Savor Me Slowly

Page 7

“When you were hospitalized,” she said, “two more women had already been infected. Since then, six others have been found.”
“Are they still alive?”
“Some of them.”
“You should kill them,” he said, his tone as flat as hers had been earlier.
“Why?”
He liked that she didn’t balk at his callous words and was tempted to answer. Not that he would.
She pushed out a frustrated sigh. “Every single one of them is babbling about Earth being next. Next for what? Do you know?”
“Maybe they’re planning a surprise party for us. If you bring the beer, I’ll bring the wine.”
A murderous yet quiet rage filled her eyes. Her lips thinned. But when she spoke, she was all business, calm and affable. “Listen, I need answers. I can help you, and you can help me.”
“First, why don’t you tell me exactly who you are and who you work for?”
A pause. She ran the pink tip of her tongue over the whiteness of her teeth. “Trust me. You don’t want to meet my current boss.”
“Current” boss. Did that mean she changed bosses frequently?
“We’re on the same side, Jaxon. I swear it.”
“Funny, but I’ve never seen you at A.I.R. headquarters before.”
Her hard stare pinned him, practically blazing all the way to his soul. “You’ve never heard of shadow operatives?”
Yeah, he had. And yeah, she was menacing enough to work in that dark, murky field. After all, she’d stabbed Thomas without a qualm. “Get Jack in here. Or Dallas or Mia. Let me talk to them.”
For a long while she said nothing, simply continued to stare over at him with a decadent mix of green and golden fury blazing from her eyes. Green? Golden? He looked more closely, more intently. Sure enough, one of her contacts had slipped completely and he could see the hazel iris underneath. Hazel, not totally green as he’d supposed.
Pretty.
His cock twitched under the covers, and he frowned. He still desired her? Seriously? She clearly planned to keep him away from his coworkers. She was bloodthirsty, cruel, obviously higher maintenance than even Cathy, and could weave a web of lies without blinking. She’d saved his life, yes, but she’d also attempted to wipe his memories and give him new ones. Worse, feral as she was proving to be, she would probably knife him if he continued to refuse her.
Nope. None of that affected his cock. The little shit was still growing and hardening, still preparing for penetration.
“What the—” Le’Ace stared down at the sheet, her cheeks reddening. Her gaze jerked back to his face. She scowled. “You had better get used to the idea of talking to me,” she snapped. “Neither of us is leaving here until you do.”
Why did he suddenly feel like grinning?
CHAPTER 4
Dallas Gutierrez suffered from headaches. Every day he endured at least three crack-your-skull-against-the-wall, suck-your-brain-out-of-your-ears pounders. Everyone assumed he was still recovering from a pyre-gun injury.
Everyone was wrong.
While lying helpless in a hospital bed, he’d been purposely fed Arcadian blood. Alien blood. That had happened several months ago, but pieces of him were still dying and being reborn Arcadian. Anymore, he wasn’t certain what parts of his humanity remained. If any.
Now he healed faster than an injury could take root. A good thing, yes. He was faster than ever, sometimes slipping into some sort of hyperdrive, unable to slow until his body simply collapsed from fatigue. Not a bad ability, sure. Sometimes he’d speak, issue a command, and people who usually told him to go fuck himself would instantly obey, as if pleasing him were their only reason for living. Another cool little trick.
But sometimes he saw things. Things that hadn’t happened yet. Bad things, horrible things. Things that made him want to throw up blood and tear out his eyes with his fingernails.
Dallas scrubbed a hand down his tired face. Last night, he’d seen something far worse than his previous doomsday visions. He’d seen his friend, Jaxon Tremain, sobbing and begging for his life. Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. God, no. Tears had streamed down Jaxon’s face, agony had gleamed in his eyes, and he’d dropped to his knees.
Seemed innocuous. A man begging. So what. But calm, reserved Jaxon would beg for nothing, not even his own life. So that raised the question: what horrific circumstance had pushed him to that point?
Dallas’s stomach tightened. The image is wrong, has to be. Jaxon hadn’t cried when his arm had nearly been blown off during a gunfight. Hadn’t even cried when his dad died. Yet Dallas’s visions had so far proven one hundred percent infallible. Only thing he didn’t know was if it had already happened or if there was still time to stop it from happening.
“Tell me again what those government officials told you,” he commanded his boss, Jack Pagosa.
Jack sat hunched behind his desk, elbows propped on the surface. He always looked like Santa Claus on ’roids. Thick white beard. Bright red, round cheeks sculpted by milk, cookies, and fried syn-chicken. Wide shoulders and a bowl-full-of-jelly-and-fatty-meat belly. Jack always wore flannel, no matter the occasion. Today’s choice was blue and green, a match to his shrewd eyes.
Dallas had worked with him for over eleven years and trusted him implicitly. The man could have had Mia, Dallas’s partner and best friend, kicked out of A.I.R. when he learned she was half Arcadian, half human and had worked against agents to save her lover. He hadn’t. He’d promoted her.
“Jaxon was abducted by aliens,” Jack said, his voice grim. “Delenseans. He was being held in their version of lockup. He was then rescued by some government operative and is now being treated, deemed critical.”
“Why was he abducted? Ransom? And why can’t we see him, now that he’s been rescued by our fucking government?”
“Don’t know.” Jack’s eyes slid away from Dallas, a tell-tale sign of lying. When he realized what he’d done, he immediately brought his gaze back to Dallas.
What did Jack know?
Before Dallas had a chance to insist on the truth, a knock sounded at the door. Frowning, Jack pressed a button. The office’s only door glided open and Hector Dean, agent and resident prankster, stepped inside.
Every few days, the man shaved his head, intentionally and not as a dare, keeping his scalp to a tanned shine. Both of his arms were sleeved in tattoos and his eyes were golden, like a snake’s.
Despite the rough look, he was a good man. Dallas nodded at him in greeting.
Hector nodded back and said to Jack, “I need to speak with you about a case.”
“Can it wait?”
“How long?” was the irritated response.
“Just—” Jack waved his hand through the air. “Give me five minutes. Good?”
“Make it a quick five minutes.” Hector stepped back and the door closed in front of him automatically.
“What’s that about?” Dallas asked.
“We heard a rumor a group of alien warriors are headed our way.”
Alien warriors were always headed their way, it seemed. “Why can’t we see Jaxon?” Dallas asked again.
Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’ve asked me these questions a thousand times before, Dal. I have the same answers now as I had every other time. I suppose they’ve got him quarantined in case his captor’s exposed him to something toxic.”
“That’s bullshit.” Dallas slammed a fist against his knee. His leg wanted to jerk in reflex, but he held it steady, pressing his heel into the tiled floor. “Even in quarantine, we should be able to suit up and see him. Look into his room, at the very least. They won’t even tell us where he’s being held.”
“True, but there’s nothing we can do about it. Look, they had me call a temporary number, okay? He probably doesn’t even remember, but I talked to him and he sounded drugged out of his mind. I asked him for answers, and he refused to give them. Now those damn officials won’t let me tell him hello. Said I made things worse.”
“Something’s going on here, Jack. Something more than they’re telling us.” Something more than you’re telling me.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “Probably. But again, the reins of control aren’t ours, so our hands are tied. He’s safe. He’s being cared for. You have to accept that and drop it.”
“Drop it?” Hardly. “He’s been missing for four weeks. Four fucking weeks! None of us have been allowed to see him. If he’s quarantined, fine. I’ll bow on that point and won’t ask to see him again. But why won’t they let me call him? He’s like a brother to me.”
“I don’t know, okay? I just don’t know.” Jack’s stare was hard, angry.
Dallas slinked back in his seat, extending the long length of his legs. He rubbed two fingers over his jaw, considering his next options. He didn’t want to use his new abilities on Jack. Didn’t want to use them on anyone, really. Hell, Dallas didn’t even know if he could. Not intentionally. They came and went of their own accord, leaving chaos in their wake.
Besides, to try and use them was to give over to his alien side. The dark side, he thought dryly. Did he really want to do that?
He didn’t have to think about it. Yeah. For Jaxon, he would do anything.
Since the shooting, not many people wanted to hang with Dallas. Most feared him, kept their distance. He’d changed, he knew it, but there was nothing he could do about it. Only Mia, Jack, and Jaxon treated him the same as they always had. Jaxon was honorable, a better man than Dallas, and deserved all the help Dallas could give. If Dallas had to dabble in the dark arts, he’d dabble in the dark arts. And there was no better time than the present.
Concentrate. He closed his eyes, drew in a slow breath.
Jack snorted. “Taking a nap, Gutierrez? That’s not what I pay you for.”
He didn’t open his eyes. “I need a moment to think.”
“Think at your desk.”
“Jack,” he growled.
There was a pause. A sigh. “Fine. Whatever.” Papers shuffled, a cabinet rolled open. “Sometimes you’re a pain in my ass,” Jack muttered. “I should kick you into next week.”
Dallas tuned out the background noise and reached deep inside himself, not stopping until he found the shadowy corner where he’d tried to bury each of his new abilities.
They swirled and churned, bright lights in a world of black. He didn’t know which was which, didn’t know which to unleash. If he accidentally kicked into hyperspeed, Jack would not be able to see or hear him, so he’d be of no use to Jaxon.
You aren’t alien, a tiny voice spoke up. You arrest and slaughter otherworlders for doing this. It’s against the law. He quickly squashed the voice. For Jaxon, he reminded himself. Anything.
Jaxon would do no less for him.
Not knowing what else to do or how to choose, Dallas simply cut the tether restraining all of the lights. Immediately they shot through him, pinging from one corner to another and heating his blood to boiling. His muscles spasmed painfully, forcing a groan from his clenched teeth.
“Dallas? You okay, man? Listen, I know you’ve been having a hard time since the accident. You’ve lost Mia to the training camp, Jaxon to rogue aliens, and the other agents are leery of you. I know that has to hurt. Your eyes changed from brown to blue in a single night, man. That freaked them out a little. Give them time. They’ll forget soon enough and maybe start to believe you used to wear contacts.”
Every bone in Dallas’s body seemed to expand, stretching his skin tightly.
Jack continued, unaware. “Hell, I might even start to believe it. God knows you won’t talk about the truth and that’s fine. I don’t need it. You’re a good agent, one of my best. You’ve never let me down. I trust you. So trust me on this, okay? Drop the quest for answers about Jaxon. He’ll return to us soon enough.”
Dallas’s throat was constricting, grabbing every breath that tried to enter or escape and holding tight, choking the life out of him. His ears rang, a banshee’s wail.
“I’ve hired a new girl,” Jack continued, still oblivious to the pain surging through Dallas. “Macy Brigs. I think you’ll like her. Not as sassy as Mia, but—what’s wrong with you?”
I’m on fire. I’m going to die in a burst of flames. Breathe, he needed to breathe.
Dallas’s eyelids popped.
He was still sitting in the chair, still visible, which meant he hadn’t kicked into hyperdrive. The spasms suddenly eased, and his muscles relaxed. His throat finally opened, and he sucked in a gulp of air.
Thank God the flames ebbed to a crackle.
Jack’s lips parted on a gasp. “Your eyes…they’re glowing.”
He’d succeeded. He knew it, felt the power deep inside. “Bark like a robodog.” His voice was layered with threads of energy that thickened the air. He could feel the pulse of it, the hum.
“Arrf, arrf.” No hesitation from Jack, no snorting or laughing or asking why.
Not even as a joke would serious Jack usually have done such a thing. Yes, Dallas had done it. He should have been ecstatic, but it was a hollow victory.
“Jack, you will tell me everything you’ve been ordered not to tell about Jaxon.” Wait. A good agent knew to cover his tracks. “And once you’ve spoken of it, you’ll forget what you told me in this office.”
Jack stilled, his breathing slowed. His turquoise eyes glazed over, as if he’d been pumped full of drugs or hypnotized. Then, he began talking. He told of a new alien species, of a virus and infected women. He told of a race between otherworlders and humans to capture the men responsible, for otherworlders could use the virus to destroy humankind.