WarriorsWoman (14 page)

“I will do my best.” Vilmos’ lips stiffened into a thinner line, but he was already stripping spare components to construct a field transfusion unit.

Lorcan watched, fascinated, until Vilmos slid his newly honed makeshift needle into Minka’s delicate arm. A sudden dizziness made Lorcan sway.

“Do not look,” Vilmos said sharply.

Swallowing hard, Lorcan stared down at the trampled, pink-stained snow, which didn’t help all that much, and gulped back queasiness.

“Find the necessary materials to make a sled, better to build now, because Batzorg and Minka will need a ride home. You fainting will not help,” Vilmos said reasonably.

A little dizziness. No big deal, I don’t faint.

Lorcan wanted to huff, but he wasn’t going to argue with Vilmos. The mech already had his hands full. “I’m on it.”

He sprinted back to the forest, pathetically grateful for something to do that did not involve needles, veins or bloody snow.

Once outside the shelter of the ravine, icy northern wind whipped the fresh powder so hard he couldn’t see the damn trees. He flipped down his face shield and broke off half a dozen sturdy branches. He turned up his thermal output and worked steadily, weaving the green wood into a rough sled to hold Batzorg and Minka.

By the time he dragged the crude transport back to the canyon, Minka lay next to Batzorg. Her skin paled to only slightly pinker than her white coat. Below her breasts an extra lump protruded. He pointed. “What’s with the bulge?”

The lump meowed.

Vilmos gently untangled Nigel from the scarf pouch, handing the cat to Lorcan. “I need to monitor both Batzorg and Minka.”

Better you than me, pal.

Lorcan accepted the scarf and cat, wound the fabric into the pouch Minka used, and snuggled him into place. “Don’t you need to hook me up for Minka’s plasma transfusion?”

“I have to draw your blood then extract the plasma. I do not have the resources to do that here. She should be stable for a short trip. Since Batzorg’s body temperature is so low, tissue repair has been minimal. Speed is essential for both of them.”

“Got it.” Lorcan positioned the sled next to the couple. “Give me a hand lifting Batzorg. Once he’s settled, I’ll put Minka on top.”

To Lorcan’s untrained eyes, Batzorg had no detectable life signs or body heat. Minka’s chest rose and fell so slowly that if he blinked he could’ve mistaken her for a corpse. He reminded himself that Vilmos knew his stuff, but fear knotted at the base of his skull and shrieked,
Vilmos didn’t want to risk the transfusion
.

Lorcan clenched his jaw in grim determination. They were going to live.

After they were loaded, Vilmos shook his head in disapproval. “We need to secure them.”

Lorcan didn’t wait for suggestions, or help, he tugged off his shirt, tore it into strips, and quickly bound the couple to the branches.

Then he scanned the darkening sky through narrowed eyes. “Time to move.”

Chapter Eight

Minka tried to move her head. Bad idea. Really bad. Even a slight shift sent nauseating pain shooting through her. It felt as if a demolition crew with a case of the flu was coughing and hacking their way out of her skull. To add to the fun and games, someone had woven at least fifty pounds of lead into her unruly mop of curls.

After a few moments of wary testing, she was fairly sure all her important parts were still attached. Too bad all of them, including her hair, hurt. She gave up on lifting her head and let the nice, soft pillow continue to carry the load.

Cautiously, she stretched her incredibly heavy right arm until she found Batzorg’s warm, rough hand. She gently laced her fingers with his. Reassured, she drifted back to sleep.

The next time she woke, vague impressions of drinking, bathing and tender caressing invaded her dreams. The mechs’ unmistakable spicy, clean male musk, each with his own special scent, surrounded and soothed her. At least one of them always seemed to be near enough for her to feel his heat. Her mechs lived and that was what mattered most.

Eventually, memories of the cyborg attack, the terrifying race to find Batzorg, and his horrific injury filtered into her mind, tinting her dreams with blood and terror. When she cried out, Vilmos’ calm strength, Lorcan’s rough tenderness or Batzorg’s power wrapped around her, banishing her fears.

Batzorg sang gentle psalms of comfort, Vilmos massaged away her tension, and Lorcan coaxed her to drink and bathed her with gentle efficiency.

Even with the mechs’ expert coddling, her exhaustion continued for days. Speech took so much effort she didn’t bother. But then she remembered there were important words she needed to say. “Love you.”

“Love you too, little one.” Batzorg rubbed her back in small, soothing circles and placed a tender kiss on her head.

Vilmos rubbed small circles on the inside of her wrist as he took her vital signs. “You are my life, dear.”

“I love you so much.” Lorcan’s voice shook. “Damn, you scared the hell out of me, hot stuff. Show some mercy and don’t do it again.”

As the days passed, her pain receded, her body healed, and her strength returned. The improvements happened much too slowly for her stretched patience. Restless, she picked at the innocent quilt. Her skin prickled with wandering itches and seemed to shrink. In a hopeless effort to get comfortable, she shifted positions so often that Nigel stalked out of the bedroom in a snit the first time the door opened.

Batzorg rubbed the long muscles in her tense back. “What’s wrong, little one?”

“Just tired of being sick and tired.” She sighed.

He gathered her close with his good arm, stood, and stepped off the mattress.

“Whoa, you don’t want to set your recovery back.”

“There are only two things I do well—killing and making love with you.”

“You do lots of things well.”

He continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “Killing has been curtailed. Do not even think about denying me lovemaking.”

Minka tugged on his iron chin until he met her gaze. “I was serious about you doing many things well. You sing—”

He cut her off with a harsh, drugging kiss. “I was serious about making love.”

Right, hot naked mech wants me. Why am I still arguing?

Then she remembered his horrific injury, the terrifying blood loss, and the long days of recuperating. “Did doc say—”

“Yes.”

She conceded the match with a contented sigh.

“Are you sure you’re supposed to lift heavy weights?” she teased him, already happier and more comfortable now that they were skin to skin.

“What heavy weight?”

“Me.” She giggled and tightened her legs around his narrow hips.

“A joke, little one? I should carry you more often.”

His rich voice rippled over her and she recognized the sweet curl of desire deep in her belly that had been missing for far too long.

“I have other plans for you, mech.”

His rare grin flashed. “Mechs exist to protect and serve. Which function do you require?”

“Serving. Definitely serving.”

“I hoped you would say that. How about a hot bath to start?” His grin was replaced by a stare so heated she felt new jolts of excitement zing from her scalp to her toes. Then the arousal pooled in her beaded nipples, damp core and rapidly swelling clit.

She swallowed, lowered her voice to what she hoped was a seductive whisper, and put her lips next to his ear. “If you join me.”

“That would be my pleasure.” His deep voice rumbled through her like a caress.

He opened a linen cupboard, hauled out an old-fashioned hand sprayer then fastened it to the faucet. Patiently, he adjusted the hot and cold flow. Once happy with the temperature, he carefully lifted her and set her down in the tub. Then he gently guided her head back, supporting her neck while he rinsed her hair, and massaged in shampoo.

He worked with such deliberate care at a task that could not have been easy.

A knot of empathy closed her throat and she wanted to weep for his loss and the pain he’d suffered, but was too brave to voice. After a hard swallow, she managed to say, “I’m so sorry about your arm.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. You saved my life.” He placed tiny sipping kisses on her eyelids, drying her welling tears.

“Doc saved your life. All I did was give a little spare blood to a wonderful mech.” She tried to lighten her tone.

“You gave me so much blood you almost died.” The fingers he used to work her scalp trembled and slowed.

“I would die for you,” she said simply.

He growled, “Not if I can help it.”

His growl was so fierce—so Batzorg—her heart lightened. She closed her eyes and tilted her head at his tug, making it easier for him to rinse the lather from her unruly mop. While he worked all the soap from her hair, she plotted how to seduce him.

When he finished, she sat up, slicked the wet curls away from her face, and enjoyed the ripple of his muscles under his bronze silk skin as he removed the sprayer, set it in the sink, and filled the tub.

“Test the temperature.”

When she complied, he asked, “Too hot?”

She climbed into the luxurious hot bath, and aimed her best effort at a sultry look in his direction. “Actually the water is perfect, like you, champ.”

Before joining her in the oversized tub, he captured her mouth in a kiss that could’ve heated an entire swimming pool.

Under Batzorg’s expert assault on her senses, her bold plan to have her way with him vanished along with her ability to form coherent sentences. When he pulled away from her hungry lips, a whimper of protest was the only sound she made.

The bathroom floor squeaked in protest as he lowered his heavy, metal body into the deep, cast-iron tub. Slowly he eased his powerful legs around her bottom and pulled her snugly against his groin. His massive erection notched into the seam of her rear cheeks while his arm slid around her middle just below her small breasts. “I would not have endangered you by sharing your bath if the annihilator were still attached.”

Minka gathered the washcloth, dipped it in the steamy water, and then twisted it nearly dry before she carefully washed the puckered scar where his left arm ended. “Tell me if this hurts.”

“Sometimes there is phantom pain. Vilmos says this occurs because of nerves still connected to the missing limb and should pass within a few months.”

Surprised by his quiet admission, she dropped the cloth and twisted around to face him. Maybe her eyes showed the devastation caused by his honesty, because he pulled her tighter against him. “I am not in pain now, little one.”

Tears, part empathy and part relief, slipped down her cheeks.

“Please do not cry. That hurts me.”

She blinked hard. “I’m so, so, sorry. This is all my fault. The only reason you’re wounded is because you protected me.”

“You are wrong. Not even the cyborgs are to blame. They follow orders without any real capacity to refuse their masters. I was injured because the founders and restorers cannot settle their differences without breaking their own laws.”

Her gaze fell to his stump and she blinked back fresh tears. In his own time his weapon would have been completely restored. “There has to be a better way.”

“I agree.”

Her mighty warrior had a pacifist’s pure heart. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her head under his chin. Snug against his hard chest, she simply held on to him for a long moment.

Then Batzorg edged toward the center of the tub, rearranged her legs higher on his hips, and picked up the washcloth she’d dropped.

Tempted by the rigid length riding her damp channel, she rocked against his thick erection.

“No moving.” His deep voice quelled her urge to rebel.

With an entire world’s worth of gentle patience, he began bathing her. He started at the tender spot behind her ears that made her melt into a pool of wanting.

Batzorg rubbed the translucent bar of soap into a rich lather then worked it into the sensitive side of her neck. A moan of erotic need spilled from her lips.

He gifted her with one of his rare smiles, dipped the cloth into the steamy water, and rinsed away the soap he’d just applied.

Her breasts flushed and swelled as the washcloth went back to work spreading tiny bubbles of the soap over the top curve of her modest mounds. Concentric circles drew closer to her rigid nipples, which were begging for his touch.

Every part of her breasts, except for the excited tips, was treated to the same soap and water torture. The fiend ignored her aching nipples and returned to rinse away the lather, avoiding even the slightest brush of her tight tips.

By the time he’d finished rinsing her left breast, both bunched peaks had developed their own pulses. She bit her lip to keep from screaming and seriously considered grabbing him by the ears and putting his mouth where she needed it.

When she cleared her throat to beg, he covered her lips with his, swept his tongue into every corner of her mouth, and drove all thought of complaining out of her mind. She sucked on his penetration and swallowed an intoxicating blend of coffee, peaches, sticky buns and his delicious, dark spice.

His scorching kiss eased away from her swollen lips and trailed along the edge of her jawline. She whimpered and gave in to temptation by wriggling against the erection wedged between her slippery folds.

Damp kisses traced the side of her neck then he nipped the tendon under his mouth. She jerked at the electric jolt of sensation that zinged from her neck to taut nipples, on to her core, and then settled in her clit.

“Can you keep still?”

Fresh heat raced from her breasts as she nodded.

Maybe, if you don’t count the flutters in my pussy…

With a masterful control that turned her on and drove her crazy all at the same time, he stopped his ministrations, reached around her, and drained some of the cooled bath and added an infusion of unnecessary hot water.

“Where was I?”

Minka lifted her chin, exposing her throat, and tilted her head in a mute invitation for him to continue exactly where he’d stopped.