “First, I’ll see to Melina’s wounds.” He strode once more toward the makeshift infirmary.

“My injuries are slight,” she said as she wiggled to be let down. He tightened his arms and squeezed her to stop her movement. “Really, I’m fine,
Captain.
”

“Wulf.” Shaking her, he whispered, anger making his voice harsh. “Say my name.” His words spit out like bullets from an ancient Terran gun.

She decided to humor the beast. After all, he was only a man.

“Wulf.” She smiled at him, fluttering her lashes as she’d seen other women do when they wanted to enthrall a man.

He grunted.

“I’m fine. You can put me down.” His look of incredulity cut off her next request for him to leave her alone. She tried a change in topic. “Always keep a man guessing,” one of her few females friends had told her. “I need to contact the Alliance squadrons awaiting the all clear.”

She peered at him, testing his reaction. Not much change.

A muscle clenched and unclenched in his jaw. His carotid pulsed so rapidly she was afraid his skin wouldn’t hold it in. She had the strange urge to lick, then bite him right where the pulse called to her. Probably not a wise thing to do considering that his anger simmered at just below a boil, scalding her senses. Outwardly, he controlled it, well except for the tell-tale pulse. It was a cold rage. He’d look like that in battle.

She sensed that it wouldn’t take much for him to unleash his fury.

Yet, she persisted, secure in the knowledge he’d never loose his wrath at her. How she knew that she couldn’t explain, she just did. “You do want to rid your ship of the pirates, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he spat out the word, “but your wounds are more severe than you realize. You are still bleeding. There is a blood trail from the tunnels. It is getting worse. I’m not even sure why you’re still conscious to argue with me.”

Maren, who’d followed them, interjected, “Wulf. It’s the battle symbiosis. Please, be patient with Melina.”

“I understand, Maren, but she’s bleeding!
Diew
!” Wulf stroked her cheek gently as the muscle in his jaw fought the battle to keep his rage bottled up.

Contradictory man.

Wulf was a man of extreme emotions. A minefield Mel would have to negotiate carefully until she understood what this battle symbiosis was. She’d never heard or read of it. But whatever it was, Wulf both wanted and feared it.

Maren smiled at her. “We are concerned, my dear. Please let Wulf care for you.” Stretching to look around Wulf’s broad shoulder to smile at the older man, she bit back a hiss of pain as her wound pulled from the motion.

“Wulf can tend to my injuries while I contact my ship. Deal?” She shot first Maren, then Wulf, a look that dared them to disagree.

“If you must,” Wulf said through clenched teeth.

He laid her on a bed in the sectioned-off area, then pulled a cart containing antiseptic wipes and surgical lasers to the gurney.

“What is the plan?” he asked.

Distracted by his shaky movements in pulling out what he would need to treat her wound, she warily eyed the medical array. “Do you have a medical degree—or something?”

“All Prime soldiers are trained in battlefield medical techniques. My triage treatment will hold until we can get you to a regen bed in our medical unit.”

“A regen bed on the
Leonidas
,” she automatically corrected. “Are you sure you’re calm enough to wield a medi-laser?”

He shot her a narrow-eyed look. His anger level increased once more, to the point where she felt it bounce off her like sparks from a laser drill going through metal.

“Yes. And it will be a bed on my ship,” he said, his tone sharp and so dismissive she wanted to slap him.