Enemy Overnight Page 4

  “I concur, Commander.” Cecine turned to the elders. “Let us open communications with Lord Sals and the Narthani parliament. Perhaps they can help us get to the bottom of the matter before any more innocent lives are lost.”

  “We must also devise some other means of conferring with President Landon,” Kellen said. “We can’t flare in, and we can hardly walk in. I’m open to suggestions, gentlemen.”

  Shauss stood, knowing Kellen would be obliged to participate in the general session now that their mission had been postponed. “It might be wise,” he suggested, “to take another hard look at everyone aboard the Heptoral. Wide-array flares don’t discriminate between friend and foe, and Miss King in particular has already proven herself easily swayed by those in league against us.”

  When the American bombers targeted the compound, there hadn’t been time to check IDs. They’d simply herded everyone—doctors, copulative candidates and support staff alike—into the auditorium like sheep and flared them out by the hundreds. Nearly forgotten in the confusion, Miss King and her guards had been the final residents retrieved in a last-minute flare sweep of the compound.

  Kellen stared at him for a moment before replying, “Indeed. Consider yourself assigned.”

  After a quick salute for the council, Shauss headed for the door. “Empran, research Jasmine King. Download detailed history, including a record of all her communications for the past five years, to my quarters.”

  “Affirmative.”

  His walk was slower than usual as he made his way toward the tranlift, examining his uncustomary eagerness to lay more blame at Miss King’s feet. He’d never been so enthusiastic about carrying out an order as he was when Kellen commanded him to attack her. The efficient, almost too-perfect little female had always intrigued him. Something in her eyes, a vulnerability lurking just beneath her finely polished surface, had made him itch to dig into her, to discover what it was she was hiding.

  When he’d heard Monica and Nurse Bonham discussing her “crush” on him, he’d felt almost indulgent toward her. Then Monica had disappeared, and the discovery that Miss King was hiding a duplicitous nature rather than any fondness for him had made him treat her more brutally than he might have otherwise. He wasn’t just interrogating Jasmine to get Monica back—he was terrorizing her for his own dark pleasure and drinking in her screams for mercy with unholy satisfaction.

  Unreasonable possessiveness had hammered him at the sight of her tender, bare privates—a rather idiotic reaction, considering Terran women depilated at will and a hairless cunt was no indicator of innocence. But the knowledge hadn’t stopped him from burning to ram his cock into her hairless cunt, to stake his claim on it and warn off potential rivals.

  He’d never wanted to fuck a female as badly as he’d wanted to fuck Jasmine King, and he’d very nearly done it. He would have fucked her if Kellen hadn’t redirected their efforts. Although she appeared to have been victimized by Pret every bit as much as they, something in him had howled ferociously at being denied the opportunity to punish her with his cock. Seeing her lose control of her bodily functions in his grip hadn’t eased his physical craving for her in the least. On the contrary, witnessing her abject humiliation had flooded him with a sense of his own absolute power over her.

  In that moment, he’d never felt more repulsive. He despised nothing so much as a tyrant who thrilled to another’s debasement. He’d given himself a stern dressing-down…and then promptly sprouted an erection the very next time he saw her.

  Peserin, what was wrong with him? He’d just reclaimed his mate two nights ago, albeit in the ass. Garathani law didn’t specify exactly which orifice a male must ejaculate in for the bond to be finalized, so he’d chosen the one that was least likely to tie him to Monica forever. Theirs was a tentative bond that he honestly couldn’t see lasting more than a few months—just long enough for Kellen to find a more acceptable second—but it was more than Shauss had ever expected to have. So why this desire for the confounding, deceitful Miss King?

  When he stepped into the tranlift, several males filed in after him.

  “Baya Deck,” one of them requested.

  “This ought to be interesting,” another said with a snicker.

  Ah, yes—the demonstration was this morning.

  When the door opened on Baya Deck, they all crowded out. “Coming, Lieutenant?”

  Shauss hesitated and then stepped out. “Why not?”

  * * * * *

  What in God’s name was she doing on the bridge?

  Go back to your quarters, you idiot—now, before you get yourself killed!

  But Jasmine couldn’t move. The object of her darkest cravings stood at his post beside the commander’s chair, his beautiful hair falling like a curtain of black-and-blue silk over his shoulders, his hands clasped behind him as he focused on the viewscreen ahead.

  Tha-thump.

  Tha-thump.

  Tha-thump.

  The heavy, ponderous heartbeat she’d come to expect whenever they were in the same room kicked in, and she leaned heavily against the handrail, her eyes devouring the leanly muscled back Shauss’ sleek uniform did little to hide.

  Her throat seized when he glanced her way. He didn’t react at all, but his awareness bored into her like a laser probe. He was willing her to come closer, and unable to help herself, she went, although she fought it every step of the way. The other Garathani warriors on the bridge seemed to be oblivious to her presence, but she knew they would watch avidly as Shauss took her, stroking themselves and hoping for a turn with her.

  Anticipation made the air thick and hard to breathe, and Jasmine cursed herself yet again. How could the prospect of being taken in front of a roomful of barbaric aliens turn her insides to liquid fire?

  As if he could read her thoughts, Shauss’ cock began to stir beneath his skintight suit, but he didn’t move, didn’t look at her.

  Her mouth watered as she crowded closer, drinking him in without touching. Lord, he smelled so savory-warm and sweet. She brought her face within a hairsbreadth of his chest, inhaling deeply, and energy buzzed between them. His sculpted lips were an irresistible temptation, but she hesitated. The last time she’d come so close to this man, she’d barely escaped with her sanity intact. If she gave in now, she’d lose herself completely.

  Then his eyes captured hers, and the power swirling in their liquid obsidian depths crushed the breath from her chest. If there’d been condemnation in his gaze, she would have crawled away, weeping, and blown herself out the nearest airlock. Instead she saw understanding, caring…

  Permission.

  A sob of gratitude burst from her as she threw herself at him, instinctively climbing his body in a frantic race to get what she needed. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clutching at whatever she could get a hold of. The tall, pointed ears grazing her fingertips gave her a moment’s pause, but then her hands slid into his silky hair and her lips landed on his and suddenly nothing else mattered.

  She sucked Shauss’ tongue into her mouth and her world ignited in a kaleidoscope of color and scent and dizzying need that made her whimper. God, she couldn’t get enough of his tongue! Long and agile, it tasted like hot spiced wine and something more personal, something that sent her pulse skyrocketing. His intoxicating flavor seared through her bloodstream, sparking an instant addiction. The more of him she swallowed, the more she craved.

  Agonizing need gripped her abdomen and she groaned as she rocked her hips against his hardness, desperate for the release only he could give.

  Then his hands seized her forearms, jerking her away from him, and she strained forward with her mouth wide open in a frenzied attempt to get his tongue back.

  His smile doused her passion like a bucket of icy water.

  “Now that you’ve had a taste of me, Miss King,” he said, spreading her arms wide to expose her naked body, “let’s see what kind of disgusting creature you turn into.”

  She fought to break free of his hold,
to run away and hide, but it was too late—she was changing. Dread cramped her insides as her bones popped and stretched, and her skin rippled into a scaly exoskeleton. It only took seconds for her to shift from a pretty human into a hideous monster, hissing and dripping slimy acid from her yawning, fang-studded mouth.

  Shauss shoved her away, revulsion evident in every line of his face and body, and the other warriors all gagged and retched at the sight of her. Burning with shame, she staggered toward the tranlift, only to find Shauss blocking her path. He assumed a fighting stance, swinging a huge, gleaming broadsword over his head with both hands.

  “Now you die, alien bitch.”

  Oh God, he was going to chop off her head…

  “No!” Jasmine jerked straight up in the dark, her hand at her throat.

  Blankets rustled on the other bed. “What the hell! Are you okay?”

  “Bad dream.”

  “You scared the crap out of me,” Portia grumbled.

  “I’m sorry.” Honest to God, it was like someone had hacked into her brain and planted a Trojan horse that created increasingly bizarre pop-ups every time she closed her eyes.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Jasmine pressed the button to illuminate her watch face and then threw back the covers. “I’m going for a run.”

  “You’ve got to be joking. What time is it?”

  “Seven-fifteen. Empran, wardrobe light, twenty-five watts.”

  Portia groaned. “Oh shit, I just got to bed three hours ago.”

  “Go back to sleep.” Not that Portia needed her permission to do that, since even at the compound, she’d never crawled out of bed before the crack of noon. On paper she was a secretary, or at least she’d started out that way, but in reality she hadn’t shown up for a shift at the secretarial pool for months. And yet apparently no one had shown her the door. What she did with all her time in an environment brimming with horny aliens, Jasmine didn’t even want to speculate about.

  She snagged her Garathani-issued tank suit from the wardrobe and pulled on the light, stretchy garment with jerky movements before stepping into the bathing area. When the light came on automatically, she splashed her face with cold water from the fountain but avoided looking at her reflection. The commander had explained to everyone how the flare fields that had transported them from the surface also functioned as lighting, windows and mirrors on board the Heptoral, but he’d failed to mention how the versatile energy bubbles could be used for covert observation.

  It was a secret she felt bad keeping from the rest of her fellow Terrans, but if the Garathani really wanted to spy on anyone, raising a stink would only prompt them to replace the reflective fields with invisible fields. Worse, it would draw more unwanted attention to her familiarity with Garathani technology.

  After blotting her face, she dabbed a little vanilla on her pulse points. Then she grabbed her nasal spray off the shelf. The tiny, hollow splash when she shook it made her cringe, but she braced herself, inserted the tip into her nostril and squeezed anyway.

  Nothing.

  “Come on, come on,” she muttered. “Please God, just one more dose.”

  Apparently God wasn’t listening because three more tries yielded nothing but the sweet scent of her medication.

  She snapped the cap back on the bottle with a shaky hand. Crap, talk about situation critical! That spray was the only thing standing between her and the transformation of her nightmares. She had two choices now—she could ask to have the spray replicated and hope that whoever handled it was too busy or too stupid to recognize it for what it was, or she could execute her insane escape plan.

  Talk about your no-win scenario. Where was Jim Kirk when you needed him?

  Taking a deep breath, she bit the bullet. “Empran, where can I get medications replicated?”

  “Original replication requires the approval of Commander Kellen.”

  She sighed. “Of course it does.”

  Too bad she hadn’t gotten the spray replicated two days ago when she was just one of hundreds of hysterical women. Now she’d have to face the commander conspicuously alone and explain why she hadn’t gotten in line with everyone else. Hopefully the replication lab was so backed up they wouldn’t have time to scrutinize every med that came through.

  “Where can I find the commander?”

  “Commander Kellen is currently on the Command Deck.”

  Ugh. The Command Deck would be bristling with Garathani warriors, and since Terrans were only allowed supervised access to that deck, she would have to have an escort. Ugh.

  Swallowing a surge of fear, she pulled her suit down and dabbed more vanilla under her arms and in the creases between her legs. Her father had told her it would mask the scent of any pheromones she might emit, so she’d worn it every day at the compound. Fortunately, the steward in the candidates’ mess hall had been as accommodating as possible of their dietary requests and hadn’t batted an eye when she asked for her own bottle of vanilla extract.

  Tugging the suit back up and pulling her jeans on over it, she slipped the nasal spray into her pocket and left behind the gentle snuffle of Portia’s snoring. The biologic pad felt gross against the soles of her feet as she strode down the corridor, but it was either go barefoot or wear the Garathani-issue knee-high boots, which were too hot even without her wool socks.

  Stepping into the tranlift, she turned to face the door as it closed behind her. “Command Deck, please.”

  She didn’t feel any movement but assumed the car was going down. When the door slid open, her path was blocked by an all-too-familiar mountain of flesh.

  Wonderful. Maybe she should just space herself now and get it over with.

  “You again,” she said in a bored tone, noting the insignia on his collar. “Shouldn’t you be out grinding up someone’s bones for bread or something, Sub-lieutenant?”

  “Lieutenant is the proper form of address.”

  She gave him a brittle smile. “I know.”

  Zannen’s flat black eyes raked over her and it was all she could do not to cover her girl parts with her hands. She absolutely hated being without her bra. “What are you doing down here? Copulative candidates aren’t allowed on this level.”

  “I’m not a candidate and you know it,” she said. “Tell Commander Kellen that Jasmine King needs to speak with him at once.”

  “The commander isn’t available. Perhaps you should report to Infirmary Three next week with the rest of the candidates. I understand mate assignments are to resume—”

  “I am not one of the candidates,” she enunciated clearly, “and I do not need to report to Infirmary Three. What I need is to speak to Commander Kellen. Today. Not next week, not tomorrow—today.”

  “As I said, he’s not available.”

  Jasmine ground her teeth in frustration. Maybe she should space him. She’d scoped out a couple of airlocks and knew how they worked. “This is a matter of life and death, Lieutenant.”

  The oaf continued to stare and she fought the urge to fidget. No doubt she looked awful, and not just because the evacuee packages hadn’t included cosmetics. Sleep was even harder to come by on the ship than at the compound, and when she finally did nod off, her wild dreams left her feeling even more exhausted and frantic. She’d dozed for a few minutes yesterday afternoon and dreamed she was running on the Frisco bike trail, basking in her freedom and trembling with the anticipation of hugging her mother again—waking aboard the Heptoral had been such a cruel shock, she’d very nearly burst into tears.

  Just remembering that moment made her eyes and nose prickle, and Jasmine immediately turned away. Screw him. He obviously wasn’t going to lift a finger to help her, and she wasn’t going to stand there and entertain him by bawling like a baby.

  His voice stopped her. “You may proceed to the atrium on Baya Deck. Someone there should be able to help you.”

  She pivoted and stared at him. “Why the change of heart?”

  “You did say it was a matter of life
and death.”

  The gleam in his eye and the smug curve of his lips belied his neutral tone, but at this point she had little choice but to go where the brute sent her.

  “Baya Deck—isn’t access to that level restricted?”

  “I’ll authorize you.”

  “How do I get to the atrium?”

  “Step back.”

  When she did, a three-dimensional schematic of the Heptoral appeared in the air between them. He pointed to the jagged red line marking her route. “Go left from the command center to tranlift three and take it up two levels to Baya Deck. From there, go right to the second intersection and make another right. The atrium is at the end of the corridor.”

  She opened her mouth to issue grudging thanks, but another red line appeared on the schematic, branching away from the first.

  “Mine is the third door on the left in the opposite corridor, if you don’t find what you need in the atrium,” he said, his tone dripping with suggestion.

  “Not if you were the last male in the galaxy,” she replied with a mocking look. Probably not smart to taunt a man she looked squarely in the diaphragm, but her reservoir of sweetness and light was running on empty.

  He raised one dark brow. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen my cock. I’ll wager it’s bigger than the commander’s.”

  “I’ll wager you can’t say the same about your brain,” she snapped. Lord, the last thing she wanted to think about was Garathani cocks, especially his. “But I’ll be sure and tell him you said so.”

  An annoying grin split his big face. “You do that.”

  * * * * *

  Shauss shook his head absently as he looked at the nude figure on the dais. Only Hastion would volunteer to masturbate in front of hundreds of horny warriors.

  “Be careful who you make eye contact with,” he warned, “or someone might take it as an invitation.”

  Hastion’s ice-blue eyes immediately focused on him. “The homosexual mating demonstration hasn’t been scheduled yet, but I’m game if you are.”

  “Bend over then, Ensign.”

  “After you, Lieutenant.”