LUST PLAGUE

The Steamwork Chronicles 2

Cari Silverwood

www.loose-id.com

The Steamwork Chronicles 2: Lust Plague

Copyright © March 2012 by Cari Silverwood

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

eISBN 978-1-61118-802-8

Editor: Crystal Esau

Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

* * * *

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Dedication

To my wonderful beta readers Riane Holt, Leia Shaw, and Cherise Sinclair (who tortured me and made me redo the entire ending).

Author’s Note

This book sits firmly in the fantasy genre and therefore liberties have been taken with what is considered safe, sane, and consensual BDSM protocol. Be aware that this book skirts the edge of sanity many times.

Chapter One

Kaysana strode along the riveted steel and timber passageway, adjusting the fit of her cap as she went so the hair stick in her bun wasn’t in the way. She did up the button on the mandarin collar of her jacket. Beneath the navy uniform was her one allowance for femininity—a fiery red bustier with matching panties. Female commanders were as rare as dragon’s teeth in the GAM Air Fleet. Most citizens of the Greater Asian Monarchy thought a woman was best kept in the home to cook rice and raise children.

The radiophony transmission had been cut off. Damn atmospheric fluctuations. She ran through the message in her head.

Attention Captain Kaysana Onomi of the airship Art of War. Stand by for authorization of mission launch to destroy suspected PME device at Perihelion.

A month of devastation and the deaths and madness of thousands and now she had to wait while someone dithered? Still, orders were orders. She’d check on the mercenaries and then see if the radiophony operator had more information.

The young ship’s librarian, Emily Winterborne, started as Kaysana passed her. Something twittered from inside her cupped palms. She smiled at Emily. Pets were against regulations, but everyone had their foibles. The bird fluttered loose. One wing blue, the other red, the body yellow, like a patchwork quilt. A frankenstruct bird of cloned, reassembled parts. Likely a rejected experiment. Typical Emily—a sucker for anything tragic.

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t see it, Emily. Just make sure that in future I really don’t see it.”

Mouth an O, her eyes fixed wide, Emily nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

The petty terror in Emily’s face made her feel like she’d just stepped on a child’s toy. Ugh. Being the nasty wolf was the worst part of command.

First Lieutenant Ling met her as she turned into the gymnasium, and marched with her toward the knot of men gathered around the exercise equipment. Despite the raised heels of her shoes, Ling towered over her by a foot.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

She nodded curtly. Pleasantries could wait.

These mercs were as welcome as an army of rats on board the Art of War. Kaysana put hands on hips and had to hold herself back from spitting. Instead she pressed her lips tight and flat. Since frankenstructs were supposedly likely to be resistant to this Zombie F plague, this squad had been put together. Any one of them looked tough enough to pull a landship.

One man leaning against the rope-web wall caught her eye due to his extreme height. The skinning knife being used to clean his nails gleamed. He grinned at her, revealing a tooth with a gem set into it. She recalled his name from the list—Honder.

Only one missing, he of the rugged good looks: Sten, the smart-mouthed one. Frankenstructs, with all their weird way of coming into the world, mightn’t be her favorite people, but they were legal citizens nowadays. She’d handle this, just like she did anything unsavory.

Something shifted on their faces, and for an ugly second, they gazed at her, looking her up and down, like she was a whore…pure filth-laden lust. Alarm bells rang in her head.

“Ling.” Kaysana took one step back before swiveling on her heel and drawing Ling with her as she retreated halfway to the door.

A slight tardiness and a faltering in his step bothered her. But no. She let out her breath. Intelligence gleamed in his eyes, not the blankness mixed with desire she'd seen in the others.

The gym door swung open as she spoke in a low, urgent voice.

“I want the sergeant at arms in here ASAP with a squad. As quietly as possible, get these men, all of them, to the brig. I think I see early signs of Zombie F. And I want this ship ten miles back into the exclusion zone as fast as you can whistle.”

Ling slid his tongue across his lip, held up his shaking hand, and stared at it.

“Calm, Lieutenant.”

The room rippled, hazed. Something sucked all the air from her chest. She staggered. Queer sensations hummed up and down her body. Sound squeezed down to a squeak. Lieutenant Ling spoke, but no words reached her. His face altered. Muscles tightened. His eyes widened—the pupils sparked from brown to flickering orange.

Oh gods, a raised man. Zombie F had hit the ship for sure. And she was in the midst. But I’m still thinking. It hasn’t got me. Oh thankGodthankGod. Got to get out of here.

She went to run, but Ling grabbed her left forearm with fingers that bit down so hard her muscles seared with agony. The room steadied. He grinned.

“Ahh. Now I have you.” The voice was not his—gut-wrenching in depth and malevolent.

No! She jerked, tried to yank her arm free. Someone staggered past—Emily, one hand at her forehead. Was she affected too? They said it was near instantaneous when you hit a pocket. But surely outside the door, some of her crew must be sane. She just had to reach that door.

“Release me, Lieutenant.” Command came easy. Her crew would rather face a monster than defy her, yet he didn’t let go.

His smile widened. “Never.”

While she struggled with Ling, the mercs advanced, uncoordinated, bumping into each other, as if their minds had gone on holidays. At least they weren’t raised. Eight of them. None had weapons drawn except for Honder, but the way they stared with implacable eyes, the lust, sent cold shudders down her spine. “Emily!”

The dazed young woman, who stood a few steps nearer the advancing men, looked up and saw them. She froze, then raised her hand to her mouth.

The woman could think. Please, Emily, run. You’re alive, uninfected. Run, girl! Does the woman have any sense? “Get out of here! Run!”

Ling wouldn’t let her go? Fine. The tragedy of what she had to do squirmed in her mind like a maggot. Damn this. Damn everything. This was a good man. She jammed her palm onto the pistol’s butt, jerked it free of the holster, and hesitated. The pistol’s blue-steel barrel wavered under her trembling hand.

Shooting him was… Frick. Don’t think; do.

She yanked the trigger, blasted a gauss round into Ling’s abdomen. The blue charge spiraled out with energetic fizz. The magnetized bullet burrowed and sizzled into him, then spun out the other side in a mist of burgundy gore. Ling crumpled.

Flesh and blood always lost out to a gauss pistol.

“Sorry,” she gasped.

With no time for real grief, she clamped down on the tsunami of feelings that threatened to swamp her. Dammit, the man’s twitching corpse wouldn’t let go of her arm. Too heavy to drag. She wasted seconds trying to pry off his digits before she gave up and turned.

Methodically she shot the merc who reached for Emily. One.

Emily screamed and sprinted for the door, flying past Kaysana, mouth gaping, her blonde pigtails flailing.

Two. The butt kicked into her palm. With a ’lectric-laden spit and fizz, another man dropped. Three rounds left. How did you shoot six madmen with three charges? And now they came for her, syrup slow—not normal, not by a long shot. Slow was good, though.

“Decisions decisions,” she murmured, and all the while, her heart pounded away as if someone inside her were dying to get out.

Three. Four. Five. Empty. How fast could she reload?

Mouth dry, fear kicking in, backing away as much as she could with Ling latched on like an anchor, she ripped a recharge pack for the pistol from her belt. Damn damn damn. Three men left. Hands reached for her. She kicked Honder in the testicles, smiled as he grunted and dropped back. Something clutched, wrenched at her ankle. The world whipped up and hit her, hard, in the back of the head with a thump. Her ears sang in painful harmony.

On the floor with hands, growling faces, hot breath. Skin stung as fingers clawed at her, clothes tore, but through it all the worst was Ling’s face heaving into view, inches away. You should be dead!

“This time”—Ling’s eyebrows tilted slightly as if she were a curiosity—“stay still.”

She screamed and tried to punch, but her limbs were pinned to the decking, bruised by overwhelming weight. Like ants on fresh meat, they climbed on her and began to unwrap their meal. Oh God. Zombie F made men do one of two things—rape or murder, and raised men were prone to torturing first.

Her outer clothes were stripped away. Ling directed the men to heave her upright and tie her spread-eagled to the rope wall. Then they retreated and Ling returned. As he approached with a bared knife, she pressed back into the rope grid, but he only cut the sides of her panties.

“Ling,” she croaked, then licked her lips, trying not to stare at the dripping hole in his stomach. “Stop. You’re inside there somewhere. Talk to me, man. This is madness.”

He paused, the panties bunched in his fist, then cocked his head. “He’s not in here. Never will be.” He smiled. “Not madness. This is fun.”

He can still talk. While his higher faculties still chugged along, she could maybe delay him…and pray for rescue.

“Yes.” With a nonchalant twist of his wrist, he swung her panties round and round his finger. “Fun.” He giggled.

She forced herself past the fear. “Who’s inside there? Mr. Ling?”

“No. Me. And you know, I can hear voices? They tell me things to do to you.”

“Voices?”

Whatever was at the center of this plague was high in the mountains, and the frankenstructs were supposed to deal with it? Foul terror and dismay leached deep into her flesh. This mission is doomed. The world is.

She forced a harsh laugh from her throat. “Poor you.”

His eyes shone bright. His teeth showed.

She quailed inside. Bad taunt, Kaysana.

With finger and thumb, he gripped her chin, jammed her cheeks onto her teeth, forced open her mouth. He stuffed in the panties, then wound a rope about her face and knotted it, tight. “Be silent while we play.”

Kaysana blinked moisture from her eyes and fought down rising panic. There’s always a way out. Always. Her thoughts faltered as she surveyed the three men waiting behind him. Except for now.

Held in an X position, with her weight dragging at wrists and ankles, she cringed as Ling tented up the fabric of her bustier, inserted the knife tip, and cut away circles of cloth from over her nipples. Here and there, pain spiked when the knife tip hit skin. She bit down on the rope between her lips, clamped her teeth tighter with each stinging nick. When she gasped, air hissed cool over the saliva-moist rope.

He laid the cold metal flat across one bared areola. “I have something for these.” Like some evil magic trick, he opened a hand to display a bundle of thin wiring with a clip at one end.

No. Fear wriggled inside her, cold and treacherous. Those clips had teeth.

Keeping his eyes centered on hers, Ling found her nipple and pulled it out from her body until her skin ached.

Through the rope gag, the word no came out in a high-pitched squeak.

The clip closed on her nipple. Pain scorched into flesh. She pulled back, and the pain seared higher, hotter. No escape. Struggling tore at her skin. Keep still. Still! Ride it out. Tears poured down her cheeks. She gasped in rapid grunts.

“Nice?” he whispered inches from her ear. She shook her head, or tried to, for he clutched her earlobe. “Look at those men, waiting.”

Fearing what she might see, she looked, though tears of agony blurred her vision. They watched her, displayed here like some sacrifice.

“See how ready they are for you?” He stroked her neck. “See?”

Still panting, she shook her head in denial. The bulges at the groins of the men swept a tide of ice through her. No. Never wanted this. Never.

A metallic taste coated her tongue. Frantic desire swirled in. What’s happening to me? I don’t…I don’t want this.

I have it too. Zombie F. Through the fuzziness invading her head, she recognized the symptoms.

Then he offered the end of the wire, and Honder stepped forward, took the wire in his fist, and pulled it to him, unrolling it as he stepped away, one yard, two. She arched her back to fight the pain, to stop her nipple from being pulled out like taffy. The wire shivered, tight as a mooring line, running from her breast to his hand. He smiled at her, the gem gleaming in his teeth.

God. No.

“They want to kill you after.” Ling dangled another wire and clip before her. She squeezed shut her eyes, then opened them again, unwilling to surrender awareness.

Inhibitions ripped away.

Lust stormed, molten and turbulent, through her veins. Whiplash quick, the room widened, shimmied. She felt the need of every man there. Wetness seeped between her legs.

No. No. No. I don’t want this!

Ling grasped her clit with finger and thumb and positioned the next clip over it, ready to bite down.

Chapter Two

The launch bay rippled around Sten. Strange, he’d not had a drop of beer or any of the awful stuff they drank on board. What did they call it? Rice wine? He shifted. The lotus position didn’t suit his double-muscled thighs. He ignored the discomfort like he did every morning. Focus. The anger, his fuck-awful anger, was there as always. Controlling himself was an art, a skill, a habit, and he never wanted to shatter it again. Control led to serenity. Loss of control led to chaos.

Enough dead haunted him. Sten grunted, shook his head in disgust.

He’d rather be in the mountains, alone, with the world far away, than doing the air fleet’s bidding. Frankenstruct had equaled soldier-slave in the PME. Fifteen years a fucking slave for the Pancontinental Mexican Empire until he escaped, and then two months later and this Freedom Act comes through. But he’d seen the plague go from some isolated lunatic event in a small mountainous area to a nation-gobbling disaster. This was world threatening. If they thought they needed him, so be it.

He flexed his arms, heard the crackle of joints, and got up from the cold timber floor, rattling the sword on his left hip. Time to find the squad. He was late for the meeting decreed by the hail almighty Captain Kaysana—the almightily good-looking captain with the pretty body under her uniform. He mightn’t like meetings, or being on time, but he sure did like eye candy. Maybe if he eyed her like she was some kind of lollipop, he’d get a snippy reply. He grinned at the prospect of a verbal tussle with her.

She’d thought he was dumb until he gave back as good as she threw at him.

He whistled. His wolf, Cadrach, trotted over from where he’d been sniffing at an oil can.

“Good boy.”

After a small jerk to overcome friction, the revolving shotgun slung at his back slipped out, then back into the leather holster with ease. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the scars on his back catch on the cotton fabric of his shirt.

Still—he scrubbed at the stubble on his chin before letting out a hearty burp—he was alive. Always a plus.

He set off toward the doors leading inside.

Sten looked back at the line of battle-ready gyrocopters. Silver, gold, and black with a touch of red on the double-tiered blades above their semi-open cockpits. Pretty, and he could fly most of them, pull ’em apart, put ’em back together. It was a good skill. One that had gained him nonviolent work on occasion.

Where was everybody? While he’d meditated, it seemed the entire ship’s crew staffing the launch area had vamoosed. He pushed through the doors and halted, frowned. Found four of them, anyway.

“Stay, Cadrach.” No point in getting him hurt. The whole ship was likely affected.

A heaving, naked body pile, sprouting limbs and heads, wriggled and writhed on the floor a few yards away. One woman, three men, all nude—or mostly. Discarded clothes lay all around.

Zombie F. Early form. No one was coming at his throat. He let out a long, calming breath and ran through what he’d been told. If you were in the middle of it, you got it or you didn’t. No one knew how it transmitted. And his squad was in there. The captain too. A lot of others who might need help. Maybe fighting off some of the more badass zombies.

Keep going.

“Pardon me.” He slipped his shotgun free, stepped over a limb sticking out from the pile, then adjusted his weapons, and his trousers, before moving on. The aura of lust was so thick in here his cock felt hard enough to dent steel.

Walking slow and careful, he turned right toward the gym, where the squad should be. No signs of shooting yet.

On the way, he directed two normal women toward the launch deck. If worst came to worst, they could evacuate on a gyro.

With the gymnasium doors in sight, he found a young blonde-haired woman struggling in the corridor with four zombified men. Their slack faces, empty eyes, and devotion to lust gave them away. For a millisecond, sadness swamped him. None of them would ever be people again.

The world would be so messed up if this thing took over. He let a hint of anger through.

“This ain’t right.” He reached for one man, thumped his head, let him go, grabbed another’s arm. Shivered at the fury burning up his veins. Ice, man, ice. Killing might be expected, but he just plain couldn’t do it. Do not throw him toward the metal spigot. He could see the guy’s head caving in if he hit that.

Aim corrected, Sten threw him at the wall, then stared at his hands, clenched them in tight. The pain steadied him.

At least he got to do something. With his blood fizzing in his veins the way it was, hitting somebody felt good.

Huh, she was kissing the last of ’em. What the…? Was she affected or not? He wrenched away the last man and clobbered him too. The woman flicked back her pigtails and looked at him wild-eyed, then leaned against the wall, panting, breasts heaving, hands at her mouth. Only her pale blue eyes showed.

Ground-up zombie, saliva, semen—none of those had caused infection, and the scientists hadn’t pinned down how it was communicated. She seemed normal.

“You okay?” He shoved one of the moaning unconscious men farther away with his boot—sending him sliding across the polished timber floor. “You like kissing zombies?”

“Yes. Um. No, I don’t like that! Oh dear. I feel odd.” Looking bewildered, she took her hands away from her face and peered wistfully down at the man she’d been kissing. She shrugged. “The…the captain. She’s in there. I’m sure I heard her scream. Please, can you help her?”

Me, the savior. Heh. He liked the notion of championing the underdog. Thing was—did the captain count as an underdog?

Was it possible to be half infected? He checked the woman over. Her brain seemed to be mostly functioning.

“I’ll try, miss. Head for the launch deck. I sent others there. Grab a pistol.” He gestured. The floor was strewn with abandoned weapon belts. “You can shoot?”

“Yes. Thank you! I’m Emily,” she called as he shoved open the doors and looked in.

“Sure. Nice to meet you, Emily,” he muttered, then blinked and took in the scene.

Like some erotic spiderweb, the woman fastened to the rope wall sprouted wire. Each line from breast, groin, and skin, led to the hand of a zombie. Least they all had their pants on. Seemed like they’d strung her up but little else. But was she infected? If she was, he’d have to abandon her. God, that notion hurt.

The tall GAM lieutenant had orange-fire eyes. Shiny eyes and one helluva evil grin. He rummaged through the facts about Zombie F again.

This man was some special zombie, but what was the label? One thing the PME had taught him was to take out the officers first in a fight. A lieutenant with fire in his eyes had to trump a plain one.

“Hi there, Mr. Lieutenant!” As he strolled closer, he sheathed the shotgun, draped his left hand on the pommel of his sword. Shoot in this crowd and the captain would likely get hurt.

Kaysana’s eyes had rolled back in their sockets. She breathed in and out full throttle through a gag. Uneven tremors quaked her body. For a few long seconds, he examined her. Though her wrists and ankles were secured, her back arched forward, forced into a curve by the pull of the wire on the clips fastened to her.

Seeing her like this sent lust howling through him. How twisted am I? He wrenched his gaze away.

But is she a zombie?

Everyone had paused to stare at him.

Four. If he was lucky, maybe they’d all be as brain-dead as those in the passageways.

“Ah shite.” He took a last stride to draw level with the fine wires—hoping like mad they were soft copper—and drew his sword with a neat flourish, ending with a high stance.

Blank stares met him.

“Welcome.” The lieutenant’s voice growled in a tone deep enough to plow furrows in the earth. Eyes brightening, he lunged for Sten.

Sten hefted the sword higher, carved the sword down in an arc that sliced the soft wires first, then through the lieutenant’s wrist. He spun, boots sliding, cut through the rope wall on one side, sending Kaysana swinging, then the other, freeing her. She thumped to the floor, her body wreathed in rope and wire.

A fine crescent of blood fell. The lieutenant screeched, staring at his severed hand flopping about on the floor.

Inches from Sten’s nose, a drop of dark blood meandered down the vertical length of sword. “Looks like you’re not immune to steel.” What the hell was it these guys were called? Upper men?

“You can’t stop me.” The man grasped his wrist stump. The bleeding slowed, then stopped, as if a faucet had been turned off. “I’m the right hand of God.”

Sten inclined his head, pointing. “Left, now, Mr. Zombie. Right’s gone.”

Like shop dummies creaking slowly to life, the other men moved in.

“You challenge me?” The lieutenant’s left arm rose.

Sten kicked him in the chest with a nice thud of boot heel on flesh. Mr. Zombie skidded ten feet and whacked into a stack of metal weights.

Departure time.

He sheathed the sword, knelt and scooped up the woman, ropes and all, then took off at a jog for the exit. Given a few minutes, the lieutenant might perk up again, and he didn’t fancy a rematch.

Shoulda blasted off his head. His inner raw self liked to see blood, guts, and killing. Well hang it all, his self could take a hike. He didn’t kill anymore unless he was really really pushed. No zomb was going to make him kill it. These once were men.

Never again, though.

The three zombies growled but barely moved any quicker. A tortoise could win a race against them.

“Our power grows as you approach the center,” screeched the lieutenant.

“Fuck off,” Sten muttered.

The soft, naked weight of Kaysana across his shoulder and the smell of her sweat and body tantalized him. He jogged on.

He eyed the plump bottom a few inches from his mouth. No, bad idea.

Chapter Three

The whirling above flickered dark, light, dark, light. Thunder accompanied her. An engine? Kaysana shut her eyes, drifted away to the throb of her body, as if every cell inside her pined for something indefinable.

She surfaced again, blinked away grit, groaned. Something plucked at her wrists, then at her ankles.

“You awake?” A gruff voice. Not one she recognized. More blinking turned the blurred mess in front of her into a man. Tall, bulky, arms like, like—she blinked again—darn, big. Where’d she seen a man like that before? Black shirt and leather coat and brown leather trousers with a craggy face that said he’d lived. Gold wolf stud earring. Sten. He’d rescued her.

Her sex flared with an ache so strong she barely understood it. Wetness surged between her legs. She saw herself impaled on him…curving back, breasts upthrust.

What’s wrong with me?

Fear surfaced. She shoved the visions, the feelings, away. No. Never ever did she let her body rule her mind. The law, she followed the law, always.

Under her back, rope crisscrossed and something hard, maybe rocks, poked at her, though some sort of cloth was between her and the earth. The sky above was blue, cloudless. Blink again. Half a mile away, she spotted her airship.

“I’m awake, yes,” she croaked.

On her ship, she’d been screaming. Flashes came to her—the bite of clamps on her nipples, men watching, avid, their mouths open as if they swallowed her cries of pleasure… She remembered the hot, near-orgasmic flood of desire. Why, though? What the hell happened? I can think. I’m still me. Zombie F? Can’t be.

Her rescuer put his hand at her naked shoulder. Even that made her jump and suck in a breath.

“I have to take this last one off. Might sting.” Above the clamp on her left nipple, Sten poised finger and thumb.

The attached wire trailed across her breast. The pain bothered her little. His hand, though—broad fingers, man’s fingers, what they might do to her. She imagined him touching her cleft, sliding in. Her pussy spasmed and she bit her lip. What the… This is so wrong.

“Wait!” She struggled to get her arms under her, to get some distance between her and Sten. “Don’t touch—”

Understanding flared in his eyes, and for a millisecond, there was something else.

“No? Why not? You need that off.” Before she could react, he’d sat next to her and hauled her over his leg to sit between his knees.

“Because—” With his arm across her middle, he kept her there. Wriggling made him hold tighter. She seethed, wriggled again, subsided. Damn him. “Because—”

Being enclosed like she was, by a man, a hard, muscular man, sent everything whirling. And, out of all the men it might have been…Sten. From the moment he stepped aboard ship, she’d watched him. Suddenly nothing in her head seemed to work right anymore. Her thoughts, her emotions, her tongue were weighed down and drowning in warm jelly.

“Because you’re a frigging frankenstruct. Let go!” The words spewed out, and like a balloon accidentally released to the sky, she clutched at the tail end, knew the terrible error she’d made. She gulped. Why’d I say that? Awful, awful thing to say…

Yet his only reaction was to rest his cheek against her hair and say quietly, “Oh? I thought as much. Leave this on and your nipple’s gonna fall off. How about while I do this, to distract yourself, you tell me what happened up there?”

He put his hand back where it had been.

Fascinated by the sight of his fingers so close to her breast, she licked her lips.

“Wait.” Grabbing his wrist seemed as likely to work as telling an avalanche to stop, but she tried.

As his fingers nudged the clamp, she gripped him tighter, realizing too late what her body would do. Pulse pulse. The finger and thumb pressed, released the clamp. All the sensations from the last few hours surged to life. Hot blood needled through her; white shards splintered. Her back arched, mouth open, neck curved—she gasped and shuddered as she came.

When she opened her eyes, Sten’s face was there in shadow above her, blocking out the sky, and she’d fallen sideways onto his thigh. She squinted, licked parched lips. The still-golden blade of a gyrocopter cut across the sky to the left of his head. A swallow flitted past.

“Damn,” she whispered.

“Why?”

His rough voice alone sent tremors through her. Through his clothes, his erection nudged at her bottom. This was intolerable.

“Why? Because I just—”

“Came? I figured that.” His hand cradled her head. His thumb brushed at her earlobe.

She shuddered again, swallowed. Whatever was she doing staring up into his blue eyes? Yet…nothing seemed more important. His face was unusual—heavy cheekbones, wide nose, big deep-sea-colored eyes, every feature laid out large, like a face drawn in broad strokes. Strange how much he appealed to her. Those lips, she envisioned them crushing hers, taking.

No. This wasn’t right. Yet…something had changed. Had the zombie virus flipped some switch inside her? She felt what she shouldn’t. And even if, right now, she couldn’t figure how to unswitch it, she would. She damn well would.

“I think I might have Zombie F.”

The coolness at crotch and breast reminded her of how Ling had cut away her panties and sliced holes in her bodice. Where were her hands? She moved them to cover her breasts and crotch. Ugh. More problems. Sten didn’t seem inclined to release her despite her revelations. What’s wrong with the man?

“Did you hear? And, um, clothes. Have you something I can wear?”

He stroked his chin. “Clothes? You sure you have the virus? You’re talking. And you’re not one of them überzombs. No orange eyes.”

For a few seconds, his words seemed to echo in her head.

“Überzombs? You mean raised men?”

“Whatever. Like that guy on your ship. Neither of us is a zombie.”

We aren’t? Relief sliced through her.

The movement of his mouth fascinated her. She half closed her eyes. Off balance, she felt herself awakening to desire again and tried to fight it. Was he looking at her body? She fumbled, repositioned her hands. She had to get away from this man. “My lieutenant? Ling? He went mad. My crew—”

“Were rutting their brains out. Having fun. Doing what comes naturally, I suppose, when inhibitions are removed. There’s nothing more you can do for them.” His thumb stroked her ear, swept an electric thrill through her body. She opened her mouth the smallest distance. Cool air wafted across her tongue, lips. More, please.

No. People are up there. My people. By the equivalent of gritting her teeth and running through a multiplication chart in her head—the square root of one hundred and forty-four is twelve—she put a brake on those chaotic feelings.

With a calculated look, as if he watched the minutiae of changes on her face, Sten resumed caressing her ear. “You know why I was there, on your ship? We have history.”

His words were confetti on the wind, blown away and gone. She couldn’t resist turning into the caress, closing her eyes. So sensuous, like a hot sigh owning her body.

“You like that, Kaysana?”

“Mmm. No.” But it was really a yes. He remembers me? From where? As the massage continued, her thoughts slowed as if swimming through warm syrup.

“I was on your ship firstly because they told me I was needed. And second, because you were there. When the PME announced all frankenstructs were free, yours was the ship I took to get out of the country. I remembered you.”

She stared up at him, watched as he lowered himself—those blue eyes coming nearer, growing bigger. I should move. His fingers played with her ear, and it was so damn mesmerizing.

Then his lips pressed onto hers. Soft, insistent, yet with so much maleness embodied in this simple touch she couldn’t help groaning into his mouth. The light, feathering way he idly moved her lips with his, licked her, or gave a small teasing nip sent a searing message from her mouth to her clit. Unable to resist, she put her arms around his chest, answered his kiss. When she tried to pull him closer, he stopped and looked down at her.

“Do you like that?”

That same question.

Truth fought with the lie waiting on her tongue. “N… Yes.”

“See. The way I look at this, we can give in to how we feel right now. Or not. And that would seem a waste.”

He cupped her sex with his hand. She arched into it, gasping as he slid one finger along her slit, then slowly pushed between her labia and inside her.

“I can stop.” He searched her face. “But you know what would really please me? Making you want me enough to beg. That would just make my goddamned day. I’m easily pleased.” The intensity in his eyes said the opposite.

Beg? Never. She blinked, went to say the words…

In and out slid his finger, dragging her juices with it. The moisture slicked her pussy—some trickled down her slit, cooling on her ass. Her eyelids glided shut. The sound his finger made, this proof of her desire, made her want more—more inside her, more faster, more deeper, more everything.

“Beg, Kaysana.”

Sten. The name returned. She snapped open her eyes. Frankenstruct. What am I doing? Mortified, she met his gaze. He stared back, determined, full of the knowledge of what he was doing to her. Thick, slow, he moved his fingers. Wetness squished. Her vagina ached and squeezed around him.

Beg? No. Never. Even though her body screamed, yes!

She scrabbled for purchase, hands slipping on the blanket beneath. Her palms scraped across dirt and leaves. “I have to go. Let me up. This is hardly—”

“Proper? Maybe not. But I like it. So do you. You want me.” Said flatly, like he had no doubt. “I can see it. Like I also see this.” He shifted above her, added a third finger, rammed in, fast, hard, stretching her, hitting some place high that jolted her in an exquisite way.

Unable to resist, she collapsed down, neck tilting back, gasping.

“Mmm. Uh.” She grabbed wildly at his biceps, dented his skin with her fingers.

But. He’s frankenstruct. I mustn’t.

Torn between two desires, she pushed with her feet, trying to shove herself away from him. All the while, he pumped into her, and each new thrust flowered sensations within, farther, higher, tighter until her body wrapped around that rhythmic penetration. She shoved with her feet again. He followed her.

Cornered. Confused. Her ragged breaths, her frantic, hammering heartbeats betrayed the turmoil in her soul.

“Yes? Or no?”

White-hot desire met her fears and doubts and flamed them into a molten puddle. Her fingers pressed so hard onto his muscles, they hurt.

Her determination broke and fell away. “Yes!” she choked out.

“Say please.” His fingers swirled, rubbed up and down on that wonderful spot.

“Please!”

“Good.” He sucked out those fingers, and for a second, she could breathe, could think again…except he gathered up her wrists and a piece of rope.

“Wait.”

So easily he took her hands above her head, tied them. Leaves rustled as he linked the rope to something. His strength dwarfed hers. Resisting was like holding back a mountain.

“Wait!”

“Stop? Now?” He sat back on his heels, parted her thighs with his big hands, and studied the juncture of her legs. Seeing how he looked at her sent a fresh tide of moisture seeping out and trickling along her slit. She tried to slow her breathing, but her entrance clenched as if he’d brushed her with a finger. One side of his mouth curved up. “Damn. I don’t think so. No.”

His shaggy, sun-bleached hair dangled across his face and he pulled a strand from his eye. Methodically he took another piece of cut rope and tied his mane back into a rough ponytail. The rolling shift of muscle awed her. Then he settled his warm palms on the tops of her thighs, thumbs down and close to where she wanted them, and inched them inward. She whimpered, embarrassed, humiliated yet so hot. Legs quivering, she struggled not to push her groin at him.

“You want me, well, you’ve got me.” He laid three thin wires across her stomach.

Oh no. No.

The first clamp went onto her clitoris, and she came, screaming, from that alone. When the second and third bit her nipples, her mind was still fogged from orgasm. He pegged those wires to the ground on each side of her. Mute, panting, uncomprehending, she watched him kneel. Shock hit at the first wet lick of his tongue across her clit where it poked up between the clamp. Every muscle in her body stiffened. The sapling behind her creaked as her arms strained and the rope pulled taut. Breathing stopped. Thoughts froze.

The licking went on and on. Excruciating yet divine, building up to a level where her body hummed with tension. She’d thought the wire gone from the clamp attached to her clit, but something tugged on it. He’d pulled it tight as fishing line, down into the earth between her legs. Hands, nipples, clit all strung. With those little teeth, he controlled her. She wanted to writhe, couldn’t. Heels digging into grass, fists clenched on rope. One final scorching path of tongue across her willing flesh, and she cried out and plummeted into blazing ecstasy.

Alight with pleasure in a way she’d never experienced before and finding her eyelids welded shut, Kaysana slowly shuddered back into normality.

She opened her eyes, found him there, waiting, watching, kneeling above with his arms propped on either side of her chest. Her tongue probed and traced the soft inside of her lower lip. Words refused to arrive.

He reached and undid the clamp that held her clit.

Gah. The casual release scorched her. In that moment, she was his.

A smile touched his lips. “Never ever thought I’d enjoy seeing a woman come so much.”

He bent and kissed her stomach. His mouth marked a path with little kisses up between her breasts, across the bodice to her throat, where he bit. Her eyes hooded. She hated his sort, acknowledged the fact, and wanted him so bad. The scent of him was as potent as the roughest liquor to her senses.

“Don’t,” she managed. The word, half glued to her tongue, came out mangled.

“Don’t?” This time he brushed her lips with his, drew back, said firmly, “Too late. You’re mine, Kaysana.” He arched his palm under her breast, let his thumb skim across where skin and cut fabric met.

The placement of his hand on her breast seemed such a casual possession of her flesh. That she couldn’t do anything was both frightening and horribly thrilling.

Thoughts and logic frantically reassembled in her head. She had a mission. Zombies to…

He stood and stripped his shirt off, unveiling his immense chest, then took down his trousers. This time her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. When he kicked the trousers aside, she knew her eyes must be as wide as they could possibly go. She’d heard rumors, but the captain didn’t always hear the truth about the dirty stuff. He had the longest cock she’d seen. Maybe it came gratis with being a frankenstruct? Whatever. He meant to put that in her.

Hell.

By his feet was a haversack, and he rummaged within, pulled out a flask, poured oil on his hand, and stroked the handful along his shaft until it glistened.

I should be worried. Instead she trembled, swallowed, anticipating what was to come—couldn’t move or escape, and really didn’t want to.

Carefully he positioned himself between her legs, lifted her thighs, and pushed his shoulders into the back of her knees so her butt lifted off the ground and tipped up at him. Without taking his gaze from hers, he pressed forward until the head of his cock poised at her nether entrance. He leaned in, folding her body. With her knees up near her breasts, he settled in closer, more intimate, his face just above hers; then he nudged. His hard flesh moved in her wetness, slipped a half inch into her until she felt the stretch of her anus and groaned.

Every part of her seemed fastened down—by wires and rope, by his cock, and she breathed sharp and fast, watching him as he watched her. The two of them engaged by nothing else in the world except each other.

Move, please. More.

“Have you been taken there before?” he asked, his voice a murmur, barely louder than the buzz of insects.

Lie, stupid. Lie and he may stop. “N—” And he moved. She dilated down there, unable to resist. Pleasure trapped her, seized her tongue. Remembered actions dictated her response. Cao. She’d liked it before. But having a love life didn’t mesh with being the captain. Love no one. Hate no one.

HE SMILED GRIMLY. “Lie and it’ll only hurt you, not me. I’m big and it’s all going inside you, unless”—he nudged again, just a little deeper, and she wriggled and sighed—“have you done it there before?”

Silence.

“Talk, woman.”

Kaysana fascinated him. Her unpinned hair fanned out around her head—black as an eclipse, black as a pit in hell, he might once have thought. The tight grip of her on his cock was heaven, though. Whenever she contracted around him, it took all his concentration not to groan. He couldn’t stop looking at her beneath him. At the clamps and the way her nipples played peekaboo through the holes in her top and how her liquid eyes met his, as if he was her universe. A dark shade of whiskey brown colored her irises. Gorgeous.

Kaysana whimpered.

Speaking seemed way down on her list of things to do. “Cat got your tongue?” Still no reply.

“In case”—he pushed in a fraction, slid out—“you’re wondering. I’m taking this slow, real slow.” He groaned on the exhale. “Fucking you is something I’d like to take a damn. Long time. Doing.”

Then with a tiny advance, the swollen head of his cock breached her circle of muscle. Inside her. Seated. “Aah.”

Kaysana gasped, pushed her pelvis up at him the small amount his weight on her allowed.

So easy, and she loved it. “You’ve done this before. Good.”

Instinct made him move rhythmically, and faster, despite his vow, and each time he went deeper. The slide of her along his cock was damn glorious. The motion built, the two of them breathing harder, panting, until at last he slipped the length of his cock all the way in, his groin met hers, his balls hit the cheeks of her bottom. Then he leaned down, undid one clamp, and sucked on her nipple.

The tremor that hit her went all the way to her calves—he felt the shiver against his back.

Now he had her confused—she pressed her breast up at his mouth, her ass to his cock. He sucked even harder, pleased at her whimper. Lick, slurp, and yesss, the delicious slide in and out, the suck and squish of her juices between them as heat built.

With his shoulders securing her legs in place, stroking slowly, he reached down, found and clasped her clit. Using his thumb on the top, he rubbed up and down in time with his movements. Her little almost grunts sounded so damn primitive and so gorgeous coming from this elegant woman. Her mouth parted. Her body tensed. A final press on her clit and her head curved back, her eyes closing in ecstasy as she came. Fuck.

Unblinking he watched, enthralled, making sure he didn’t miss a single second of her orgasm. Every movement of her body, every sound she made, he tucked away in his memory as if this were something to be cherished. Why the hell he did this, he wasn’t sure, but a strange connection seemed forged between them.

When at last she lay there barely moving, he fixed her now open eyes with his, took a big, twisted handful of her hair, then smoothly sped up his thrusts. Inside, she clamped down on him, and her eyes dilated. Whatever, whoever she was outside this moment, right then, now, she was his.

Faster and harder, he hammered into her. With one last lunge, he buried himself within her flesh and came into her hot and willing body.

Arms shaking, he examined her. Dammit, if only all those women who despised him would lie under him looking spent and sweaty and vanquished like she did.

He leaned in, kissed her gently on the lips, and pulled out of her.

Then he looked again and saw, what? Disgust? Nothing good, anyway. He narrowed his eyes. What had happened?

“Get off me.”

“Ah. Don’t be like that. We were off to such a lovely start.” To punctuate his words, he smacked her on one ass cheek. The startled outrage was worth bottling.

“Don’t! I never…something happened—” She squirmed, then stopped as the wire on her nipple pulled. “I’m better now. Let me go.”

“Yeah? Let you go?” Better now? Fuck. Too good to be true. The molten-hot lover vanished, and the ignorant spitfire returned. “What makes you think I want to?”

The sudden darkness in her eyes might have made a lesser man back off. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re mine, darlin’, leastways until I decide to let you go.”

Everything rippled and folded in on him, just like on the airship.

Kaysana closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

What did I just say?

The trees seemed the same, as did the gyrocopter. The purple seed heads on the grass of this clearing swished in the breeze. Same. What had altered? Something had. He’d figure it out. Stubborn as shit was his motto.

Then he looked down at Kaysana—tied up, exhausted, heavy breasts tipped with poppy red nipples he ached to put his mouth on every time he saw them—his sort of woman. But they’d just had sex while a shipload of people up there were turning into zombies and he’d tied her up.

“I think we went a bit nuts.”

“Ya don’t say.” She licked her lips, kept her eyes shut. The even tone radiated calmness. “Now can you untie me? Let me list some facts. I’m a captain in the GAM Air Fleet. I outrank you. We have a mission to complete. My people up there in my ship need me.” She paused, opened her eyes. Uncertainty hovered in those startling deep amber irises. “I can see we were both overcome by this effect. I’ll forgive you if you release me immediately.”

“Forgive me?” That bothered him for some reason.

He swiftly undid the last clamp on her nipple and sat back. She squeaked, rolled away, and muttered a whole rolling list of swear words at him. Bastard featured once. Leastways with her hands still tied, he didn’t have to fend off any blows.

By the time he’d jumped to his feet, yanked on his trousers, and buttoned them, her breathing had slowed. She rolled back. “Frick. You could have warned me.”

He shrugged, and this time the smile slipped out. “Guess I forgot.” Because wow, watching her squirm had been some turn-on. The effect, as she’d termed it, hadn’t quite worn off. He didn’t like watching bound women squirm from pain…did he? Maybe not yesterday or even an hour ago, but right now it was a yes.

Still puzzling over his reaction, he walked around above her head and squatted on one heel to undo the ropes that wound around the shrub. “I think we can scratch that mission. I’ll deliver us back outside the zone and some upper echelon twit can muster up some more men. One man, even if it’s me”—he flashed a smile—“can’t do much.”

She wriggled upright onto her bottom and held out her hands. Averting his eyes from her nakedness, from seeing the delectable shift of her breasts was impossible while unpicking knots, so he didn’t bother. The stone-chiseled appearance of her lips and brow told him she knew where he looked and disapproved. So he looked some more.

“Mister, you take liberties with those eyes of yours,” she snapped.

“Seems like you’ve showed me it all already. Damn I tie good knots, don’t I?”

She muttered but kept her wrists steady and out where he could reach them. “Now just so we’re clear, you will be taking me back up to the Art of War. I’m not abandoning her.”

He stopped unpicking, sat back. “The crap I am. No way, Captain. That’s madness. You know as well as I do that the longer they’re zombs, the more violent they get.”

“That’s an order. I outrank you.”

“You don’t. I’m not one of your crew.” He shook his head. “Plus you’re crazier than me, and I’m not risking my life for a loser idea. We go back across the zone line.”

“Look, it’s not just pigheadedness as you seem to think. Those people up there are mine, my responsibility. If anyone’s alive, I want to find them, get them out.”

“Damn admirable of you.” He shifted on his feet. A bee meandered across the purple swath of grass, buzzing. Normal as all heck when the world was cracking up. “Yep. I’m sure you’re a great captain, but that don’t make it right. It’s still stupid. I got out a few ladies already, told ’em where to go. They took a gyro from the looks of it. That’ll have to satisfy you. Anyone up there with brains will have gotten themselves out. So it’s a no. Order or no order.”

The look might have blasted him ten yards back and turned him to ash, but he was no lightweight. He glared back from under his brow. “One. I ain’t taking you. Two. You can stay tied until we’re safe.”

Then he stood and scooped her up and strode to the gyro.

“Put me down!”

Cadrach rose from where he’d lain in the shade beneath a shrub and followed, eyes bright with happiness, gray coat fluffing up in the breeze.

She stopped wriggling. “What is that?”

“My wolf. Kept him outta sight on board. Hi there, boy. Get your hairy ass in the gyro.”

The wolf leaped up into the copilot’s seat and laughed back at him. “Least he’s obedient.”

Chapter Four

Kaysana raised her head. Loose strands of her hair fell on her cheeks and glued to the sweat. Her bare back stuck to the gyrocopter seat. Sunny and hot despite the backdrop of snow-covered mountains. Memories of passion pattered across her thoughts, marched center stage, and demanded her attention. Time had gone missing. Did I faint? She vaguely remembered Sten tying her in place after some argument.

She swiveled in the gyrocopter seat, saw him. The frankenstruct, all those glorious muscles covered again by shirt and trousers, standing by her side. He pulled something tight, strapping her into the right-hand backseat with her arms at her sides. Everything was there, in her head, but vague and disconnected. She’d done something she would never have thought she’d do—had sex with a frankenstruct.

I wanted it. That hurt most.

“Let me loose!” She strove to throw off the ropes and straps he’d used to tie her into the seat. The hemp rasped on her skin, leaving tracks of pain.

“Stop.” He growled, put his hand to the back of her head, grabbed her hair, and slowly pulled her head backward over the top of the seat. “You’re hurting yourself.”

She blinked up at him, scowled, remembered why she’d had that argument. “Okay, I get your point about the mission. Release me and I’ll return by myself. There’s a town a few miles in. I’ll find my own gyro. Just let me loose. I’ll walk. Some clothes would be nice too.”

“No. How’s that for an answer? You’re still not thinking straight. You expect me to let you walk to the nearest town with a zombie plague happening? Sheesh.” He released her, squatted beside the gyrocopter, and ran a hand through his scruffy blond hair, sending tangled locks cascading over his shoulders. At his neck swung a wolf pendant made of polished silver.

“Look, there’s supposed to be more information coming…a way to destroy this plague. Get me to a telegraph office, and I may have a chance. We may have a chance.”

“You don’t give up easy, do you?”

He grabbed a pair of goggles from the front seat and brought them up to her face, casually fastening the buckle behind her head and checking the fit…as if he did this for her every day.

“Good girl. Sit tight and we’ll be there in no time.”

She glared at him. Good girl! “I’m a woman, fool!”

“I think we already proved that one together. You’ve got a pussy. I’ve got a dick.” He grinned, bent to pick up the haversack.

“You are so crude. Typical of a frankenstruct.”

“Oh? I so love teasing you.” Then he grabbed her hair again and kissed her until her ears rang.

When he stopped, she found her chest heaving, and her snappy answers had fled. His hand moved lightly down to her neck. Little creases appeared at the corners of his eyes like he’d found something amusing.

“Much better. Maybe I should remember this way of closing your mouth. More fun than a gag.”

Oh. Her thoughts slowly coalesced.

Her thighs were sticky. With no more clothes than she’d had before, her nipples were still exposed, as was her bottom. Little bites of discomfort reminded her of where the clamps had been. She trembled, recalling how much she’d enjoyed them. She let her head slump forward, shook it, anything to send away those thoughts. With disaster threatening, all she could think of was sex?

Not the best start to the day, but she’d never let that stop her. The way he’d tied these ropes…dare she hope?

Whatever had clouded her mind had somehow gone away, even if her body still had problems telling right from wrong. There was always a way out. Given the slightest chance, she’d take it. A distant crump distracted her, and she looked up at the sky.

“It’s your ship.” Sten rose to his feet, half turning to track the finely decorated craft that floated into view from behind a tall tree. The blue and white dragons clashing on the bow were just discernible. Beyond the Art of War, another ship showing the orange eagle of the PME closed in. Smoke trailed from the PME vessel to just below her ship. A warning shot? A flock of gyrocopters launched from the PME ship, spinning out in an arc and sweeping toward the lumbering Art of War.

“Idiots,” she whispered. “What are they doing here? If Art of War is taken over by zombies don’t they know they’re in too close as well?”

“See, now you’re thinking right. And yeah, they’re fools. Guess this exclusion zone needs to be bigger. The zomb plague’s expanding.”

“Yes.” Irritated, yet knowing she needed to appeal to him, she shot a fiery stare at her captor. “I need to be up there. Please. If I’m immune, well, sort of, I may be able to help.”

“No! Look.” He pointed. “Big problems.” One by one, the gyrocopters wobbled in flight. One tipped and spun groundward, upside down and screaming with the sound of overwrought metal. A whump and a puff of smoke told when it hit.

Blinking with unshed tears, she watched all the gyros fall from the sky and the airships slowly close in, bump against each other, then go wandering across the sky on divergent paths like lost bloated sheep. Dark objects fell from them.

“No one up there’s steering them anymore,” Sten murmured.

While he looked skyward, whipping out a telescope for a closer view, she screwed her hand around, seeking the handle just below her seat—not standard on most gyros and so Sten likely wouldn’t know. At full stretch, her fingertips touched the knob down there. The rope on her wrists pulled painfully at her skin, but she could do it. Once in the air, she’d try again. Maybe she could surprise him. Maybe not. Though a hand of iron seemed to clamp on her chest and sent her heart pounding loud in her temples, she knew she had to do this. Running away was not an option.

Sten stepped into the pilot’s seat in front of her and flicked on the voltaic ignition switch. He strapped his wolf in with a body harness. The whine and roar from the engine behind Kaysana told of the preburst ignition of the coal. As the pressure built, the floor under her bare feet vibrated.

“Going up,” yelled Sten, slipping goggles over his eyes—plain brown leather and brass like the ones he’d given her.

That he’d bothered putting a pair on her was, she admitted, nice of him. The man had some good points. Going back for more men was a waste of time. But…weighing up what he’d said, again, he was partly right too. Sorrow dipped her heart in ice. Art of War was gone, and the men and women on her. Where did that leave her? Going back was wrong too.

Ha. She puffed out her cheeks. Leaves me still tied to this blasted seat.

Least they could—well, she could—try to find out for sure if the mission was hopeless before giving in. The info from HQ had raised hopes. There might be an easy way to destroy this disease, and every extra day, every extra hour this took, the higher the death toll.

Purring, chugging, the scout gyrocopter rose into the sky, leaving behind the grove of tall, spreading trees that enclosed the clearing. At about one hundred feet, he leveled off, then steered around to head west. Every second took her farther from the mission objective.

Worming her hand down close enough took five minutes. Unscrewing the safety cap took another five. By then pain throbbed up her arm and she could barely feel her fingers. She craned her neck to check out the ground. Treetops blurred past, but coming up fast was cleared farmland. She’d never get away from him there. Time to go. She pressed the button, heard the bang as the charges set off, shearing the securing bolts and the ropes. Then the whole seat shunted sideways, tumbling in the air, free. Missed the blades, thank the gods.

Suddenly only one strap held her to the seat—a seat that was diving groundward. Silence. Just the tearing wind. Hair whipped her face. The gyro sped on without her. Yank. The parachute blossomed. She grabbed at the seat’s edge and hung on.

One second, two. Going too fast, too low. With a jerk and a crackle of branches, the seat hit the trees, caught, and fell again. Leaves, branches tore past—a blur of green. Something scratched a long line down one arm.

With a thump that jolted everything sideways, the seat stopped, slowly tilted, and toppled over onto sloping ground. Wet earth and leaves skidded past. Her hair cushioned her skin.

She went to rise, only to find her arms still bound to her sides. The ropes around the seat were gone but not the loop that went around her waist, connecting both her wrists.

“Ji ba! Ahh!” She ground her teeth for a few seconds before her anger subsided.

With a lot of wriggling, she managed to sit up, then stand. The bastard tied these well. She’d just have to find a way to cut herself loose. The goggles on her face would have to stay. If she tried knocking them off and they caught, she might end up half-blinded.

After trying for five minutes to undo or cut the ropes using projections on the seat and then some branches, she gave up.

South. The gyro couldn’t land here, and if he came after her, he’d have to find her first. She aimed to make that damn hard to do and started marching where south should be.

Even with my hands tied, I—Shit! A branch scored her ankle. While hopping to relieve the pain, she almost fell. Panting, she found that calm spot in her thoughts and went on.

When about half an hour had passed without Sten appearing on her trail, and she could only hear her crunching steps in the leaf mulch, she relaxed. Her feet hurt, her hands felt like someone had pumped them full of blood, but she was free and alive. Maybe Sten would forget her.

Once the forest ended she’d stand a fair chance of finding a farm or a village where she’d be safe. Make a plan. Find a telegraph office. Get updated info. Then decide the next step. And right now—keep going. Plod onward.

The forest surrounded her, trees like bars against the sun, letting in a few glints and spears of light—cracks in the fabric of this murky green and brown landscape.

* * * *

Sten swore when the bang cracked the air, making metal sing. The gyrocopter lurched. Something had hit the blades above.

Kaysana? A glance sideways told the story and made his heart seize up.

Still strapped to the chair, hair torn by the wind, Kaysana free-fell down into the forest. A chute puffed out. Then she vanished, swallowed by the trees. One last sway of foliage and she might never have existed.

A chute? This was deliberate. The woman was freakily determined.

“Damn!” The controls wobbled under his hands. The gyro shook, making his teeth rattle. Even his eyeballs seemed to vibrate. The world became a blurred mess.

“What-t-t-t has that-t-t sneaky woman done? Hang o-o-n, Cadrach!” The wolf cowered.

By applying all his strength, he wrestled the craft around in a staggered circle, back toward the forest. “Down! Down, you cantankerous bit of half-assed machinery.”

Twenty feet, ten…thump, clang, and crumple—the gyro hit dirt, spun in a half circle, and coughed to a sizzling, hissing halt.

He freed Cadrach, then climbed out. After dragging the goggles from his head, he stood there, whistling and thinking while dubiously eyeing the edge of the forest that waited, two hundred yards away. The wolf peered up and circled his legs.

Could she be alive? Injuries were possible though the seat should protect her on the way down. Of all the stupid ways to try escaping… Like a kettle about to boil, he felt the anger fume inside him, and closed his eyes. Calm. Serenity. Then the image of her broken and bleeding flashed to him. Anger and a tinge of worry bubbled up.

No. Calm. He conjured up a blue stretch of still, cool water rolling endlessly toward a far, far distant shore. He exhaled, inhaled. No anger remained, just a set-in-fuckin’-concrete determination to make sure she didn’t do this again.

The gyro burped a cloud of steam and black smoke.

“Stay, machine. Do not explode yet. I need some bits and pieces.”

The bolts on her seat had sheared away neatly. Deliberate for sure. Maybe she was dazed or something? Must be some good reason for her lunacy.

“’Kay. Need to get a move on. Think you can find her, boy?” If anyone could, it’d be Cadrach. He bent, gave the beast a sniff of a nipple clamp. “Go find!” The wolf galloped off toward the tree line.

Shotgun, sword, and haversack all recovered, sheathed, and strapped, he set off jogging after Cadrach.

Seemed the lady was more crazy or strong-minded than he’d reckoned on. If…when he caught her again, assuming she was in one piece—he shoved away the other, nastier possibilities—he needed to figure out what to do. Such stubbornness rivaled his own. She’d only do this again. He’d take bets on it. Though—he grinned—anyone who’d blow themselves out of a gyrocopter while a hundred feet up, all in the name of going back to rescue your crew…well that deserved some kind of reward. What kind? Hmm. Something devious. Medals and pats on the back might only encourage her.

At that thought, an image of Kaysana’s rounded behind came to mind. The idea of his hand connecting with her ass seemed mighty attractive all of a sudden.

Something about this seemed off, as if maybe he liked her way more than he should. Sten fiddled with the strap of the haversack where it ran across his shoulder, hoisted it higher. Could this zomb thing be affecting him still? He rummaged through his memories—he’d always thought her damn sexy.

Hell. What did it matter? As long as he didn’t break his own rules. As long as she was uninjured. He muttered a prayer under his breath. As long as whatever they did together was what they both wanted. Oh my God, I’m thinking of sex again. With her. Hard not to think of it. Impossible even. He gave in and let his imagination occupy him as he jogged. The feel of her body under his. My my my—unforgettable indeedy.

He increased his pace. The grass crunched underfoot, his breaths rasped in his ears, yet over the noise, he heard something running up from behind. Ice tiptoed up his spine.

Heavy footsteps.

Whatever it is, it’s here.

He dived forward, somersaulted, and swung around onto his knee while drawing the shotgun. The thing—a man with orange fire searing from his eye sockets, lunged for him with arms outstretched and yellow sparks dripping from his fingers.

Yank once on the trigger.

Blam.

The fiery man sat down backward and tumbled, headless, to the earth. Grass crackled as fire caught here and there.

Barrel trained on the twitching corpse, Sten approached, taking each step with care. The slightly shredded head rested a few feet from the body. The orange in the eyes faded and went to black. Stomping on the strange yellow fires put them out, though gray tendrils wavered lazily skyward. The acrid smoke hurt his nostrils, so he backed away, sneezed.

With his telescope, he’d watched this zomb fall from the airship. Even at a distance the orange eyes had glared like pinpoint suns. Hadn’t told Kaysana—figured either the man was dead from the fall or sort of not dead. Fuck. Whichever. Another überzomb thingo, and it had been tracking them.

He didn’t owe the world a lot. But then again, if it all blew up around him, a heap of people, including Kaysana, would suffer. And that didn’t sit well with him. Neither did letting her go off to solve this by herself. She’d die alone. Scratch one trip back to base for reinforcements.

This might be the only burning zomb around, but it also might not be. Murphy had made up a law about bad things like this happening. And the bad things always trumped the good ones.

People and all their bullshit dealings might not be his thing, but that didn’t mean he hated everyone. He was kind of attached to most of the stuff in this universe. Trees, animals, free thought…yeah, especially the freedom.

He blew out his cheeks. What am I going to do? Think I may have pissed her off a tad. If I just offer to help, will she kick me in the balls when I’m not looking?

Without him thinking, his right hand curled tight. The tendons on his wrist stood up.

Let it out, man. Breathe.

Kicking her back would be bad karma. ’Sides, there were so many more interesting things he could do to her.

He checked the shotgun, reloaded, spun the barrels for luck. “Where are you, lady?”

Chapter Five

The goggles hampered her peripheral vision. Was something out there? Whatever it was, it wasn’t Sten. This thing moved fast and low. A wolf? His maybe? For a few seconds, the air seemed to echo with beastly sounds—the soft in and out of something breathing. Leaves crackled under heavy paws. Her blood chilled.

Then…gone. Imagined? She had no clue. Perhaps the forest played tricks with her mind. She waited, swaying, sweat popping out on her brow that she couldn’t wipe off.

Was it stalking her or just curious? Her heart beat like a maddened clock—way too fast when fear got the better of her. I’m an air fleet captain. I thrive on adversity. Still, it wore her down.

As the light faded and the sky glimpsed through the treetops turned purplish orange, another regular crunching came to her ears, grew louder, traveling faster than she could, maybe jogging even—a human, a man from the heaviness. Sten?

She halted, crouched, hiding where a tree and saplings grew near each other in a six-foot radius and ferns had sprung up, several feet high. Her bruised thighs cramped in protest, but she bit her lip and stifled a gasp.

The creature was there too, same side but farther ahead. It turned toward her, came closer. Eyes gleamed in the half dark.

Don’t panic.

Decision time. Reveal herself to the man, who might be Sten, or stay silent and hope the animal didn’t attack. Of course, if this was Sten, the creature would surely be his wolf?

But I don’t know it’s him, and I’m tied up and half-naked…and he’ll probably drag me back to base. She squeezed shut her eyes and calmed her breathing. Steady, no panicking. From the small noises the creature came nearer. Ten…fifteen feet away.

No. I will not shout. No.

The man’s footsteps seemed closer too. The animal stopped. Through the fine spray of a fern leaf, past some tree trunks, she could see the thing—a dark mass sitting on its haunches, like some ancient rock sculpture. Barely, just barely, she could see it breathe. A thick animal scent sifted through the pungent odors of earth and decaying leaf. The man stood rock still fifteen feet to the right. Definitely a man.

Could he hear her? She clamped shut her mouth. Her heartbeats sounded loud as a drum. Leaves crackled under his foot, and now she smelled him too. Sweat, oil, leather, and a heavy, carnal scent. A big man. Unmistakable. Damn, it is him.

Maybe the animal will run off if I wait, and then Sten might follow it? He doesn’t know I’m here. Her thighs trembled. She clenched, unclenched her fists where they were bound to her sides. Seeing through the goggles in the low light of dusk made everything sepia and foglike—ethereal.

“I know you’re there, Kaysana.”

The words struck like a spear through her middle.

Disbelief gripped her. But she bit her lip, stayed quiet. So embarrassing being tracked down like this. He can’t see me. Can he?

“I’ll count to ten. Then I’ll come in there and get you. Then I’m going to put you over my knee and spank your ass until it’s bright red. I just half crashed that gyro in my rush to get to where you fell. Thought you’d be dead or injured going straight down through those trees. Come out!”

She shut her eyes. Stand up and be humiliated or stay here and be humiliated even more?

Slowly she stood. Sten was a dark silhouette in front of her.

“You touch me, you piece of excrement, and I’ll have you up on charges, so fast.”

“What? Here and now? Doubt it. ’Sides, you need me. Come here.”

She firmed her lips, wormed her way through the ferns, then trudged over to him.

The creature stayed where it sat.

She halted a yard from him, nudged her chin toward the shadow-clad beast. “What is that? Your pet wolf?”

“Cadrach? Good at tracking, isn’t he? I wouldn’t annoy him—he’s got big teeth.” Sten rubbed his jaw.

Was he grinning? Oh, she hated this, surrendering to him. She’d tell him to ri ni ma, except he probably…certainly didn’t have a mother.

This time he was fully armed—a shotgun butt jutted above his right shoulder. A sword hung from his belt. His hair stuck up even messier than before. In the low light, a smudge of black across his cheek might be oil or old blood. Had the gyro come down that badly? She felt a twinge of guilt.

“Fucking miracle,” he said in amazement. “How’d you survive without breaking something? Preferably that nasty mouth.” He stepped close, then went around her, checking the ropes, feeling up and down her limbs, undoing and slipping off the goggles, taking it slow when some of her hair caught in the strap.

He went behind her. His hand, warm and calloused and big, settled around her throat. The fingers almost touched. She swallowed, felt how close he gripped her, and shuddered. Heat rolled through her body.

“Yes,” he murmured, speaking an inch from her ear. “I’ve got you now. Gods, you tempt me.” His body moved in close. Cloth whispered as his shirt brushed against her bustier. Her butt was naked, though, and only his trousers separated her skin from his and her bottom from the length of his cock nestling between her cheeks.

Her breaths turned ragged.

“I hear you, Kaysana.” His tongue licked across her earlobe, light, ephemeral. A frisson skittered down to her stomach.

Anger squirmed into being, twisted like a knife—that her own self, her own body, betrayed her. She steadied, sucked in a tremulous breath.

“I may have lost the Art of War, but I have a mission to do, Sten. Someone has to get to Perihelion and shut down this device. If what happened on my ship isn’t enough to impress on you how important this is, you’re even dumber than I thought. I’ll go on alone if I have to. Someone with some guts has to do this!” She stamped her foot, aiming to crunch her heel onto his.

“Whoa! Missed me, dear. You think without your crew and airship you can get anything done? You’ll either get killed by some roaming zomb or get lost before you get to where you want to be.” He pulled her head farther back, made her body curve into his until she had to go up on her toes. His right hand coasted down over her taut abdomen, through her pubic hair, ending up in a V on either side of her much-abused clit.

“I’m an air fleet captain. I don’t get lost!” She spat the words out in an attempt to ignore the way her clitoris swelled.

Traitorous thing. Damn, but she wanted his finger on her, in her. Whatever had changed within still held sway, not as bad as before but like some surface memory whenever she saw Sten, or yes—she sighed—smelled him, things happened inside her. His teeth clamped on her earlobe, and she hissed, stiffened, her mind wandering from where his hand rested to where his teeth bit and the delightful singe of pain. Then he released her ear, sucking on it now and then as he spoke. Listening to his words and not reveling in that suction on her ear took a lot of concentration.

“Tell you what. I’ll help you with this mission, see if anything can be done, for payment. You need me. Promise to do what I tell you, whatever that might be, as long as my orders don’t mess up your mission.”

His orders? What in all the heavens?

“Or I’ll take you back to base.”

The V of his fingers narrowed, pressing her flesh in tighter, and her clit poked out from its hood. Didn’t take much anymore. The thing seemed wired for stimulation.

Clearly her body was what he wanted to order about. He was right though—she did need him. Who else was there?

“I—” She cleared her throat, tried again. Tightness curled like a sensuous snake down there, until her entire lower body seethed with lust and not thrusting into his hand took up half her thinking power. “Um…stop doing that.”

“This?” The baritone rumble at her ear vibrated into her bones, her mind. When his hand massaged rhythmically on her mound, she gave in, melting back into him yet pushing at his palm, concentrating on the surge of pleasure. He stilled. “Was that what you wanted me to stop?”

Coherent thoughts tumbled back into her head. “You bastard,” she said thickly. “What do you mean by orders?”

“What do you think?”

“You seriously”—he shifted behind her and she had to catch her breath—“expect me to bargain with my body?” Ahh, but her body, crazy thing that it was right now, was already screaming yes. No matter how she tried to ignore it, the feel of his hot, hard body against hers had her so rapt, so quivering with excitement, she could barely remember her own name.

But…am I ready to give him this in exchange for my mission? If word got out, she’d be ruined, sent back to the ranks, if not cashiered from the air fleet. Completing the mission was paramount, but do it in a dishonorable way and the smear would never leave her record—or her soul. If her grandfather heard, he’d disown her. Eyes half focused, she stared out at the forest, at the muted gleam of light tinting the tree trunks with shades of gray.

“No more sex,” she said clipping the words like an ax chopping timber. “Nothing that will jeopardize my air fleet standing.”

“Hmm.” Amusement showed in the warmth of that sound. “Tell you what—no sex unless you beg me, but I get to kiss you three times every day, when I want to.”

Kissing? She shook her head what little she could with his hand around her neck. “Beg you? I don’t…” Except she already had. An aberration that would not happen again. This was better than she’d hoped, in a way. “Okay. Yes.” She closed her eyes in resignation. “I agree. Now let me go.”

“Swear on your honor as an air fleet officer.”

“Really!” She snorted derisively.

“Swear.” He wiggled her head side to side.

“Okay! I swear on my honor as a captain in the GAM Air Fleet! Happy?”

Though his hand slipped away from her neck, with the flat of his palm between her shoulder blades, he steered her toward a wide tree trunk, turned her so she stood with her back to the trunk. The lowest branches were many yards up in the forest canopy. The bark was rough but not unbearable on her skin.

Sten went to his knees before her. In the thickening gloom, she could make out his raised eyebrows and a glint from his gold wolf earring, but very little else.

“Hey, mister. I like you kneeling, but you forgot to untie me. It’s part of the deal.”

“And you agreed to obey me. I’m taking my first kiss.”

He couldn’t mean there? His mouth was only a foot from her mound. “Kissing, we agreed on. Kissing means lips.” She pressed back into the tree.

“And I intend to use mine. I didn’t say where I’d kiss you.”

“You’re breaking the agreement already!”

“I’m not,” he said mildly. “If I use only lips and tongue, maybe teeth, it’s a kiss. Do you want to call the deal off?”

Lips and tongue? Teeth? She fought back a whimper. Technically he was right. She scrambled through the rest of their agreement, praying he couldn’t twist the other words into something equally awful. Except she was wet, down there, already, and getting wetter by the second—anticipating his mouth on her, working his tongue—

“No. It’s not off,” she rasped out.

“Good.” Then, in a most agonizingly slow way, he moved in on her pussy and stopped with so little distance to go that she could feel the soft in and out of his warm breath on her clit. With hands on either side of her thighs, he kept her in place.

I can bear this. If he thought she’d beg him after this, he was so wrong. Yet like a magician conjuring something into being, she could feel her clit stir and expand beneath his breath. Feel her folds moisten and the deep internal fullness gather. For ages he simply knelt there looking at her, as if nothing in the world was more important.

“Women are beautiful down here.”

She said nothing, willing him to hurry up so it would be over.

“Though some are like you—and find frankenstructs unattractive.”

She didn’t find him unattractive. But admit to that? No way.

“How true. And you think this is going to—”

The tip of his tongue darted out and touched the top of her engorged nub. She jumped, gasped. Another dab, a tiny stroke. He teased it, pressed it side to side until it stood up firm and she had to dig her nails into the bark to hold back mews of pleasure. He paused again.

“Do I think this’ll teach you to like men like me?” He shrugged. “It sure seems to be steering you in the right direction.”

“How long?” Her words tumbled out, half-choked.

“Will I do this? Didn’t say, did we? All night?”

“You’re joking!” She could barely stand it now.

“Am I?” His whole mouth descended on her clit, and she couldn’t help writhing, lifting into his mouth, craving the wet strokes of his tongue as he swiped straight over the top, then to each side, alternating the pleasure in the smallest unexpected ways.

I’ve shut my eyes. The blackness made thoughts mash together in her head. Lust took over every part of her mind and body. She no longer clawed at bark—her hands grasped it to steady her body, to make the aim of his tongue surer. Her back hurt, but from leaning into the tree for leverage to press her groin ever harder into his hot, wet mouth.

Heat tunneled through her veins, and pressure built, all her thoughts concentrated on her clit and nowhere else.

The little sounds of lust she’d held trapped escaped her. Through panting mouth, she gasped and moaned and mewed. She didn’t care who or what he was, just that he kept on using his wicked, wicked tongue.

Torture. He fastened his lips and teeth onto the outside of her clit. With the smallest adjustment of his teeth, or a change in the angle of the swipe of tongue or in the depth of the suction, he brought her almost to orgasm…then stopped.

Gasping, mindless, she raised her head from the tree and stared down. He began again. That a mouth could render her speechless seemed mad, but his did. Five, ten times, perhaps a hundred—she lost count, teetering at the brink. One tiny bit of pressure and she’d come. But then he’d cease and sit there looking up, waiting for her to descend from the heavens. And again, and again.

When her legs were shaking and threatened to give way, he rose to his feet. The rustle of leaves, the rasp and creak of leather and cloth told her he stood in front of her, looking. So she pried open her eyelids and looked back. Sweat ran down her body. Heat flushed her cheeks. Her breaths came so fast she might have walked from the molten heat of a blacksmith’s forge. Understanding surfaced. This time he’d truly stopped, and oh, she ached so much down there, trembled so much, that every few seconds cramps twisted through her groin.

But…no. Comprehension slithered in from wherever her true self had hidden away. She wasn’t begging.

“No?” Sten seemed to answer her unspoken reply. “Never mind, I have many more times to try. We should be moving on.”

Then he did untie her and handed her a water flask to drink from while he coiled the rope and heaved on the haversack he’d left a few yards away. With shaking hands, she washed her thighs with some water, embarrassed though the act made her. There wasn’t enough to clean herself entirely. Not if they were to have water left to drink. Silly in a way to be embarrassed. Only minutes ago he’d had his face buried in her pussy.

Without her asking, he took off his shirt and gave it to her. Luckily it was long enough to go to below her buttocks. Then, to her astonishment, he made her sit on the haversack so he could wrap her feet in cloth and tie it on—temporary shoes. Bliss. No more twigs poking into her soles.

“Good?” He arched an eyebrow at her while still holding her foot.

Saying thank you was on the tip of her tongue. Pure politeness and manners struggled to come out. She wriggled her toes, eyed him. The bastard who’d left her aching. “It’s good. Thank you.”

He let go of her foot and straightened. “I figure you should know, I had to shoot a burning fellow back at the gyro crash. Orange eyes, so an überzomb?”

“No. Raised man.” She looked around for his wolf, spotted it some yards away, waiting. Its upper lip curled. “What about it?”

“You worried he’ll eat you? Cadrach is picky. You be nice to me. He’ll be nice to you.” He helped her up. “We’d better move. See if we can find shelter.”

“You’re sure he’s not dangerous?”

But Sten ignored her and sauntered off. Keeping a wary eye on the big wolf, Kaysana jogged to catch up.

As they walked through the cooling forest, with the crickets awakening and an owl drifting overhead, she took the time to consider all that had happened. Without Sten, she’d be dead.

But she couldn’t figure him out. Half caring for her welfare—crashing the gyro, for heaven’s sake, in his rush to find her? She was used to being the one doing the caring, to looking out for the hundreds of people under her. And then doing what he’d done to her body, almost without asking. It had been so damn intimate and invasive.

They continued on, walking southward, wordless. What he’d done violated her every belief in herself in some indefinable way, and yet she’d allowed it, agreed to it, and in her heart craved more.

The remaining slickness on her inner thighs reminded her of how close she’d come to begging for relief from him. Next time she’d have a pin handy to jab into herself. Anything except letting him arouse her like he had.

Cadrach accompanied them, walking on a parallel path without being commanded to. Pets, to her mind, should be small and happy and their mouths should only open wide enough to nip fingers, not entire limbs. The brooding wolf sent glacier cold sliding through her veins.

“I shall call you Fluffy,” she muttered.

Chapter Six

Sten followed along behind Kaysana—the view was better.

Her curvaceous backside swayed before him beneath his own shirt. Damn, that was sexy, especially remembering how she’d moaned under his mouth. What a hard-on that had given him.

Kissing, hah, he’d not been sure she’d go with that logic.

A few hundred yards of walking and they emerged from under the tree line into the night sky. Only stars above. No burning airships despite the faint smell of smoke. He felt relief. So many odd things had happened.

“Don’t suppose you want to give me a weapon, Sten?”

“Nope.”

“We’ll be meeting zombies. I promise not to shoot you.”

“I’ll consider it.” She expected a weapon? Heaven and hell. He wasn’t that nuts. Maybe when indignation wasn’t coming off her in waves every time she looked at him.

She snorted, turned away. “Fool. Come on. Looks like a farmhouse up there.” She pointed. Up a slope, through a field of some tall crop, the silhouette of a building showed at the peak. Light flickered across the crop, washing the field in yellow and orange as if it were some strange golden sea.

“I’ll watch your tail. Just keep wriggling it like that.”

“I’ve been known to gouge out the eyes of men who ogle.”

He grinned, then followed her into the crop. The stalks rustled and scraped against them as they pushed through. Squeaks and chitters from foot level told of some small nocturnal critters. Kaysana didn’t balk. Tough woman. After all that had happened, here she was taking point, armed only with her gorgeous body.

He sighed. So many curves, so many angry words. He’d fix that somehow. Once he decided on something, it happened.

The smoke smell intensified.

By the time they’d slowly scouted their way up to the farmhouse, the flickering glow had turned into a fire. The house was fully alight. Flames poured out the windows, crawled in snakes of boiling yellow up the outer walls, ate into the timber, curled over the eaves and onto the roof. Beams crashed down inside. Puffs of hot air, smoke, and ashes billowed out and shrouded them.

Together they circled the building. Cadrach sat upwind of the smoke and waited. To Sten’s approval, Kaysana was clearly looking for survivors as much as he was.

A black limb flailed and twisted in the flames. She jerked to a halt, craning her neck to stare.

“Warped timber.” Least he hoped it was. Too far in to tell. He watched Kaysana lean with her head down and hands on thighs for a moment. Her mouth moved as if she said silent curses. Damn, underneath her toughened steel exterior was a heart—shriveled maybe, but it was there.

“Come on.” He coughed, then plucked at her sleeve. “The barn’s okay. Whoever was here has left…or they’re in there, dead. We’ll sleep in the barn.”

She gave him a suspicious look.

He laughed. “I said sleep, meant it. Though in the morning, you owe me another kiss.”

She sniffed and stalked toward the barn.

Why the hell am I after her? All on a whim? Sure, he didn’t do hate anymore…much, but wasn’t wanting to fuck her sweet ass going too far the other way? Or was he doing it just to mess with her mind? He shook his head. Both maybe, neither. He couldn’t figure his own head out, let alone hers. Was it just some delayed effect of Zombie F?

Her body begged him; then her mind did a backflip. What would it take to get her mind saying yes properly? He eyed her ass again and the seductive wiggle under the shirt.

The barn was a hundred yards away on the peak of the hill and on the right side of the wind, so the air was clear. In the distance, a glittering snake of tiny lights curved across the landscape. A road? Must be. From the looks of it, there were a few vehicles out there. People who were still people fleeing to the border of the zone. He and Kaysana were heading toward whatever those down there were running from.

The barn doors were padlocked, but the chain, when he bent down to look, was breakable.

“Stand back.” He wrapped his hands around the door handle and hauled it outward until the chain gave with a crack. A weld had opened up, like he thought it would. He pushed the doors back, rubbed his hands on his pants to lessen the sting, then caught her eyeing him. “What?”

Her mouth worked, like she struggled to decide on the right reply. “Impressive. Don’t let it go to your head.” Then she went to waltz past him into the barn.

“Wait.” He stuck out his arm, unsheathed the shotgun. “Nice words’ll get you nowhere, lady.” After one last check of the slope and the horizon—no signs of orange, burning guys, just one morose-looking Cadrach—he entered the barn with the nose of his weapon leading the way, scanning left to right, his finger gentle on the trigger.

“It was locked, mister. Nothing will be in here.”

“Just being prudent. I don’t fancy being someone’s main course.” Any movement, any at all, might be a zomb. Dark corners…a coop full of startled, flapping chickens, and at the far wall, hay stacked in bales.

“Aha. A great many deadly chickens.” She squeezed past.

But she had waited for him to clear the barn.

“It’s polite to say thank you.” He spotted it. “Damn.”

“Yes. Damn. For once I agree.”

Kaysana circled the gleaming vehicle in the center of the barn, leaned in over the low door to check out the dashboard inside. Half-in, half-out of the cabin and the gold metal and white canvas roof meant she had to lean down low. The shirt rode up.

A steam cycle. Tapering three seater, two seats side by side at the back. Three-wheeler. Polished ebony timber, glass, and brass. Chromed, sweeping exhaust tails. Someone had loved this beauty. The front hood bulged out sexily—black shiny molded timber. The hood ornament was a golden dolphin sitting up on its tail, balancing a large ball on its nose.

But…he eyed Kaysana and the half-moons of her bottom showing below the edge of the shirt, then the cycle, and knew just what he was going to do come morning. God, if she didn’t come out of there quick, he might just break their agreement.

Chapter Seven

Sleeping wasn’t easy. Every time she roused and sat up to check the barn, Sten was already awake. The fourth time, he spoke.

“If you don’t go to damn sleep and stop waking me, I’ll come over there and do something you’ll regret.”

“I’ll regret? Hmph.” She moved on the makeshift bed, trying to get comfy on the straw and the two burlap sacks. The chunk missing from the roof let her see moonlit wisps of clouds sift across the blue-black sky. Where would her ship be right now? Her crew?

“You thinking of your people up there?”

His voice startled her.

“Won’t hurt no one to tell me that, you know. Is there someone special?”

She frowned. No. It wouldn’t hurt, but it seemed inappropriate. Talking was alluring, though. It’d ease her heart and the acid squirming in her stomach. She got up on her elbow, found him in the darkness, his shoulder and head silhouetted against the wall. The long gleam in front of him would be the shotgun. It was good to see the man…the frankenstruct, had some sense. And he hadn’t made another move on her, just like he’d promised.

“I was thinking of them.” She wasn’t going to mention Ling. Her awful memory of his blood and flesh blowing out his back after she’d pulled the trigger…too raw to share. “Especially of Emily.”

“The young lady outside the gym door? Pigtails? She got off the ship, far as I know. I sent her to the landing bay with two others. Since a gyro was gone when I got back, least some of them made it off.”

“Oh. Good.” She shut her eyes, counted to ten. “Thank you.” Second time she’d said that to him. It pained her to do so, but the surge of relief at knowing he’d helped her crew made thanking him worth it. Emily especially somehow touched her heart. Her youth, maybe?

In the past, nothing had affected her like this. It was new and weird, this feeling, like finding a tooth where none had been before. She didn’t like it. A captain should be aloof.

“So you weren’t fucking anyone?”

The air in the barn boiled. “My gods. Having you around is like walking with a burr in my shoe. No, but then no one on my ship fucks. You are so foul of mouth. I would appreciate it if you kept that word to yourself in future.”

“No one fucks? Must be fucking boring, then.”

She pressed her lips firmly together, refusing to reply to his taunt.

“Guess that plants me right in the middle of low-life territory, then?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thought so. Point made. You judge people on goddamned flimsy reasons, Kaysana. People use different words—you condemn them. Frankenstruct—condemned. Guilty. Done with.”

“I do not. I judge people by many criteria.” Why was she arguing with this fool?

“Sure you do. Fuck. Fuckitty fuck fuck. Fuck.”

She glared hard enough to send a heated trail across the barn. Damn him.

“G’night, Kaysana.”

“Captain,” she snapped. “It’s Captain, to you!”

“The fuck it is.”

Sleeping wasn’t easy. At all.

Breakfast turned out to be beef sticks washed down with water. Though Sten had offered her an egg from the coop at the back of the barn, Kaysana found her stomach churning at the idea of raw eggs.

She sat on a hay bale, looking out through the barn doors at the charred remains of the house. Ironic, really—all that flame last night and they couldn’t cook breakfast. Maybe if they scrounged around, they could find something to fry the eggs on?

She blinked away the tiredness in her eyes. Someone had used a scrubbing brush on them.

The wolf was nowhere to be seen, almost like she’d imagined it.

She got up, picked stalks of straw from the back of her shirt, and pulled one piece from between her butt cheeks. If the house hadn’t burned, she’d have clothes, for sure. As it was, underneath the shirt she was still indecent, and she had to constantly fight the urge to look away whenever Sten showed up. Bare-chested, he was magnificent. An ugly, or at least a rugged face, but his body made her drool. Couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t do anything about the way her body revved up like some teenage girl with too many hormones. This weird side effect must go away eventually, mustn’t it?

She strode over to the steam cycle.

“Do you know anything about the engines on these?” Sten asked as he came across from where he’d just shooed the last of the chickens from the coop. One madly flapping hen charged past Kaysana, squawking and headed for the open.

She frowned. With no one to feed them, they may as well be let loose. But she’d expected Sten to wring their necks like the brute he was. The way he’d gently herded them out seemed…wrong somehow. Like a wolf helping little girls across the road.

The engine—he’d asked her about it. “You’ve not seen to the fuel?” If there was no boosted coal, the steam cycle was as useless as tits on a dragon.

Curious. The dolphin ornament had been bent back until it nearly touched the hood. For such a pampered bit of machinery to suffer so without the owner fixing it seemed odd. Had it been that way yesterday? She went to the front, heard him coming up behind as she reached for the handle to pull open the hood, knew instantly he had devious plans but with no time to react…then his hand ran up the inside of her leg. She shivered, let out a slow breath.

Time to show him her ice lady side. Her heart beat faster.

“You forgot our morning kiss, darling.”

Anger would help her resist this strange alteration of her psyche. She clenched her teeth. “No. I did n—”

Then he put his hands to her waist, picked her up, and resettled her at the very front, over the curve of the hood, with her legs dangling either side of the dolphin ornament.

“Put me down!”

“Agreement. Remember? You obey. I get to kiss. This morning”—he laid a finger on her backbone, just above where her bottom swelled out—“I’m kissing your back.”

“You are quite mad.” She smiled, shook her head a little in dismissal of his odd notion. Over the top of the steam cycle’s roof, she saw the wolf at the door, sitting on its haunches, in the square of bright daylight. Between its paws, two chickens pecked at the ground, oblivious to the danger.

Then Sten’s finger, slow as sweat on a hot summer night, started to trace a line up her spine, over the shirt. Tingles fanned out from beneath his touch, a slow-moving tide across her body.

Her toes couldn’t touch the ground. Slowly, very slowly, with the shirt riding up under her stomach, she was slipping down, with the dolphin’s nose nudging at her entrance. This wasn’t accidental.

“Hey!” Wriggling, she tried to move out of the way. “No sex. Remember?”

The slow stretch of her cleft made her take one long breath, let it out slow and shuddery. She fanned the fingers of both hands on the hood, unsure if she was pushing herself away or not.

“Not sex, Kaysana, just gravity doing its thing.”

In a firm, no-nonsense way, he pushed her stomach flat onto the hood, then gently kissed the base of her spine.

The kiss zapped straight to her clitoris. She froze. “No. We…we have to get going.”

Spread-eagled half-naked across the front of the hood, the cool metal of the ball on the dolphin’s nose slid a half inch farther between her already soaked lips. Sten planted another kiss on her back, just a little higher than before. His hands held her waist, and his thighs were under her thighs, supporting her enough that she wasn’t falling. Her clit, forced onto the hard surface, throbbed like a hot little engine. She moaned.

“That’s my girl. Put your arms up higher.”

The sensations sang gloriously to her. She said nothing, just turned her head sideways to rest her cheek on the cold surface with her arms across the hood as if hugging it.

Another kiss in his advance up her body, and she took another slippery inch of the dolphin inside her. Step by step, kiss by kiss, he conquered her back. By the time he reached her neck, she was writhing in tiny circles atop the dolphin. Some rounded part pushed at an exquisite place within, and with shudder after shudder, as her walls pulsed around it, she was climbing toward orgasm.

The last half inch slid up inside. Seated fully on the ornament, she panted wildly and made small pleading noises. Unsure why she did, except that she knew she shouldn’t come, didn’t want to, even if that was exactly where she was headed.

Sten nibbled and licked at her neck, then bit down hard at the side of her nape. He lay full length on her body, the head of his cock poking into her above where the dolphin lodged in her cunt, thrusting just enough to tantalize. “Would you like me in there instead?” he whispered, then bit her again, thrust at her a little.

“No.” She whimpered and stopped moving, striving to hold herself back. “Let me down. Don’t want to—”

He took his weight off her but left his hands on her bottom, pressing her down, pushing rhythmically. Her clitoris loved it. If she came now, he would know, she would know it had happened while she was impaled here. No. Cao, no.

Finally, when she was seconds away from coming and crazily moaning and gasping, he casually lifted her off the dolphin and set her on the ground. Her legs folded. She collapsed at his feet, shuddering, and stayed there on all fours, recovering.

“Still don’t want me inside you?” He placed his hand on the back of her head.

It took a moment to summon her thoughts, but she managed and said firmly, “No. No I do not. Damn you. I don’t want you touching me, either. Go away.” Then she willed him to leave, but he only squatted next to her and combed his fingers though her hair while her breathing slowed.

To her, that was worse. She’d rather he walk away than be gentle. And that she leaned into his hand… What was wrong with her?

“Why do you hate us, Kaysana? Us frankenstructs?”

She bit her lip to steady herself. “I don’t hate you, not exactly, but you killed my family.”

“No. I did not.”

His rough voice played havoc with her mind, made her remember how he’d controlled her so easily—so strong and competent, he’d left her no choice but to obey.

“No. Not you…not you precisely.” Dragging up the memories hurt, but she would tell him. Not sure why. Maybe he’d leave her alone if he understood. Though that implied he could understand. She’d always thought of frankenstructs as subhuman beings of poor intelligence. Sten, though, he’d outsmarted her at times as well as overpowered her.

And he stirred her in so many damn ways. Ways she’d never thought a man could do.

“When I was twelve, while I was away at my aunt’s in another town, my family’s farmhouse was raided—bandits massacred everyone. Frankenstructs did it.”

No matter how much blood she saw in the course of doing her duty by the air fleet, no matter how many battles and corpses…the blow struck at her heart whenever she recalled the red snake of blood curling in the stream beneath their bridge. Death where fun and laughter should’ve been. Blood on water. Mingzhu, you died too young. Prettier than me, so happy with life, and you died first. Wasn’t right. The guilt ever wrenched at her. Pulled. Plucked. Stuck ice needles in her soul.

I should’ve been there…could’ve done something… But none of it ever mattered in the now.

Weary, too wrung out to be angry any longer, she pushed herself up and sat back on her heels, looked Sten in the eye.

What she’d expected to see, she wasn’t certain. Anger, annoyance, derision maybe? Instead his blue eyes held only compassion. She tucked some stray hair behind her ear, felt the shirt slip down over her bottom, adjusted the front, making sure her breasts didn’t show.

“I’m sorry.” Sten’s muscled thighs flexed as he shifted position, making his brown trousers stretch. “But how do you know they were all frankenstructs?”

She frowned. “I don’t. I can only go on what I was told.”

“Childhood memories, huh? You wouldn’t condemn all men because some of them did something bad. Don’t do the same with us. Maybe some of them were just plain men. Maybe some were frankenstructs like me, ugly, strange-born creations. Do you look at an ugly face and just go, hell, he’s got to be bad?”

“What? No!” She wasn’t that shallow, was she? “Besides, you’re not ugly.” How did that get past her tongue?

True, though, he wasn’t ugly, not really, just different. Uneasy, she studied him. And something about him turned her on, no matter how disturbing that fact. But she wasn’t telling him that.

Damn. He was distracting her again.

To her shock, he reached out, took her hand, and kissed the back. “I’m sorry. I wish your childhood had been different. I know my kind aren’t totally innocent. Besides, I felt that way about plain humans for a while.”

He stared off over her shoulder as if seeing something out there, beyond the doors, but she doubted he focused on anything particular. “My line got given double muscling—supposed to make us strong—good soldiers, good fighters. We got bad tempers too. I’m the only one left. They put everyone else down once the rage got too much. Too many people had died. All PME staff and trainers, though, nobody off base. We were kept locked up most of the time once they figured it out.” He flicked his gaze back down to her. “I was lucky. I escaped once. I was whipped by the captain on one of your GAM ships, then returned to the PME. When they recaptured me, one of the higher-up trainers, a woman who’d studied something called Zen, showed me how to meditate, how to think my way past the rage. She got me spared.”

Despite everything, despite the way he’d hauled her around, curiosity sparked. He didn’t get angry anymore? How true, though. Sten was like a rock under a waterfall. Everything spilled over and past him while he remained serene. Some men would have yelled at her after she’d blown up the gyro. She hadn’t made him chase after her, sure, but he hadn’t done more than call her a few bad names. The zombie situation alone would be enough to unsettle most.

Just for a moment, she let the way he held her hand get to her, saw how his roughly hewn fingers surrounded hers, his thumb rubbing lightly over the back of her hand. Calmness flowed into her. No. She shook herself, pulled her fingers away. Her imagination was playing tricks.

Yet…sympathy stirred.

“They were all killed? Everyone else?”

“Yes.” The silver wolf pendant swung at the center of a thong about his neck, caught her eye as he snagged it with finger and thumb. “This,” he murmured, eyes low as he looked at what he held, “was given to me by a friend…one of the last of us killed. This is all I have of him still.” He released the pendant and let it spin.

Specks of silvery reflected lights flickered in her eyes.

A friend? Funny. She’d never thought of frankenstructs as having friends. Yet in no way was Sten anything but human. He was far more tolerant than she was. More evenhanded. In her bones, she knew it. When else have I ever gotten anything so wrong?

His other words came to her. All the others like him were killed? How would it be to grow up beside someone, play with them, talk with them, know them inside out, and then see them taken away to be killed? All because of a mistake made by whoever designed your bodies?

“He and the others like him were killed because it was the law.” He inclined his head, shifted on his toes, his hands casually clasped between his folded legs. “Like your law that said I should be whipped and returned to slavery.”

Ah. This was where he was headed.

“My country’s law?”

Those foundations she’d always held dear and close had shifted this last day, like a stone door shivered loose by an earthquake. She stared at him and, for a fragment of time, saw not a frankenstruct but a man.

“Yes. Do you think maybe the law was wrong? Kaysana?”

She weighed his words, played with a button on her shirt. “The law’s changed since then. Besides, I only uphold them, I don’t make them. Why are you doing this…to me? Revenge on humans?”

“You don’t have an opinion?” He shook his head, amused. “And no, like I said, I don’t do angry anymore.”

Kaysana swallowed. “You don’t?”

“No. And after I had that orange-eyed fellow creep up on me, I could see this thing was bigger than anything else. It needs doing and every day counts, and I sure wasn’t letting you do it by yourself.”

“That…” Struck by the oddity of his decision, she paused and figured her way through the maze. He admits this needs doing and knew it back then? Yet he’d bargained with her and coaxed that damn agreement about kissing out of her? Reality crept back into her head. What were they both doing?

“Then you can call our agreement off. Though I can do with your backup. You have no reason—”

“Yes, I do.” His tone dropped into rumbling depths, a coarse sound that went straight into her middle and set her quivering, anticipating, watching him. “I did it this way because I wanted to.”

“But this is just an aberration. This attraction between us is purely temporary. It’s not us.” Yet her body ached to close the distance between them.

“Are you sure?” He grasped her chin, tilted her head back, and slowly leaned in to kiss her.

Move, her inner voice said. She didn’t. Could’ve, but didn’t. Why, she still couldn’t understand. His mouth descended onto hers. He devoured her, his lips on hers, pressing down, shoving her lips apart with his tongue like he might spread her legs to fuck her. She shuddered, opened wider, let him in. Let him eat her all up as the heat surged in her middle, where she wanted him, deep, deep inside.

Chapter Eight

The steam cycle churned through the crop. Going down the cleared paths worked best but the machine happily went straight over the top, crunching the stalks flat to the tune of a racket that made hearing anything else difficult. Kaysana adjusted her goggles, cursed at Sten’s back, and wiped away more shreds of wheat. The man…frankenstruct, whatever, clearly had forgotten about roads.

She’d had a choice—front seat squeezed in with, or on, Sten, or backseat with more room and the wolf next to her. The wolf had won. God knew why. She glanced sideways carefully, wary of attracting attention. Cadrach leered back, his big wolf teeth showing in the gap of lip. His meat-flavored breath warmed her shoulder. Already she had half a ton of shed silver-gray wolf hair on the shirt and no doubt on her bottom.

“You need a toothbrush, boy. Bad breath is not going to win you any girlfriends.”

“You talking to Cadrach?” Sten hollered back. “Knew you’d like each other.”

Kaysana folded her arms and refused to dignify that with a reply.

Once they left the wheat field, bursting out into the open, Sten slewed the machine to a stop. The engine ticked and clunked methodically. A startled sparrow zipped past the small right-hand window, wings flapping madly.

“Know just how you feel, bird.” She leaned forward, hand on the back of Sten’s seat. “Why have you stopped?”

“Where are we going? I’ve seen the early planning maps, I know we’re aiming for Perihelion, but that’s miles away up in the mountains. I’m not even sure where these roads go.”

“Nearest town that might have a telegraph will do me. I’m supposed to report in. I need to sort out our position too.”

Before them, the slope rolled down to a road, a hundred yards away. Sten pointed at the road. “That’ll do, then.” He gunned the engine, and they rolled down.

The night before, there’d been vehicles on this road—she’d seen the headlights—yet now it was deserted except for carrion birds and the dead. The pathogen mustn’t have hit every square mile. From the way it took over her ship—her stomach dropped as she remembered her people again—she figured the effect must move about.

“That man, the officer on your ship who went weird—” Sten yelled to be heard over the engine.

“Ling?”

“Yeah him—the one with the shiny eyes—he said something about the power growing as you reached the middle.”

“Really? When did you hear this?” Alarm quaked through her. When I was unconscious, of course. While Ling had me at his mercy. That whole time had become dreamlike, yet she’d almost been killed and Sten had rescued her and she couldn’t remember any damn thing—not leaving the airship, the flight down, nothing.

She slumped back in her seat. What else didn’t she know? “Is that all he said?”

“Only that he was the right hand of God…’cept I chopped that one off, so he was really the left hand.”

“Do you ever stop joking?”

“Not if I can help it. Keeps life in perspective.”

“Hmm. Let’s just get to the next town.” But she smiled, if a little sadly.

After a few minutes of watching the cycle weave and zoom between the road debris, she faced her fear. “Tell me everything you saw happen on the ship when the plague hit us.”

His shoulders shifted. “Some of it was nasty.”

“Don’t spare me.” But she tensed.

“Right.”

When he got to how he’d found her and described Ling and how she’d been tied, she found herself staring at the floor.

He paused. “You okay?”

“Sure. Sure I am.”

Only one good piece of info came of it.

“There was scuttlebutt rumor among the mercs that some of the zombs captured weren’t really zombs. That they went back to normal after a while and never did more than want to fuck an awful lot. They were a bit out of it at times, confused, some got fevers, but that was it.”

“Oh shit.” There I go, swearing again. He’s corrupting me. She collapsed back onto the leather. “You’re saying that’s…us?”

“Could be. The one’s who are zombies stay zombies, though.”

The explanation of her bizarre behavior made her feel like someone had pulled a plug. Anxiety drained away. If true, she’d be herself again eventually, no more lusting after Sten’s touch. No more caving in to his advances. No more incredible sexual highs…

She stared at the back of Sten’s head, trying to figure him out. She’d never had to sit with a frankenstruct before, or talked with one. Despite his forceful ways, he seemed almost normal.

She needed to keep her distance. Do that and this odd behavior of hers would be less a challenge. Strategy said that every attack had its counter. She just needed to find the counter to this. Kaysana bit her lip, let her head flop back against the seat. How?

Cadrach panted at her, his evil yellow eyes narrowed, then he bowed his head and licked her arm.

She bit back a swear word. “I know you’re on his side. No need to get all friendly.”

After a whine, he curled out his tongue and panted as if laughing at her.

“And that won’t work either, wolfie. There was nothing in this agreement that said I had to like you.”

They came to the outskirts of a town and zipped past a sign.

“What was that? Katagoh?”

“Sorry. Can’t read.”

That fact kept her speechless for a few minutes.

As they drove farther, dogs, cats, and two horses trotted out, birds swooped, but nothing live and human stirred. The odd growl came from Cadrach when an animal came too close to the window. Some corpses rotted on the footpaths, and a stomach-turning smell wafted in. A few steam cars were stranded on the road. One car was lodged half inside a shop front, but mostly the timber and painted brick buildings showed little signs of damage. As always, clothes were strewn here and there. People had gotten naked here, like on the Art of War.

Sten turned in and parked in the deserted street outside the telegraph office. They both scanned the road and houses. When she opened the door, Cadrach hopped out over the top of her, ambled to a post, and peed on it.

“Can he detect zombies? It would be useful.”

Sten scratched his head. “Not sure. When I got back to the landing platform with you, he was growling at the door I came through, and he didn’t stop until I took off. Guess we’ll see soon enough.”

As they walked toward the entrance of the telegraph office, she asked the obvious. “If you can’t read, how’d you find this place?”

“I ain’t stupid.” He smiled, unsheathed the shotgun, prodded open the door with his foot, and checked the inside.

What did that mean? She guessed there were clues as to what a telegraph office looked like. The overhead wires, for starters. The shop front next door caught her eye. Clothes! She tented out the front of the shirt, looked back at the shop.

“Next stop. In there.” She pointed. Sten merely raised an eyebrow and jiggled the door some more.

Kaysana shook her head but followed him into the telegraph office. Floorboards creaked underfoot. Sten cruised the shotgun barrel in a sideways arc across the room.

“Look behind the counter,” she murmured.

The wall clock was silent—the hour and minute hands lifeless, making it three o'clock forever. Behind the room-width sales counter lurked nothing except more squeaky floorboards. Sten flipped back the counter, approached the door that led deeper into the building, then turned the knob. The door swung slowly open. Sun sneaked past Sten’s broad shoulders, splashing light on the rug-covered floor and the opposite wall. The handle tapped into the wall.

Again, like some strange sniffing proboscis, he used the shotgun barrel to investigate the room. Notice boards, chair, papers, books, wires strung across to a desk, and the telegraph set all shiny and brass.

“Nothing.” She sucked in air, realizing she’d been holding her breath.

The office was empty of anything living or undead, unless spiders and cockroaches counted.

Firing up the telegraph was a simple matter. It still took twenty long minutes to get a reply from Air Fleet HQ, what with exchanging of password codes. At last she sat back in the chair and contemplated the now stilled metal apparatus.

“I’ve told them about frankenstructs not necessarily being resistant, also that a fair few women have been resistant to this plague.

“And the PME have given us more details. They’ve admitted to researching biowarfare. This is some sort of telepathic virogen, and they confirmed that Perihelion in the Mahalangur mountains is the source. The virogen radiates out like waxing and waning tides. They messed up and blasted their own scientists a month ago. If their calculations are correct, it’ll infect most of Greater Europe before it collapses in on itself.

“There’s a secondary base we need to find below Perihelion. That’s our destination.” And that—she mentally crossed her fingers—was where the PME said she would find the answer to destroying the plague. Thank the heavens. A weapon of some sort, or a cure even, would be a godsend.

“A telepathic virowhatsit?”

“Virogen. They're saying it’s like a virus but transmitted telepathically, straight into people’s minds.” She tapped her temple. “Which is maybe why some get it worse than others. Different immune systems.”

“So when everything goes all wobbly, that’s this virothing being sent out and infecting people?”

“They didn’t say, but…maybe. The raised men…that they haven’t explained.”

“Well”—Sten noisily sucked in his lip—“I’ve seen malaria. Some get it in the brain. Others seem to just get fevers. Maybe the raised men are just where this virowhatsit misses destroying all the brain?”

“Yes, could be. Smarter, faster, makes sense. Though Ling was hearing voices too.” She stared at the desk. Gut shot and he could still stand up and wrestle her.

“Damn. Strange. Well, least now we know where to go.” Sten sat on the corner of the desk. The timber creaked from his weight. He cocked an eyebrow.

As subtly as she could, she pushed the chair back a little, away from him.

“This country is in chaos. There is some automaton guarding Perihelion, and I need you absolutely committed to coming with me. It’ll be dangerous.”

She’d been opening a few desk drawers as she spoke and found a packet of gobstoppers. Well, well. So much better than beef jerky. Though she’d asked the question, now she knew she didn’t want a no. If he left her, she’d feel odd, bereft. So strange. She needed her head examined really soon. She popped a gobstopper into her mouth.

“I’m coming with you.” He paused, smiled, then grinned. “Maybe in you.”

The gobstopper nearly choked her. By the time Sten had thumped her on the back and she’d spat the sweet out onto the desk, watched it roll around in sticky, slobbery circles, she’d gotten her breath back. “Bad joke,” she grumbled.

“You deserved it. As if you could do this by yourself. And jeez, I know it’s dangerous. Let’s go get some clothes for you.” He put his hand under her elbow and helped her up despite her protests.

When she passed through the doorway of the shop next door, everything wobbled, rippled. Sound screamed into a whistle and a hum. She squeaked as the room whited out, and fell to one knee, dirt on the floor grinding into her skin.

“It’s happening again.” Sten’s voice grated out above her. He grabbed her, hands at her waist, hauled her upright, and set her on her feet, gripping her midriff to steady her.

Dizzy, she blinked at him while sanity returned.

“I’m…right, thank you.”

The shop had everything, and all of it was ridiculous. Slave Costumes Galore, the gold embossed business cards said. Well. If she wanted to traipse around as a harem girl or squeeze into a corset with her tits out, she was in the right place.

“Let’s find another shop.” She tapped the card on the marble shop counter.

Without an internal light on, the place was lost in the subdued yellowish light filtering through the front window.

“Nope. Here’s your clothes.” Sten emerged from the aisle between the clothes racks and held up a skimpy leather outfit on a hanger.

“No way.” She shook her head. “Nothing that jeopardizes my air fleet standing. Walking around in that”—she backed away—“would do so and therefore end our agreement.”

“Uh-uh.” Sten grabbed her elbow. “It won’t. Who’s to see? Zombies? Wear it, and this.” He had a tan half mask hooked on the hanger—with little catlike ears pricked up at the top and gold tabby markings striped across the leather. “Nobody’ll know it’s you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, paused, caught up in trying to figure out their agreement. “No. There may still be some normal humans. Hell, Sten. We have a world to save, and you want me dressed up like a cat?”

“A big, lickable pussy cat, yes.” His voice was hoarse. His eyes gleamed with lust. “Obey, remember?” He tossed the clothes onto the counter. “You can’t do this every time I come up with a new twist you don’t like.”

“Sten, this is just one of those sexual urges. Block it out. You can’t be making up new—”

Without giving her time to react, he pulled her to him, then picked her up around the waist.

“Hey!” She struggled, but his big hands grabbed hers and gripped them tight at the small of her back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to spank you.” He hooked a timber chair with his foot and sat with her across his lap, head down.

“What? Why?” She spluttered, still thrashing, but the hand at her back pushed her firmly onto his lap, held her easily. Awareness of their size and strength difference left her suddenly floundering. She was small, and he was so damned big. His other hand pushed up the shirt, smoothed across her bottom. Toes shoving at the floor, she tried to rise. The first blow fell with a whack, reverberated through her, sent a liquid message into her flesh. Shocked, she stiffened.

“No,” she said in a hushed voice. “You can’t do this.”

“No?” In quick succession, he struck her again and again, alternating from one ass cheek to the other. His large hand gripped and pressed her wrists into the small of her back.

Ohh.

Kaysana made one last frantic squirming effort to free herself. If she moved her legs, he hit harder. If she stayed still…

Warmth built, turning hotter and hotter. Panting, hair falling across her eyes, she stayed put—half-afraid to move, half anticipating the rush of the next blow. Each smack seemed to force a louder gasp from her mouth. Her bottom, of its own accord, rose up to meet his hand.

“Good.” Sten’s spanking hand slid down her cleft, and his finger dipped inside her just enough to make her close her eyes. “You’re very wet, Kaysana.”

She could hear the wry amusement in his tone but didn’t care, too lost in the mesmerizing slip and slide of his fingers between her folds and the stir of heat whenever a finger forged in deeper.

“How far will you let me go, Kaysana? Hmm?”

“No fa—” She jerked as one finger delved into her vagina, inches deeper. Her walls closed on him, tight, then let go. The floor under the chair, Sten’s feet, met her fogged gaze. Upside down on his lap, with him probing inside her. She groaned. “This isn’t kissing.”

“No?”

He shifted. She felt him bend, and his lips met just above her nether hole, his tongue licked a little way into her ass crack.

“Nooo.” Her whispered word trailed off as his fingers moved in, three into her pussy. Then his thumb nudged against the other circle of muscle, swirling saliva from the trail of his tongue and her juices around the hole, lubricating her. She tugged at where he gripped her wrists, felt the steel in his grasp. Inescapable. She wriggled. “Mmm.”

“You like that?” His words, spoken as if into her very skin, sped straight through her like a steaming arrow.

Her clitoris throbbed, the little nub standing out so high and hard she knew he would feel the movement on his thigh. The heat from her bottom sent a warm message flowing everywhere, softening her thoughts, making it nearly impossible to think.

“Ahh, you do.”

Every sensation screwed up inside her so tight she could barely breathe. She shoved her ass up onto his fingers as much as she could, writhed. Her last resistance fell away. She wanted him inside her—fingers, cock, tongue, anything would do as long as it happened soon.

The place within that had changed suddenly solidified like concrete, real. Then like desert sand stripped by a blast of wind from some hidden treasure, something inside her went. Gone, permanently.

Kaysana gulped, panted. What had she lost? But all she knew was desire for the man whose knee she lay over.

Then he stood and set her on her feet, as calmly as someone rearranging a shop dummy.

“Put on the clothes.”

Numb, trembling, yet at the loss of his touch feeling the world crawl slowly back in, Kaysana raised her head and looked up at Sten. What had happened a few seconds ago? Something…odd.

“Now.”

She focused hard on him, frowned, drew herself straighter. Her vision expanded. The colors returned to the shop around them.

Until he reached out and touched her arm. Nirvana struck. His skin on hers was like opium to an addict. She inhaled his scent, lowered her eyes.

“Now, Kaysana.”

She heaved a sigh, took the clothes and the pair of thigh-high tan boots, stripped naked, and dressed in the fawn leather microtop, did up the buckle that went under her breasts, and slipped on the little flared skirt. The thin leaves of leather barely reached midthigh. Each time she’d faltered while dressing, Sten touched her. Each time her head cleared of his influence, she figured out anew how his presence drugged her senses, and then touch and the thought was gone again.

No underwear?

“Um.” She shook her head, licked her lips. “Stop touching me. It’s messing with my mind.”

“I noticed.” The lines around his eyes softened, and he smiled. “I like it. Don’t you?” He ran his fingernail over the double curve where her breasts swelled above the neckline of the top.

“Yes.” She trembled again. “And no.”

“Wait.” Sten fitted the mask over her head, fishing out strands of hair from under the strap before fastening up the buckle at the back. The thin leather smelled new and pungent. “Need this.” From the counter, he picked up another leather item and brought it to her neck.

A collar and leash? What am I, a pet? “Uh-uh.” Hurriedly she stepped away. Her back and buttocks hit the counter with a thunk.

“Yes.” He crowded her, left her nowhere to go, slipped the collar around her neck, and closed it. With a slick winding motion, he wrapped the leather leash several times around his fist.

Trapped.

“Now, my lovely woman, you’re really mine.”

Paralyzed, panting in soft bursts, she looked out through the eyeholes as Sten bent to kiss her. She watched him approach, and those lips—full and manly, strong like the rest of him. A traitorous thought kindled. Just how I like it. Her lips parted, anticipating. She moaned at the first light press of his mouth.

He kissed with little teasing movements. “Beautiful. I love you like this.”

And oh how the wet, exploring lick of his tongue tip enticed her. When he slipped his arm around her, she opened her lips wider, let him use his mouth to push her back into the cradle of his arms. Her neck bowed. He grasped her hair along with the leash so she couldn’t move her head. His other hand went down to her backside and shoved the leather leaves of the skirt up between her legs.

The kiss deepened, roughened, until she sagged in his arms, giving out small moans and cries. She clawed at him, her fingernails embedding in his back. At last he stopped and turned her around, then brushed her ear with his lips. Warmth feathered to her groin. The leather top squashed in on her hard nipples.

The wolf still stood at the window. A tiny bird hovered at his shoulder. Where had she seen it before? The fog inside her head refused to let a coherent answer form.

Emily’s?

She went to point at the bird, but Sten reached from behind and captured her hand, then the other one, crossed them at her back. The hard leather of the leash wound round and round her wrists, making a firm, inescapable bond, that…she realized, connected her hands to the collar about her throat.

“Go forward.” He propelled her to an upholstered bench positioned before the window. Cadrach stared through the glass at her as she was forced to her knees by Sten’s heavy hand on her shoulder.

He was going to fuck her. The revelation pummeled logical thought into some lost realm. She wanted him so much the need thudded hard into her like a pounding hammer, hurting her, consuming her. If he stopped now, she would beg. Tears sprang into her eyes, though whether from lust or shame or plain frustration, she didn’t know, didn’t want to know.

“Head down.”

At the mere presence of his finger on her neck, she lowered her head obediently. Her forehead was cushioned on the seat. Weight balanced on knees, her ass still hurting, she poised there, waiting. The red velvet upholstery filled her vision. She heard the soft huff of her breath, the thump of her heartbeat, the hiss of cloth sliding down his legs and being kicked aside.

Helpless. Mmm. Her muscles below contracted. She had to stop herself from wriggling.

His body covered hers, heavy, pushing her hands into the middle of her back, pulling the collar onto the front of her neck so she had to arch. His forearms came down on either side on the seat; then he brought them in closer, hugging her shoulders, caging her tight, ever so tight. Yes.

“Comfy?” He nipped her ear. The little dose of pain spiked to her nipples. Kaysana shuddered. “Now. I want the truth. I think, if I read you right, that you can’t hold back. You’re wide open, aren’t you, woman? What is going on in your head?” Another nip, then a lick. She held her breath.

No. Won’t, can’t say.

He shoved her knees apart, jolting her. Then one arm lifted from her side, and she felt him part the leather skirt…and the head of his cock slipped, pushed into her wet slit enough to make her moan. Nearly…there. She squirmed to try and make him penetrate her.

“Too far gone to think?” He chuckled, hugged her again between his forearms, viselike. “I’m not moving till you answer. Do you like what I do to you?”

Ack. Her thoughts flowed like a swamp in summer. She knew what she should answer. No. The truth was easier, though. Far easier, and saying it felt like the first drop of fresh rain on an upturned face. “Yes.” His vise grip on her tightened more until she could barely drag in air. Ohh. “I…do.”

“Good. Second question, do you want me to fuck you?”

She groaned. Her clit throbbed. Everywhere throbbed. How many times had she been almost brought to orgasm? Yet…would this be begging?

Say yes, stupid. “Yes.” She shifted her legs, moved her bottom the tiny amount she could. “Please, fuck me.” And that was definitely begging. But she didn’t care anymore, not at all. She was so wet, so hot she felt a rivulet of moisture run down her inner thighs.

Sten growled and pushed into her, slow and steady. Sensations muddied, and she couldn’t tell what was where. Only that he was taking her, filling her, and she could do nothing except bear it. A spasm of her muscles brought a hiss to her lips. He stopped, waited.

“Take it, Kaysana,” he murmured. “I’m going all the way in. I’m going to screw you until there’s no way you can say you’re not mine.”

His? Right then his words seemed so right. She groaned, pushed up her butt. His teeth latched on to her neck, and he bit his way up the side. Pleasure fired up, drowning the small pains. The wide head of his cock reached the top of her womb and seemed to keep going, stretching her an inch farther, a relentless advance. He moved one hand, tracing down her neck, across her upper arm where it was pulled back by the leather around her wrists, then onto her breast.

“You have such soft skin.” His hand slipped beneath the leather of the top and cupped her breast. “This is mine too.”

He nuzzled her neck, thrust in and out of her as he toyed with her nipple. Dazed, she concentrated on everywhere he touched her. Nipple, cunt, neck, ear, anus. How easily he played with her, sent her soaring into arousal. She whimpered, leaned into the cushion. The red material surged back and forth as her forehead slid.

“That’s my girl. Say it, Kaysana. Say you’re mine.” The little in-and-out shunting movements intensified. He thrust in farther, harder. Her cunt grew wetter. Her little whimpers turned to cries. “Say it.”

No.

His thrusts became violent slams. Unable to stop, she bowed up more, at ass and neck, craving every inch of his cock. While he pinched her nipple hard and bit her neck, his other hand shifted down, probed for her clit, and gripped it unforgivingly.

“Are you mine?”

“Yes! Ah, ah. Ah!” Each thrust worked hot magic in her, each bite and pinch amplified by the brutal squeezing on her clit. Like a storm boiling down from the heavens, roaring across the land, obliterating reality, she came, spasming. The final whack of his groin against her and the ram of his cock up inside as far as it could reach, the spurt of his cum, threw her into another bout. Pleasure ravaged through her, and she heard herself scream and scream.

And scream.

“Ohgod, ohgod.” She gasped and slumped onto the seat.

Chapter Nine

When she looked up, with a droplet of sweat sitting at the tip of her nose, Cadrach was there at the window. Emily’s multicolored bird fluttered about—repeatedly hopping from shoulder to ground, then launching into the air.

“That’s Emily’s little bird. One of my crew.”

“Oh?” Sten pulled himself from inside her.

His movement made her jump and her thoughts curl inward for a second, feeling, remembering. When has sex ever been this good? Never. But… “I can think again.”

“Sounds bad. Am I going to regret that?” To her surprise, she heard lightness in his words. Sten untied her hands, massaged her wrists.

The man was joking, after all he’d done to her? Yet…that pleased her, when she should be cursing him. Kaysana shook her head and set her palms on the seat. Her body, even her damn legs trembled from exhaustion—both physical and mental. The bedrock of her world lay crumbled about her.

“I should be hating you. Why don’t I?” she said miserably, not sure if she wanted him to hear how vulnerable she was. To submit physically was excusable, unavoidable maybe. But the way her feelings for him had wrenched from one direction to the other in the space of two days…devastating. “This is madness. I should be thinking of nothing but my mission.” Except now he was like a gargantuan presence on her horizon, bending all her thoughts.

He kissed the back of her neck, gently combed out her hair, and tied it back into a ponytail with some soft cord. “You’re not the only one thinking like this. We need to get things straight between us. Stay there.”

She did. Head on her forearms with them flat on the seat, her bottom still out on display, she waited for his return. The leash dangled across her back and onto the upholstery. With her eyes closed, the world was a dark, swirling mass behind her eyelids. Whether it was the euphoric haze of aftersex or this odd effect Sten had on her, she didn’t know…but she stayed there.

“Good.” Something heavy but soft landed on the floor. Then she heard him move behind her and felt a damp cloth cleaning her. How gentle he was compared with before.

Her thoughts were steadying, rearranging. Maybe she’d feel fine and normal again soon.

“Come here.” His low male rumble made her shudder as if he’d delivered a brutal kiss. No, I’m not normal, not at all.

With his help, she lay back with him on a pile of fur coats. He’d pulled clothes on—a shirt and pants. He arranged her skirt to cover her backside, and snuggled in, spooning with her, his soft mouth at her ear, one well-muscled arm pillowing her neck, the other draped below her breasts. The soft mask sat askew on her face, and her view of the room was cut off by the lopsided positioning of the eyeholes.

“Now, dear. Let’s talk. You say you should hate me? Well, I’m not normally partial to ornery women myself. Only I want you, your body, I want everything about you to be mine.” He stated this like it was a summary of the weather, in a slow, measured way. “If this is the plague, then so be it. But I remember how I felt before the thing hit us. I lusted after you then too. Only difference now is I’m doing it.” He nibbled her earlobe, pulled her closer. “This is right.”

Silence stretched, ached with possibility. Her turn. How to say this? It made her feel so weak. Yet—

She sighed. “The same, in a way. Yet logically it’s wrong.” The arm under her…so close, smelling so nice. She licked out with her tongue and tasted him, took a piece of his skin in her front teeth and bit, released him, licked again. After he’d spanked her, tied her up, fucked her, she wanted to do it again. This time she groaned at the stupidity of it all and rocked her forehead against him. “I have to get my mission done. How?”

Sten kissed her neck, chuckled. “Mmm. Said I’d help you. I will. But I’m going to enjoy you at the same time. Doesn’t change things that much.”

Enjoy me? Thank God frankenstructs were sterile and disease free. “Once everything is over, we part ways?”

“We’ll see when this is over.”

“No.” Like an old shield she’d set aside, logic returned. “When this is over. We part.” But merely saying, she knew in her bones, was so different from doing. She wriggled against him. “I’m able to think again, properly. I don’t understand why.”

“No?” She felt him smile into her hair. “It’s because you’ve had an orgasm, I reckon. Given time, my effect on you’ll come back if I’m right.”

“Oh nooo,” she said under her breath. Damn. He was right, though. She could feel the way he bothered her building already. How long before it was unbearable again? “Maybe…maybe we should separate now?”

“Uh-uh.” A finger hooked into the collar, tugged. “We’re together in this. I’ll come with you to this Perihelion place. You’d be darn crazy to go alone.” He growled. “Don’t even think about getting away. You gave your word.”

She rubbed her face with her hand, adjusted the mask. “But why? Don’t you hate being manipulated like this? Even if you’re feeling these strange impulses, don’t you somehow know you should run the other way?”

“No. This could be dangerous, and I want to help you. Why? Do you want to run?”

Damn him. How dare he ask such an excruciating question? But she didn’t have to answer. She sniffed, tried to pull his finger away from the collar, but he wouldn’t budge and instead gave it a jerk.

“Answer me, Kaysana. Do you want to run from me?”

“An entire city is fleeing in the other direction! There’s something out there that turns people into zombies! And you’re my only…friend.” She stared at the blond hairs on his forearm, frowned. “You’re damned big, and strong.” At that she was sure his dick pulsed against her bottom. Hmph. “I’d be stupid to want to get rid of you.”

He grunted. “Good. Glad to see you want to fuck me too. Now let’s go find out about this Emily.” He unclipped the leash, hauled himself to his feet, and dusted himself off.

She glared up at him. “I do not want…to fuck you.”

“No?” He angled up an eyebrow. “I doubt you’ll win that argument. Come.”

By the time she’d scrambled to her feet, he was already out the door, having rescued his shotgun and sword from a hat stand. He obviously expected her to fall in on his tail. Sighing, she followed.

Past Sten’s shoulder, his wolf lay midstreet, watching. The little bird sat fluffed up on top of one paw.

“I’m sure that’s Emily’s.” Slowly she approached Cadrach. “Here, boy. Let me look.”

When he lifted his lip in a snarl, she froze with her hand out.

“Cadrach, at ease!” Sten stepped past her, brushed her hand aside, and coaxed the bird. “Here, little one.” Cheeping, the canary stepped daintily onto his finger.

“May I?” With both hands, she cupped the trembling bird. “Aww. It’s scared.”

“Crazy bird. Seems to like Cadrach.”

Lips pursed, she made kissing sounds and stroked its feathers. Slowly the bird calmed. A red streak remained on the pad of her finger. “Blood.” She blinked. What had happened to Emily?

“Not good, then. And neither’s he.”

“What?” She heard the sound of the shotgun being unslipped from the holster on Sten’s back.

A hundred yards away, a zombie staggered toward them. Beyond, above the roof of a whitewashed building, red smoke trickled into the sky. The zing of fear and alertness sent goose bumps racing along her arms. The bird pecked at her palm. She put her thumb on its head, patting to reassure it.

Tattered cloths hung from the zombie’s arms and body. The gargling sound of its breathing broke the silence of the deserted street.

“One isn’t a problem. But let’s get to the steam cycle. I want to find Emily if I can.” She blinked at Sten, placed the bird on her shoulder. “Not leaving her if I can help it. Understand?”

“Sure. Up you come.” With a hand in her armpit, he helped her to her feet. To her relief, his touch did no more than any man’s might have. “Any ideas on how to do that?”

She joined him in jogging to the steam cycle. Already waiting at the back door, the wolf looked up at her, tongue dangling across those large white teeth. “Um. Follow the red smoke? That’s a rescue marker.” Where to sit? Sitting in the backseat with the snarly damn wolf was just not happening again.

“Aah, I see it. You're showing your smart side today.” He wrenched open the driver’s door, slung the haversack over the headrest and onto the floor at the back. “Get in. Zomb at forty paces and closing, speeding up with the lurches too.”

“Shoot him?” When she looked pointedly at his shotgun, he shrugged and tapped the ammo on his belt.

“No. I kill when I have to.”

Why did I have to get lumped with a squeamish merc?

Then the hard filter of years of training dropped away. The zombie was once a father, a son. She understood and sympathized with Sten. God, I can't function like this, can I? Feeling all the time? How does Sten?

The wolf looked at her, then the door. She opened it. He bounced in, straight onto the shiny, buttoned-down leather, circled once, and sat with tail wrapped about his paws. The canary launched itself from her shoulder to land on the opposite armrest. Not much room. She shuddered.

“Say, could I drive?” Then you can sit in the back with your fluffy dog.

He paused, halfway into the front position. “No. Get…” He glanced at her face, then the zombie, and grabbed her hand. “I’ll drive. You navigate.” He pulled her over, slipped into the seat, then dragged her in and onto his lap.

The steam cycle grumbled slowly down the street, weaving in a wide arc around the zombie, who tangled his feet and fell.

A dead donkey lay on its side with a small cart still strapped to it by a harness. They swerved left at the end of the street and into a narrower one. A swarm of zombies hobbled toward them—footpath to footpath, an almost unbroken line.

“Hang on!” Sten accelerated, the front wheel lifted, then thumped down, stirring up swirling dust. Engine screaming, they headed for the far right of the zombie pack. With Sten’s arms either side, Kaysana could only grip a fistful of the trouser fabric over his thighs and do exactly what he’d said—hang on tight.

A gun would be nice. Shooting something would be even better.

Arms and black fingers stretched toward them. Heads turned. The growling and moans penetrated the cycle’s glass and metal. Dead eyes swiveled. Nothing seemed to register to the zombies except them—breathing, living bodies. The gap ahead narrowed between the footpath and a building wall. With a teeth-cracking thud, the cycle mounted the footpath. A zombie appeared, clawed at the glass, went under the wheel, shrieking.

Oh hell!

The cycle bumped, slewed, and tilted, then rumbled over the top. Blackened blood splatted the windshield, lower left. They zoomed through the thinning crowd of undead. The street ahead was bare. The cries dissipated. The blood dribbled down, tendrils spreading sideways with the buffeting of air like a spiderweb spun of darkness.

“Gods and angels above,” Kaysana gasped. She twisted and stared past the wolf. The zombies turned and stumbled to follow. “They’re coming. This has to be quick.”

“Yes.”

Shutting her eyes might scare away the gruesome visions of rotting, chewing zombie mouths…of mangled limbs and gore and dripping eye sockets, of skulls with monstrous holes and hair plastered down with seeping brains. Ugh. No, not helping. She opened her eyes.

“You okay?” Sten freed a hand from the wheel, clasped her arm.

“Sure.” She remembered to breathe. “Sure.”

They followed the smoke. Her heart slowed from the nightmare tumult that had thudded at her chest, and she discovered there were benefits to sitting up front. She’d never been this fragile before. What had happened to the no-nonsense, steel-riveted wall around her soul? But for once she had someone to lean on in a time of peril.

A man makes a good armchair, she thought. Warm. Solid. A sanctuary.

A mile later, while snuggling back into Sten, she discovered the dangers.

“Try to keep it down,” she mumbled. His erection was going up and down on a regular basis. “Can’t you control yourself?”

“Around you?” Sten laughed. The bass tone near her ear started up that harmonic vibration in her crotch, and she melted just the teensiest amount, felt dampness in her cleft. He turned the wheel carefully. His chin rested near her ear, warm breath drifting through her hair as he peered around her to drive. “You’re not going to last much longer, are you?”

He knew.

“I’m not going to answer that on the basis it might give you ideas.” But she squirmed on his lap.

He laughed silently. “We’d better go find this Miss Emily before your brain turns to mush again and I have to fuck you to get you to make sense.”

Cao. Shit. Damn. The swear words didn’t change anything, but they did help her feel better. Arrogant man.

Wind had torn the red smoke into a tattered veil. Sten steered into a wider street. “There’s the source.”

Ahead was one of the tallest buildings—four stories, and at the top, at the very edge, a gyrocopter lay on its side. A crumpled rotor blade stuck out into space. When Kaysana wound down her window, the canary zipped out, shot straight up to the roof, and vanished from view.

“I reckon she’s up there. I’ll get you the revolver from the haversack.”

Five headless and well-perforated corpses were strewn about the street—all of them near the building. Had the other zombies come from here?

“Those are gunshot wounds.” She peered up. “Someone’s been defending themselves.” Alive still? God, she prayed it was so.

He flipped open the door, nudged her off his lap.

The building’s four-story facade rose before her eyes. The walls sloped slightly inward like on many buildings here—designed to resist earthquakes—and every tier had a small ledge underscoring the windows and wrought-iron grates. The walls were off-white brick, and on a big square sign POLICE HEADQUARTERS was written in Spanish, Tibetan, and English. The high timber doors leading in were propped open as if waiting for them.

She reached back and undid the rear door of the steam cycle. Cadrach jumped out and trotted over to sniff a zombie. “Not much taste, has he?”

“He’ll do. Smelling doesn’t equal liking.”

“No, but it makes me uncomfortable.”

Sten unclipped his haversack and handed her a chunky, holstered revolver and belt. She put it around her waist, adjusted the fit, cinched the bronze buckle. “Let’s go.”

He reached up and unsheathed his shotgun. The haversack swung from one shoulder. “Yeah, let’s. So why are we standing here with our feet glued to the floor?”

“We aren’t.” She drew the revolver. With Sten at her shoulder, she strode to the short flight of steps and into the building. What could go wrong when she had this monolith of a man as an ally?

Inside the foyer, straight ahead and in front of the stairs, a timber desk was piled with paper, pens, and books. The floor was strewn with clothes, weapon belts, truncheons, and paper.

“Me first,” Sten muttered.

They picked their way through the debris, then went slowly round and round the stair flights, checking every new corner, trying every door, expecting a zombie at any moment. In the quiet of the deserted building, the scuff of their boots on the stairs sounded loud as a shovel carving earth. From above, light trickled into the stairwell. Dark niches remained where a zombie might cower.

No matter how much Kaysana stared, the shadows sprouted suspicious shapes. She shook her head. “I think my eyes are growing stalks.”

“Ah-huh, knew there was somethin’ odd about you,” whispered Sten out of the corner of his mouth.

At the top, a closed door was the last barrier between them and the roof.

The sign on the door: WARNING. BEWARE OF SPINNING GYROCOPTER BLADES.

The walls rippled, jellifying for a moment.

Sten pushed past her, brushing her arm. The minuscule touch of his skin on hers fragmented and sizzled. Bliss struck. She shuddered, rocked back into the wall. Seconds later her brain cells kicked in. The lust was back. Wet, throbbing cleft, nipples like bullet points…damn.

Mouth open to breathe, she made herself calm. One. Two. Three.

Cool air coasted between her thighs. Kaysana looked down at the leather leaves of her skirt and grimaced. Her outfit revealed more than it concealed. She adjusted the mask. If anyone human was out there, she wanted to stay incognito wearing this getup.

After a swift twist of the handle, Sten wrenched open the door and rolled out. He sprang to his feet with the shotgun up, the barrel cruising in a semicircle, ready to blast enemies. Out there the sky was blue and cloudless. Framed by the doorway, a crumpled ball of paper tumbled past. The hairs on her arms went on alert. Cold raced down her spine.

Still…nothing happened. Cadrach brushed past and ran out onto the roof.

Trying to show nonchalance, she wandered out—pretending Sten wasn’t already getting under her skin, into her veins, and between her legs, as if she wasn’t eyeing him with a view to hauling him back into the stairwell so she could screw him fast and dirty.

Gun barrel pointing the way, she turned, scanning the flat roof. Four dead male zombies sprawled near the wrecked gyro. At one corner, a five-yard-high metal-braced tower had a weather cock spinning atop. Storage bins, not much else. Where was Emily?

“Go slow, Sten. Some might be only half-downed.” She hefted the revolver, ready to pop one into anything that moved, that shouldn't.

“Sure.” Heel, toe, heel, toe, he worked his way past the four zombie corpses. None stirred. “Brains are gone. They’re good and expired.”

Stepping as if on fractured glass, dirt crunching underfoot, she eyed the bolts at the base of the shiny new radiophony tower. There must be a radiophony transmitter. Worth knowing, if she could figure out how to use the newfangled thing. She sneaked a look to the left. Nothing lurked behind the storage bins.

“Who’s there?”

Woman's voice—Emily’s?

Cadrach loped toward the sound and whined.

On the far side of the wreck, they found Emily, naked, bound with her hands before her, and tied to the gyrocopter by her ankle. Metal creaked as a gust shook the gyro, making it teeter on the edge. The canary alternated between flying in frantic circles and landing on Emily. Two women lay dead a few yards away.

In Emily’s eyes dwelt the blandness of overwhelming fear. Next to her, a large bore shotgun was propped against the gyro’s metal skin. Her whole body shook in waves from her pigtails to her toes. “Tha-thank you for coming, ma’am, sir. I’m sorry.” She sniffled. “Sorry I couldn’t help them. Ammo’s gone.”

Cadrach lay near her, chin on paws, yellow eyes watching Emily’s every move. He wriggled close on his belly and licked her leg twice.

“You did good, girl.” Sten laid his gun down and brushed her temple. “We got your back now. Don’t look at them. Tell me, are you wounded anywhere?”

“No. Just them.”

Both women were from the Art of War—a pilot and an ensign. Not zombified, just plain dead people. Kaysana kept her face rigid, absorbing the pain, striving for control. Every time she lost someone, it hurt, but this… Bile flavored her mouth, screwed up her guts. She frowned a little. Sten was so good at comforting people. Instinctive almost, it seemed. Hugging was just plain foreign to her. She envied him.

Like thrown-aside toys, the women lay stripped of their uniforms, tangled together with twisted limbs. A long metal pole joined them grotesquely—driven through one woman’s stomach and out the back, then through the other. Dark blood pooled on the ground. The putrid smell of burst innards and violent death. The beautiful blue of the sky contrasted with the frozen agony on their faces.

Raped, tortured, then killed.

“Raised men,” she whispered.

“Yep.” Sten pulled a small knife from a sheath at his waist. “Hope they’ve gone elsewhere. They’re too smart for my liking.” He severed the rope joining Emily to the gyro, moved on to the ropes tying her hands.

“They did it in front of me once the ammo ran out, made me watch. Said I was next. There was one who talked. Kept talking like someone was telling him what to do…ugly things.” Emily shut her eyes a moment, cleared her throat. “About fifteen, twenty minutes ago, they turned away, forgot me, climbed down, and went.”

The talking bothered her. Other zombies don’t talk. Ling did the same. And who attracted them? Us? Kaysana breathed out slow through her teeth.

A stream of blood flowed across the concrete, swallowing the gray. They’re dead, gone—nothing more can be done for them. Emily is the priority. The past is done. A memory flashed in her mind.

Blood unfurling and spreading in the stream beneath the bridge. The stream that carried twigs for their races.

No. Kaysana pushed it aside, shuddering back into the now.

Untied, Emily wrapped her arms about herself and stared wide-eyed up at Sten. “I know you. From the airship.”

“Yeah, darling.” Sten dropped his haversack, knelt, and gently turned her foot, studying the purple marks left by the rope. “I’m rescuing you again. Don’t make a habit of this, will you?”

“No.” She laughed in a choked-up way, wiped her eyes. “Promise.”

Chapter Ten

If she went nearer, Emily might recognize her. The world’s so fucked-up, what’s it matter? She squatted, put her arm about Emily, pulled her close. The notion this might make Emily feel better was strangely…nice. “Let’s get you checked over.”

The rope had abraded Emily’s ankle. Items from the gyro’s tool kit and first aid kit lay strewn next to her leg. The swabs stuffed around the rope were stained with blood. Impressive presence of mind. Had Emily been looking for something sharp? And she’d tried to treat her wound.

A few faint yells and shouts came from below. “You’ll be okay, Emily.” Sten massaged her foot, then met Kaysana’s eyes. “Color’s coming back real fast. We need her walking. From the sounds of it, a crowd is gathering down below and this building is climbable.”

Climbable? “We should limit the entry points. Can you block the door?”

“How will we get out then? The zombs could come from any direction down there.”

Excellent question. She looked about, thinking. “I know how. Given some luck.”

“Luck? That’s my territory. I’ll wedge the door shut.” He stalked away.

One thing fixed.

The whistle of the wind and the creak of the gyro shifting lent the awful pause a musical background.

She stepped sideways, glanced down. Below, men milled at the base of the building, some making tentative efforts to climb.

Sten came around the end of the gyrocopter, and her mind plummeted into an abyss. A fog of desire swirled in, crowding out thoughts. Biting her lip didn’t help.

“I’ve jammed the door shut the best I can.” He wiped his brow. “It should do. Now. How do we get off here? What’s the plan? Kaysana?”

The fog was a gray shroud, tangling up his words with the lust raging through her. Teetering on her feet, she hung there, teased by the movement of Sten’s lips, by the swagger in his hips. She itched to sink to her knees and hold on to his leg. Stupid. I’m not a dog. Not thinking right. Maybe, if I…shut my eyes?

Blackness descended. She groped for, held onto, some part of the gyrocopter. Something sharp dug into her fingers.

She heard the conversation as if at a distance, yet comprehension eluded her.

“Damn. She has a plan to get us off the roof.”

“Why can’t she say what it is? Who is she? I feel like I kinda know her.” A female voice.

“All she wants right now is to come—and this doesn’t seem the time or place. Emily, can you go slap her?”

“Me?”

“Yep. You. I bother her too much, an’ we need her thinking.”

Even through the fog she recognized smugness. Bastard.

“Gosh, okay. Here I go. This seems wrong.”

Footsteps crunched closer. A hand smacked across her face, stinging her. She coughed and opened her eyes, put her hand to her cheek. Emily peered at her, concern and curiosity, all in one.

For a few seconds pain overrode her confusion. Why does he affect me so?

“I’m sorry for that but… How do we get off the roof?” Emily leaned in, blonde pigtails swaying. “Zombies are coming.”

Behind Emily, as if he’d had been catapulted onto the roof, a man appeared—arms outstretched, eyes alight with orange fire, his fire-wreathed hands reached. Cadrach snarled and lunged…then Sten’s shotgun blew the zombie away.

Blood misted the air. He bit off a scream, spun out into midair, and went down. Gone.

A knife clattered to the concrete. Blinking, she studied it. The zombie must’ve had it. Snick snick. The shotgun’s barrel rotated, loading a round. Sten hefted it, stepped back toward her. “They’re coming up. Kaysana, what do we do?”

Fog waited at the edges. Pain, she needed pain. The sharpness under her fingers called, and she grasped it. Fire lanced into her, wetness leaked across her fingers, and her mind cleared. Even with her eyes closed, he’d affected her. If not sight, then maybe smell. She inhaled.

The first aid kit. She dived on it, fumbled through the contents—swabs, tweezers, found a small bottle of antiseptic, unscrewed it, and wiped liquid under her nose. The scent burned away Sten’s distinctive odor.

She blinked, sneezed. I can think again. She went to jam the bottle in a pocket and found she had none. Skimpy skirt, minuscule top. Blast. She tucked it into her top.

Now even Sten’s smell sends me crazy? The lust was still there, but a simmering presence instead of something that blazed like a ten-mile-high bonfire. Not being able to think clearly when she needed to was a disaster. She’d have to stay on her toes to defeat it.

Another zombie scrambled onto the roof. Cadrach lunged, thumping into him. He collapsed like a dead man should, all floppy, flailing limbs. To a symphony of wet cracking sounds, Cadrach closed his bear-trap mouth over the zombie’s throat and ripped it out.

In one stride, Sten reached him. “Leave it, Cadrach!” The dog backed off. Sten placed the shotgun to the zombie’s temple, pulled the trigger. The shotgun boomed and splattered the roof in an arc of black blood.

Three more clambered onto the roof. They headed for Emily.

Pirouetting and leaping back like a well-armed ballerina, Sten gestured at Emily and held out his arm as if to shepherd her farther away from the onslaught. For a microsecond, his arm touched Kaysana. The shock wave dropped her to her knees. As if they were puppets yanked by a string, the three invaders swiveled their heads and changed direction toward her and Sten.

On hands and knees, Kaysana scuttled back out of reach. She pulled the revolver from the holster. In their eye sockets, flames churned. The brush of hair at her side and a low growl told her Cadrach was there.

Blam. She shot one plumb through the forehead, and the recoil rocked her wrist. Still coming? Blam blam. And it finally went over backward with a neat triangle of holes on its head.

Sten picked the other two off easily, knocking them off the roof. The third he booted into space. Yet she heard him mumble under his breath as if he found the killing distasteful.

“How do we get off, Kaysana? There’s a hundred down there!”

A step forward, a glance down, and she saw more zombies sprinting in. Some scrambled to climb the facade. Some fell, landing in crumpled heaps. Others, ones with flaming eyes, came up the building like monkeys. The revolver dangled heavily from her hand.

The next five zombies she and Sten blasted full of holes. She reloaded, slipping in the fat brass cartridges plucked from the belt, one by one. Though eager and full of a wild-eyed joy of battle, the wolf stayed behind, where Sten had sent him.

Before she was ready, five more reached the top.

After a step back to cover a wider area, Sten shot them, one after the other, like a prize-winning shoot at a fair. Then he reloaded, methodical and calm. Blood and chunks of flesh spattered the roof. Sten scrubbed his forearm across his face as he wiped away sweat.

She mightn’t be quite in her right mind, but she could see the man hated killing. Hell, what sane person wouldn’t. How much had she prejudged him?

“We should leave, Sten, or we’ll be overwhelmed.”

The aerial—that had been her plan. She gestured. “Knock over the aerial and use it as a ladder to get across to the next building’s roof. That’s a police garage. Bound to be some vehicle in there. Can you unscrew the bolts at the base? They’re new. There’s a wrench in the kit you tipped out.”

“I can,” Emily piped up. “My dad was a steam engine fitter and mechanic.”

Naked, plus she’d just survived a close encounter with rape and death, and her little ship’s librarian was composed already and steady of voice? The depth of the woman amazed her. Kaysana adjusted her mask. “Sure. Do that. The bolts might still be tight. Yell if you need help.”

“’Kay.” Emily smiled, saluted, turned on her heel, and ran toward the aerial.

Saluting? Yelling orders might have given me away. God, Sten said my name too. This is stupid. She drew off the mask, tossed it aside.

“Look at this.” Sten stared over the side. He held the long and bloody pole that had skewered the women. While she’d been preoccupied, he’d slid it from their bodies. Ugh. She hoped his reasons were good.

When she tore her gaze away from how he casually held that deadly pole, and looked at where he pointed, she saw a raised man below, surrounded by other kneeling men. He went from one to the other, touching their heads like a priest granting a blessing. They fell, writhing. Some rose. Even at the great distance, she could see the flare in their sockets.

“Shotgun won’t reach,” she murmured.

He drew back his arm, flung the pole. “Haaa!”

The shout seemed to stir the hairs on her arm. The pole sped down the side of the building, whistling, spinning, heading earthward with a vengeance…and speared into the raised man’s head—knocking him over, fastening him to the earth like a wriggling worm pinned in a collection.

Sten peered over, grunted. “Scratch one.”

Chapter Eleven

By the time Emily had toppled the aerial onto the adjacent building, Sten was low on ammunition and Kaysana was low on antiseptic. The bitter stench of it under her nose made her want to throw up.

Worth it, though—if I can keep this wanting under control.

“There’s a gap in their attack. No more raised men.” Using finger and thumb to guide them, Sten slid the last five cartridges into the shotgun’s chambers.

“Let’s go, then!” She indicated the makeshift bridge. Emily had already traversed it.

The crisscross frame of the aerial looked strong but there was nowhere real wide. And I’m not a trapeze artist. Cadrach should be okay. Which is good. The wolf had grown on her, and leaving him behind for the zombies…the idea made her feel ill.

She’d have to crawl as Emily had. Kaysana gave it a kick with her boot and nothing shifted. Solid. At a whistle and gesture, the wolf crawled across the antenna to Emily, leaping and bounding about in joy once he reached her.

“Down, boy,” Emily squeaked, then giggled at the slurp of his tongue. “Come on, you two!”

“You’re next. Ladies first.” Sten inclined his head. Then, hand propped on knee, he leaned out to check the street. “Fuck. They’re following us.”

The sight of the heavy cord of muscle at the side of his neck fed into her like an electric zap. She ran her tongue along her parted lips. No. Hell no. Control yourself. She tore her eyes away.

The subdued roar forewarned her. The crowd flowed into the side street. Some already poured into the door of the opposite building. This would be suicide. And Emily was over there. Her thoughts raced through the possibilities. The only solution she could think of made her heart stutter a few lonely beats. Could Emily do what she needed to? She tried to remember the woman’s personnel file and couldn’t. What were the chances there’d be a vehicle with the keys inside? Emily’s so young. How it is so many people have to die? God, I’m getting maudlin, weak.

She straightened.

“Sten. We need to distract them.”

“Oh?” He scowled, watched the milling zombies for a few seconds. “Yeah, guess you’re right. Ideas?”

“I have one.” Then she raised her voice and yelled across the gap. “Emily, go get a vehicle. We’ll draw the zombies away first, so wait a while in the stairwell. We’ll meet you down there, at the back street! Take care! And get some clothes!”

“Guard her, Cadrach!” Sten added. “Good boy!”

“Sure. Okay!” Emily cried. She and Cadrach headed for the opposite door leading down off the roof.

Brave girl. Kaysana heard Sten approach.

“What’s your idea?”

She didn’t turn. Saying this was easier when not seeing his eyes. She licked her lips, composed herself. “Passion attracts them. When we touched earlier…and after we made love at the shop, they headed for us.” Saying this is so hard to do. “Seduce me.”

She listened. His boots crunched closer. Her breathing stopped.

“You sure?”

The wind gusted, shoving at her a moment as she stood there at the edge, flicking strands of hair across her face. Did he mean the zombie part? Or that she wanted him to seduce her?

“Yes, as sure as I can be. This is just…necessary, though, so don’t get—”

At her ear, something snapped, tinkled, moved her collar. Her stomach sinking, she turned. The long line of a leash swayed from her collar to Sten’s hand. Instinct made her resist. He wound it in fast, pulled her to him. Though she whipped her hand up to grab the leash, it was too late.

His face was inches from hers, his sea blue eyes pinning her in place as much as the leash in his hand.

“STAY STILL,” STEN said quietly, firmly, then put his hand to her bare back and felt her jerk at the press of skin to skin. The transformation made his dick quiver as always, and damn, he was already hard. The way Kaysana’s face changed fascinated him. It was like watching a flower unfurl. The hardness, the wariness, drained away. Instead she looked at him with adoration and acceptance in those toffee brown eyes.

Yet after a few seconds, he saw awareness return. This is new. She’s resisting this thing that affects us. He didn’t bother trying to resist anymore. He wanted her, knew he would’ve anyway. This just made it easier. The Zen let him see the truth. Having Kaysana kneel at his feet—this was his fantasy, want, need…whatever. Having her want him back sent his libido soaring into the stratosphere. Done deal.

The intriguing thing was watching her wriggle to get out of it. To deny her needs.

“Come.” He tugged, then towed her to the front of the rooftop by the leash wrapped in his hand.

“Sit here. Stop trying to push me away. You’re right. Last time I touched you, those zombies zeroed in on us like flies to…” Blood.

Keep your shit focused. Zone them out. Zen, man, Zen. Took him a few hard seconds, but he managed. He had to. Their lives depended on this working. The difficult bit was keeping her in a mental space where she forgot.

At the touch of his hand on her shoulder, she sighed. Quivering with need already? Her smart, thinking side was clearly miles away. He spread his fingers on her warm skin and smiled.

If not for the effects of the plague, this would never have worked. The zombies waiting below to rip them apart weren’t exactly love potion ingredients.

Sten pressed his palm on her nape, made her kneel, turned the leash around his fist until his knuckles brushed the angle of her throat and jaw. He bent down, staring at her. Her gaze went all gooey, her pupils dilating, gorgeous—if he could’ve bottled that, he would’ve.

“Let’s kiss,” he murmured.

The feel of her soft lips under his near unhinged him. Their hot breaths mingled as he explored her mouth. At first passive, then she struggled a little and tried to pull away. With his hands at her neck and throat, he held her to him. “No,” he whispered, licking the corner of her mouth. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

Then he crushed her resistance, shoving his tongue between her lips, taking over her mouth with his while he slid his fingers into her hair. He turned his hand to screw those fingers into the roots, wrapping hair about each finger—harder, tighter. When she gasped and her mouth fell open, he knew he had her. He kept at her. Not until she moaned uncontrollably into his mouth did he let up and slowly lift away.

Her eyes were shut. Her mouth was open still, air sucking in and out with little wanting gasps.

“Beautiful.” Still holding her head, he glanced over the side. Six or ten of the crowd were down there, walking about, staring up, some of them backing up to see him and Kaysana better. Not enough. Clearly it was doing something to them, but he needed to crank up the effect to attract the rest.

Fuck. Fuckitty fuck. We can’t afford to get this wrong. Anger stirred, the familiar red mess bubbling up, calling to him. A faint crackling sizzled inside his head.

No! Gritting his teeth, he forced it back. The tension in his muscles ebbed. He studied Kaysana. “What are we lacking?” Her eyelids fluttered open. Such promise in those eyes. As if she expected and needed more.

Ah. Course.

“The passion needs to be stronger. Yes?” But she didn’t or couldn’t answer. He’d left her lost inside her thoughts. “Let’s try something better, hotter. Trial and error.”

Instead of flaring into rage, the crackling tension inside gave him focus.

Find peace in the simplicity of life. Ignore what isn’t now. Be. Exist. See the beauty in the moment. The tightness washed away. He smiled down at her, then let go of the leash and traced her lower lip with his fingers.

Gravity and the curves of her body showed his hand the way to the silky skin of her neck. He hooked his fingers under the neckline of the top and pulled it down one shoulder, then the other, making the top slide. He scooped each breast free, then went down on one knee and paid homage to each nipple—licking and sucking them until the tips hardened.

By then she had a hand wrapped around his wrist.

“No.” Yet she shivered. Her chest heaved enough that her nipple pushed in and out of his mouth. One last bite at her nipple and he straightened, grinning at the squeak he’d elicited.

“No?” He pried her hand loose, took both her wrists to her back. That alone made Kaysana arch toward him. “That’s my girl. Your mouth says no, but your body says yes.”

From the sounds below, the crowd grew. He narrowed his eyes. It was working. With one hand clamping her wrists at the small of her back, he let the leash dangle down her front so it tapped against her mound, then reached around her buttocks and between her legs to pull the leash through. A few loops about her wrists and a quick knot. There. Bound nice and firm.

The way she sank her teeth into her lip and swayed told him she liked this. He let his hand follow the leather of the leash, across belly and all the way down to where it split her labia and sank up into her. Moisture leaked around the leather onto his fingers. As if he had forever to do this, he traveled his fingers up and over her little engorged clit, then back along her cleft, watching her reaction—every whimper and moan and quiver.

“You’re so fucking wet already. I’d like to sit here all day teasing this clit.” He gave it a few taps and trapped it between his fingers, watched her eyelids drift half-shut and her tongue emerge between those plump lips. Kaysana made a small sound halfway between a whimper and a moan.

The noise below was louder than before. Five cartridges left in the shotgun at his feet. He prayed that’d be enough. With the raised men gone, those below didn’t seem clever enough to climb well. Lucky, damn lucky their brains were in short supply.

She so tempted him. He moved in, let his tongue find the way around the whorl of her ear, and whispered, “If I finger fuck you, do you think half the city’ll arrive?”

She blinked, swallowed, shut her eyes entirely. Her breathing sped up, sounding like a little steam engine gone haywire.

“Nice.” He brought up his wet hand to draw damp circles around one areola, his fingertip glancing off the protruding nipple here and there. Then he did the same to the other. “Suck these clean.” With her eyes still closed, she opened her mouth, took the three fingers he inserted, and licked him obediently.

The tickling and the warm, wet sensation as she slurped at him and slid her tongue over and in between his fingers hardened his cock even more, until it tented his pants. He drifted his gaze over her body. How he’d bound her at the wrists, with the leash running from the collar and through her legs, made her breasts thrust out and up. Beautiful.

He cupped her chin. “I’d like to take you here, fuck you on the roof, in front of the world, but I don’t think we’ve time.”

The whole-body shudder that ran through her, rocking her chin in his hand, sent crazy signals to his groin. His balls tightened.

One or two men, from the sounds, were scrambling up the building. He let one hand settle over the shotgun, turned it so the trigger was situated right, and resumed the kiss. He put his fingers back on her clit and started the rhythmic rocking and squeezing that would bring her off. The suck and pull of his lips on hers echoed what he did below. She stiffened, moaned; then her body tensed again as she climaxed. He moved her so her mouth rested on his shoulder.

Damn. Fascinated, he watched her every reaction as her torso undulated in waves. She’s still coming? Precum leaked onto his pants, and his dick twitched. As the orgasm kept on, he thrust a finger in deep while his thumb stayed on her clit. She bit him, screaming quietly at the back of her throat. Her groin pumped onto his hand. At last she stopped biting and crumpled, her forehead slipping down the front of his chest.

“Shhh. It’s okay.” He patted her.

The first man rose above the edge, his rot-blackened hands reaching. Sten lifted the shotgun one-handed, aimed. An engine growled into the street and screeched around to the rear of this one. Emily? Must be. Had better be.

Milliseconds later, at the arrival of the second and third men, he rose, stepped away from Kaysana. He went to that fucked-up place in his head that let him kill, shot the men down, undid her wrists and the leash, kissed her palm. Intelligence shone from her eyes.

“Trust me, darlin’?” He gave her a thin smile as he quickly rearranged her top. Two shots left…and the sword. Not enough, not when he’d suddenly figured out how much this woman meant to him.

“For now,” she answered shakily.

“Then let’s run!”

Chapter Twelve

Their flight across the roof, then down the back of the building seemed to blur together—the kiss, the thump of the shotgun, their crazy sprint across the roof, then the half climb, half fall from one story to the next. If the slant of the building made it easy to climb up, it was just as much a help when climbing down. And all the way, the dull roar of the crowd swelled as the zombies came after them.

Her feet hit the packed-earth street. Zombies staggered around the far corner of the building. With Sten beside her, she hightailed it for the vehicle.

Sitting at the wheel of a three-yard-high, segmented half-track was Emily. The engine churned over and smoke coughed from a double side funnel. The four front wheels spun. Through the dust-smeared windshield, Emily waved her hands madly, jumping a little in the seat. Something small swayed before her face inside the cabin. Her canary sat on the dashboard.

Kaysana hurled herself through the door, sliding across the floor on her breasts and tummy, with Sten tumbling in straight after. By bunching his hand in her skirt, he hoisted her up and dragged her farther in. The engine coughed. The car jerked as if overeager to leave, and they sped off. Wind ruffled in through the gaping door.

Framed by the door, a scabrous, flesh-stripped man’s arm appeared and reached in. Scuffled footsteps. Chaotic breathing. He tried to grab hold of the frame, then fell away as the truck accelerated.

“You all good?” Emily yelled back, and Sten gave her a thumbs-up. The thing jiggling from a string attached above the windshield was a rainbow-painted, multiarmed effigy. This wasn’t a police vehicle.

She sat with elbows on knees while she caught her breath.

I have no idea what is right anymore. I just had an orgasm on a rooftop in full view of a city with two women lying dead behind me. Nothing is right.

She shook her head, then pressed her hands to her temples. Sten heaved the wing door down and clicked it shut. The gusts of dust and smoke lessened, as did the engine noise.

“You okay?” Sten subsided onto the floor next to her, legs outstretched, hip bumping her hip.

“Sure I am.” Disgusted, she scrubbed at her hair. Things needed sorting out, though, before she wallowed in misery. “Emily, what is this vehicle?”

“Don’ know, rightly.” Leaning back while still steering, she yelled, “Could be a mail truck. There’s all those parcels back there behind the netting. It’s got track and wheels like it’s meant to traverse them mountains. Narrow cross-section too for the skinny roads up there. Say, where’re we headed?”

“Keep south. This main road goes that way. We have to get to a PME base.”

“Right you are, Captain!”

Captain? It stung her, reminded her of who she was.

“I’m sorry, Emily. I’m not being all that your captain should be.”

“What?” Emily’s voice dropped into a respectful tone. “Ma’am, I do not know what you are sayin’. A blind person could see nothing is normal right now. You all just saved me from some horrible fate worse than death. I won’t tell nobody about nothing you want kept quiet. Hell, I’m sitting here driving around in the nude, and my father would have an absolute fit if he found out!”

Emily wrenched the wheel over and changed gears. Steam hooted and gurgled along piping. Kaysana grabbed for support and found herself clutching Sten’s biceps. As if he were poisonous, she jerked her hand away. He grinned. The whole vehicle screamed in protest and undulated, sections of it contorting like a strangled accordion, until it straightened and surged onward.

“And, Captain, I figure if the world’s going ass over turkey, we may as well enjoy it.”

All Emily’s gabbling and rambling left Kaysana lost. What had happened to the awestruck woman in the corridor of the Art of War? Was this the real Emily?

Her mouth stuck together so much her tongue might’ve been made from glue. Her head throbbed. Sten put a cup of water into her hand, shaped her fingers around the cup. “What?”

“Drink. You’ve had nothing since we woke up this morning.” His clear blue eyes regarded her calmly, as if this was an average day and he always treated her…like this. “It’s from a container I found back there.” He shoved his thumb toward the back of the compartment. “Enough to keep us going until we can stop somewhere. And I’ve more beef sticks in my pack.”

Her gaze slid over to where he’d tossed the pack. In all the confusion, he’d still retrieved it from the roof. Put her to shame. She drank down the cupful, handed it back. Already she could feel the liquid reviving her. “Thank you.”

While everyone had a share of the water, she tapped her fingers on her knee and stared at the dirty metal floor. The world was disintegrating. Focus.

“Emily?”

“Yes, ma’am?” The woman’s concentration on the road didn’t break. She stared straight ahead into the glare of the day.

While she sorted in her head what to say, Cadrach heaved to his feet, went over to the split in the seat, and snuffled at Emily’s armpit.

“Hey! Mr. Sten, does your mutt always do this to ladies?” She bit off a laugh, then patted the codriver’s seat.

With a little hop and squirm, Cadrach undulated his furry body through into the driver’s compartment, then promptly sat up straight as if he always sat there. As Kaysana watched in bemusement, the canary fluttered past the gap in the seats and landed on the headrest behind the wolf. She shook her head.

“Aww. You two are sooo cute together!” Emily chuckled. “Hey, man, I think I got your wolf up here.”

Sten laughed. “You can have him. He eats too much.”

“Ma’am, what were you going to ask me?”

Kaysana felt her forehead tighten and rubbed her eyebrow. “Give me a minute.”

The clatters, squeaks, and rumbles of the truck filled the air for several turgid seconds.

“Ah, ma’am, just wanted to make clear that I saw nothing wrong with what went on back there between you and Mr. Sten. You know?”

Kaysana blinked. The rooftop? Had Emily seen some of that? Oh God. Her skin heated.

“She means it,” Sten whispered, patted her hand.

“Like, you know, this zombie plague got the lady pilot. She crashed us because of it, I think. And you’re just affected too. You can’t help yourself, see. An’ I won’t tell a soul. You can”—Emily waved vaguely—“screw half the population of the PME and I have got my lips zipped. I owe you big-time, ma’am. ’Kay?”

Answering took a lot of willpower. If this was Emily being quiet, God help her. “Okay. Thank you, Emily.”

Sten had a stone look on his face, lips quivering, eyes glinting as if with tears. It also took a lot of willpower not to thump him.

“Right. We need to regroup.” Brow furrowed, she stared at Sten and then Emily. “I’ll run through it all, and please chime in if I miss anything important. I’m a little frazzled.” The tiny tremors in her muscles weren’t normal. Fatigue? Must be.

“One. Our immediate destination is a secondary base up in the mountains. We may need other transport past that. An airship even, possibly. The map’s in Sten’s pack over there?” He nodded. “Good. Two. There’s something there causing this plague, and I was told this virogen gives off a yellow bioluminescence. Need to keep that in mind. Three. We know we may encounter more zombies on the way. Numbers etcetera are unknown. Four. We know they are attracted to…passion.”

Straight-faced, she plowed on. “So it stands to reason that such passion should be avoided.”

Sten kinked an eyebrow. “That’s negotiable.”

“I did not hear that, sir and ma’am.” But Emily looked fascinated.

Dammit. She was not entertainment for the crew. She wrinkled her nose and continued. “There may be… Five. There may be an automaton guard.”

“Never heard of such a thing for real.” Sten tented his fingers, elbows on his knees. “I reckon it’ll be human-driven. And it'll be unpowered by now, unless they have a low-burn ember chamber rigged so it can be fired up quickly. Those can last for weeks, even in below-zero conditions.”

“Okay, so maybe, just maybe, we can rule out that automaton? Which would be great. Any humans up there will be dead or zombified by now.”

“What do you want me to do, ma’am?”

The girl was eager but totally unqualified. A librarian against zombies? No. “Maybe you can back us up, Emily. I’d rather return you to a safe area, but there is none. You’re safest with us. Maybe, if the worst happens, you’ll have to take back the data to HQ. If we don’t succeed.”

“Oh my God. No. Please, ma’am, you have to win. You just have to.” She glanced anxiously at Sten, then went back to steering.

“We will, honey. Don’t worry. Me and your captain have it covered."

“Okay. Moving on.” God, now her hand was shaking so much even the motion of the truck didn’t disguise it. She grabbed that hand with the other, clasped them tight together. “Next—food, water, ammo. Sten?”

He looked pointedly at her hands. “We got enough of the first two, though it’s beef sticks for the food. Ammo…well there's not much. The revolver—maybe thirty rounds in my pack. Then my knife, sword.” He grimaced. “That’s it unless we find something here in those boxes. Never know what people mail to each other. And coal, you missed that. Emily!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you know how much boosted coal we have?”

“Not sure, but probably enough. The bunkers are full.” Without taking her eyes from the windshield, she pointed backward at the roof. “We’ll have to manually reload the hoppers sometime, though.”

“Okay. Thanks, darling.”

Done. Sorted out then. She heard Sten shift on the floor, as if he’d turned, but her eyes were closed. So tired. The rocking of the truck as it went over bumps shook her, and she let her muscles take it in. Wanted to lie back but the metal wall whacked at her head.

“Okay, love. Looks like we have it all nutted out as much as we can right now. You need some sleep.”

She cracked open her eyelids.

Sten picked up her hand and gave it a squeeze despite her tired glare. Though she tried to tug it free, he didn’t let go. “Come on. You don’t have to be the big boss and do everything now. Let me help.”

The featherlight brush of his thumb over her knuckles distracted her.

“Relax. Put your head on me. I’m happy to be a pillow for a while. To be your pillow, anyway. Okay?”

“How can I relax when all I can see is those two dead women on the roof?” Ack. She was telling him too much, but the thickening mire of her misery and the body-grinding tiredness loosened her tongue. She closed her eyes tight, put her hand in her mouth, and bit down until she hurt.

The mission data was up-to-date, and now her brain was so frazzled she couldn’t think straight. Those two dead women. All those dead… Everything crowded in. She did the only thing she could think of.

“Sten, close the divider, please.”

She felt him reach across her to pull down the divider separating them from the cabin. Even through closed eyes, darkness fell. Already it seemed cooler, calmer, though the floor rattled.

“You okay, Kaysana?”

“Hold me, please.”

His arms enfolded her—warm, hard, yet thoroughly comforting—and she leaned in, let her nose nuzzle his shirt and smell the rich masculine scent.

I’ve always hated being cuddled. What’s wrong with me?

“I’m sorry. I need this. Don’t know why, but I do. I never let things get to me…”

“Shhh.” He stroked the top of her head. “I understand. We’re in a fucked-up place. If you need this, I’m here for you.”

Typical Sten—the f word was his favorite. Didn’t bother her like it had, though. She breathed in and out through his shirt, feeling his warm skin move under her lips. After a while, she realized he was rocking her, just enough to be comforting.

A feeble thought filtered to the surface: I’m not a baby. But she sighed and let her muscles soften, molding her body against his.

In time sleep drifted closer.

The place inside that had altered crystallized again, until it was as if she stood there staring at a strange rock formation with wind humming at her ears and sand drumming at her skin…and in that instant, another layer of her essence stripped away and whirled into some distant oblivion.

STEN LOOKED DOWN at Kaysana, at the soft motion of her body as she breathed. When she’d finally relaxed and slid down onto his lap, the surge of tenderness had taken him by surprise.

He removed the collar then undid the cord tying her hair. The black coils slipped across his hand like liquid silk.

Toughness, competence in battle, these were expected of a captain, but the glimpses he’d seen of a woman who cared, for reasons deeper than duty or honor, that meant far more. He had a feeling she’d sacrifice herself if she had to, to save those she loved.

The differences between their futures and their pasts were huge. For the right woman, though, to find the answers to that puzzle, he’d reach for the moon, stand before the Sphinx and argue riddles, heck, all sorts of crap. Was it possible Kaysana was that woman?

Chapter Thirteen

After two hours they stopped the half-track on a riverbank. Already they’d reached the foothills of the mountains. The water flowed cold and deep, pooling and slowing before tumbling over several drops in a series of tiny waterfalls. The trees were thinning this high up. Their sight line was good for miles. No zombie surprises.

While Sten checked the few sparse trees on the perimeter, Kaysana helped Emily shift boosted coal from the vehicle’s bunker at the rear to the feeder chute. They hadn’t dared to bank the engine, and the rhythmic chugging punctuated the pristine wilderness like the cough of a dying monster.

“Done, Captain.” Grinning, Emily jumped down from the roof. She dusted her blackened hands on her thighs. At least Sten had found her a pair of khaki drawstring pants and a jacket. She’d rolled up the sleeves and the pants. A logo of a yak with a letter in its mouth occupied the back of the jacket, but it covered most of her flesh.

Sten. Just the thought made her body hum into a higher state of tension. She found the bottle in her top and rubbed some oil below her nose. As the raw scent scoured her nostrils, the relief was immediate. She relaxed.

How much longer would it work, though? And when he came too close, she might as well be using water.

She held up a hand. “Let’s fill the water reserve too. Just don’t stay in the sun too long. You’ll burn fast at this altitude.” The air temperature had dropped. She clasped her arms about her for warmth, felt her nipples contract into points.

“I’ll be okay.” Whistling merrily, Emily grabbed one of the boxlike water cans, then lugged it to the embankment.

On board the Art of War, she’d have pulled Emily up for disobeying an order. Now she just shook her head.

Though the stream wasn’t free of impurities, the filters in the engine should be sufficient. She copied Emily and towed an empty container toward the river. The thin metal bounced on her leg. A few feet from the bank, Sten caught up and covered her hand with his.

She stopped, moved her fingers under his, and just that small confinement of his flesh around hers warmed her.

“Allow me.” He smiled, uncurled her fingers from the handle, and took the container.

Bemused, her blood flowing like heated wine through her veins, she wandered out into the chilly water to waist deep and let it clean away some of the grime. The cold numbed her. She returned to the bank and sank onto the soft grass at the edge. Watching Sten was strangely calming.

He stooped and stretched out to lower the neck of the container beneath the water. Would she ever shed this effect he had on her? The heavy muscles of his arms and neck tightened and stood out. She wet her lips, remembering the way they’d cuddled in the vehicle and after making love at the shop.

But…making love. She frowned. Why did she think of it that way? It hadn’t been like that, had it? And what he’d done to her on the rooftop, surely not? Though that seemed so distant, so ephemeral, she almost couldn’t believe it had happened.

Sureness arrived center stage in her head—just a little push, a bit more something, and she wouldn’t want to be free of him. And how would that be? An air fleet captain with a fixation on a frankenstruct? Impossible.

Beyond him Emily waded ankle-deep. She already had her can filled but clearly found it too heavy to lift. The wolf lazed full length nearby, tongue out, watching, as if anything Emily did was fascinating. Clinging to a swaying stalk of grass was her canary. Emily put hands on hips, and the half-buttoned and poorly fitted jacket displayed deep cleavage.

“Hey, Mr. Sten! Can you get this one as well? It’s too heavy for me.”

Lazily Sten waved a hand. “Sure, Miss Emily. Not a problem.”

The man didn’t put a foot wrong. The perfect gentleman with half-naked Emily, but with me…you’d think I was a temptress. She dug her toes into the turf as she wrestled with how that made her feel. Wanted? Yes. But also happy, cherished even. My head is so mixed-up. While Sten busied himself ferrying the cans to the vehicle, she leaned back, relaxing onto her elbows, and tried to sort everything out.

Perhaps the attraction was dying away. On the drive here, she’d been mostly free of her strange reaction around him. Then her pulse went skippity-skip at the memories.

With the bridge a blurred, distant landmark, she stared across the water at an eddy of white froth, drifting, curling, slow as blood. The color flashed from white to red. Numbing pain screwed up inside her stomach, turning even tighter, harder, throbbing up into her head as if someone had wrapped her skull in barbed wire.

On that long-ago day, the silence had undone her…that and the blood floating out from under the bridge. From the first moment, when the world had shrieked to a halt, she knew what waited beneath the bridge. If she leaned over and looked, there would be a body. Her seven-year-old sister had run there for safety. It was where they went to escape the punishments for any of their misdemeanors, where she too would have run from the bandits. Someone had killed Mingzhu and left her under the bridge.

She’d not looked, couldn’t bear to. Grandfather had found her there clutching the bridge rail, crying quiet mouse tears, as her father would have called them. Only he was dead too. No more mouse tears. The wall holding in the grief grew sturdier with every year that passed. She hadn’t cried since then—not in all the years between.

“Hey. Hey, Captain.” Arms enfolded her, pulled her into an embrace, small, womanly arms. The sound of her sobs echoed in her ears. Her palms, where she held them flat to her face, were dry. “It’s okay. Emily’s got you.”

She shook her head wildly. “’M sorry, Emily.” Choking back more sobs, she refused to give in and let Emily see her weakness. How could this be? The shield she’d kept between her and the agony had slipped away. She felt the pain from that day, tearing her up inside and making her bleed like gut-ripped prey.

Then Emily’s arms left her, and others slid about her waist and across her back. Hard, strong arms that could only belong to Sten. When his grip shifted and he made to pull her onto his lap, she resisted.

“Stop.” The sternness in his voice froze her instantly. Only superior officers talked to her like that. “Struggling won’t work. I can and will overpower you.” He hauled her close to his chest, one arm like a metal bar under her breasts.

“This isn’t…” She gulped. “Necessary. I’m just—”

“Upset. For sure.” He stroked his hand up the side of her neck, then drew lines across her skin as if following the trace of strands of unbound hair. “Tell me why.”

Now? Just because she’d stupidly let grief overwhelm her didn’t mean she’d tell him. “It’s nothing.” She wriggled, pushed at his arm, and hurt her wrist. Was he made of steel? “Let me up. There’s far worse things to worry about.”

“You were crying.” He trailed a knuckle below her eye. “Dry? It sure sounded bad. When do you let loose with real tears?”

“Never. Like I said, it was nothing.” Already the memory receded. This was a blip in the universe. She was alive. Others were dead. Nothing. She squirmed. “I—”

Sten sighed. “Right. If you won’t tell, you’ll sit here until I’m happy. Sit!”

Until he’s happy? But she subsided, stiff at first until the monotonous tempo of his patting settled into her flesh. Her eyelids drooped. She turned in his lap and sneaked her arm around him, letting the delicious heat of his body work through her. The man was so big he could stop anything—a truck, an avalanche, a mountain of bad things.

“How many other men have done this for you? Held you when you were sad?”

“Hmm.” She shrugged, resisted sucking on her lip—a childish habit. Do I want to answer? “None.” Least, not for many long years. Her father had been the last to do so. A line of moisture seeped onto her eyelashes.

“None? Like me, then. I’ve never had a woman want me to do this. To hold them.”

Never? A glow of satisfaction washed through her.

“You know.” His voice lowered, and with his chin on her head, the words reverberated into her ears through her skin. “This is twice in a row, but I like it. I like holding you. You’re soft in my arms and smell like a woman should.”

Being reduced to merely a woman irked her. Her forehead wrinkled as she rummaged for a smart reply. She pulled away. I don’t need his comfort. “I—” His hand covered her mouth, muffling her words.

“Don’t say what you don’t mean,” he said in a gravelly voice that made her very bones tremble. Slowly he took away his hand. “Well?”

And suddenly she was glad he’d stopped her. She stared into his intent eyes and couldn’t figure what he was thinking at all. Goose bumps rose, tingling on her arms. “I was going to say…something that was a lie.”

“Uh-huh.”

He wasn’t interrogating her? While he curved his hand lightly about her neck, then stroked her and played with her hair, she contemplated the grass. His touch soothed her and made her nightmare past slip away. She laid her head back on his chest, frowned. “I thought I was just sex, that you were just”—his own word seemed to fit—“fucking me.” As soon as that left her mouth, she regretted it. Might as well have slapped him.

“Huh. Somehow that word doesn’t suit you, little butterfly.”

She stiffened. “Butterfl—” Again his hand covered her mouth. She nipped his finger, but he stayed put and his other hand pinched her nipple hard. Blinking, slowly coming down from her little spike of anger, she released his finger. Then he prodded at her mouth, levered her teeth apart, and slipped the thick digit between them to rest between her teeth and the inside of her cheek.

“Lick me,” he said, rumbling at her ear. Then he flicked her earlobe with his tongue and pressed a kiss onto her ear, pinning her head between hard biceps and mouth, controlling—all ferocious and male. Liquid heat flashed into her.

“Mmm.” Unquestioning, she opened wider, slid her tongue over his finger, tasting him, running her soft flesh over the bumps of his calluses. The pain at her nipple throbbed and awakened her lower down. His forcefulness spun her into sheer want, and a molten tide spread.

“Good. Keep licking while I talk, or I’ll put my fingers somewhere else, up inside you.”

He wouldn’t dare, would he? Emily would see.

Her pussy clenched, and moisture gathered. She sucked at him. A little groan teased out of her.

“You like that idea?” He chuckled. “I should’ve known.” He settled her body against him more comfortably but kept playing with her breasts and nipples and teasing her ear with his tongue. “To answer your question, I don’t think it ever was just fucking. When I first saw you commanding your airship, I dreamed of holding you.”

Eyes half closed from the pleasure, she let out a tiny sound of agreement past his hand. She loved his fingers in her mouth.

“I dreamed of having you up against me, with my arm beneath these.” He caressed the underside of her breasts, then fondled them some more, following all her heavy curves until she squirmed, then heaved in a slow, long breath.

“And I dreamed of whispering in your ear like I do now.”

She shuddered, half-convinced she too could remember this.

“And I dreamed that you shivered and I heard a sound.” He slipped his hand down over her mound, then through the leaves of her skirt to brush past her clit and onto the lips of her soaking wet pussy.

Oh. Too much. She moaned breathily and pushed herself up into his hand.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Like that. And so I knew that though you swore you hated frankenstructs, I’d aroused you. You were scared, yet I turned you on.” He pulled his fingers from her mouth and from below.

Then he tilted her head back with his hand cupping her chin. He growled. “I like it when you’re like this, butterfly. With your eyes all lost and big.”

She looked at him a while until she thought of the right words. She did feel lost, even if it was a nice sort of lost. There would be wrinkles on her forehead, she knew, right then, because recalling what he’d said was difficult to do. At last she summoned her reply.

“If you get to call me butterfly, can I call you something with four letters?”

He laughed, grinned widely. “No.” Then he bent down and kissed her softly. “That would be bad. You don’t want to know what I do with bad women.”

No? With his hard lips being so soft on hers, so gentle, maybe she did want to know. Her body hummed, ready to explode at the first brush of his hand in the right place. But just when she wanted him to touch her anywhere, he didn’t. She tried to grind her pelvis at his hand, and he moved it away. Tried to pull his mouth down on hers to crush her lips, and he caught her hand and stopped her.

After that soft kiss, he just moved away and watched her with those searing yet compassionate eyes. Arms around her yet stilled.

“I guess now might be a good time to say this.” For once Sten sounded uncertain. “I’ve never been a romantic type, not sure you are either, but I can see I need to say stuff. I want us to be more than just a few days of sex. You’re someone I could stand having around to talk to and…hell, not sure that came out right.” He trailed his finger along her lower lip, then frowned. “I know you find it hard to see past what I am and your military career notions, but I want you to try.”

Wow. How to answer? The very idea of romance made her ill. Flowers and love letters, ugh. But the way he held her, the slightly silly look on his face, and the thought that he wanted her to be with him, it did something odd to her insides.

A whole school of happy fish arrived in her stomach and did somersaults. But then she thought again and…a future together? How? It made her want to squirm. As if she were pinned under a big boulder and couldn’t move.

“That’s um…” She frowned, peeked at him. “I’m lost, Sten. I don’t know what to say.”

Yet something inside her pined for exactly what he proposed. Just plain being with him. Mouth scoured by the kissing, skin stinging, she looked at him and couldn’t do it. Couldn’t find it in her to offer herself up.

Besides, I’d lose myself in his world. He’s too much. I wouldn’t be me anymore. I’d be his. And I’m not his.

But strangely, it hurt so much not to be.

“I understand. Just think about it. Can you do that?”

Even saying yes to this was acceding something. Like the first step on a journey.

She fidgeted, dug a fingernail into her palm. “Sure. So long as you don't start writing me love letters.”

He grinned. “I can't write. Though I guess I could draw some hearts with arrows in them, or swords?”

“Ugh.” She screwed up her nose. “No, thank you.”

Nearly simultaneously, Cadrach burst into a growl that swelled into a roar, and Emily yelled. “Hey, you two! Company!”

By the time she scrambled apart from Sten and stood, Emily was confronting a zombie from on one knee beside where the gear was piled. She swung up the shotgun and zeroed it in on the thing’s head. Cadrach had another creature down on its back and writhing while he ripped at its throat.

The shotgun blast tore off the first one’s head and sent pieces scattering into the whirled-apart foliage of some shrubs. In two strides, Emily reached the other zombie and shot it at close range. Black blood splattered onto her legs and the wolf’s fur.

The clearing rang with the boom of the shots; then the water noises returned. Nothing else stirred. While Sten scanned one part of the perimeter, Kaysana did the reverse. She’d let her emotions overrule logic, and they’d almost paid for it with their deaths.

“You have one tough little librarian there, Captain. But…where the fuck did they come from?”

She shrugged. “Let’s get going. The world’s waiting.”

“Sure. Sure.” Sten gave her one last appraising stare, then strode toward Emily. “Rinse off, little lady, and Cadrach too. Faster than fast. We’ll watch. Then we leave!”

The little interlude of violence had changed everything. Sten’s proposal dropped away into the place she kept for lost things and silly notions. Zombies were her mission, not love or romance. Yes. Keep the priorities right. Onward—leave the mushy stuff behind.

* * * *

They drove for six hours with very few stops, slowly winding up into the mountains. Mostly Kaysana slept. A few times, the ripples that signaled the effects of the plague hit them, but nothing unusual happened.

Am I cured, she wondered. The loss of the sexual compulsion that drew her to Sten left her empty.

Sex had always been a negotiated event for her. The right man picked, the right situation, no promises of love afterward. Clean, curt, and organized. With Sten sex was like being in the midst of a tropical storm—out of her control, wet, and damn he made her feel alive.

He winked at her.

Ack. Why did I stare at him?

When Kaysana next awoke, only the merest tinge of arousal reminded her of the bond she shared with Sten.

“There’s been a lot of people through here!” Emily yelled back. The chug of the engine overwhelmed her words. Though they’d taken turns driving, Emily seemed to find it therapeutic to take the wheel and watch the road.

Kaysana perched up and leaned between the seats with a hand on the back of each of them. Through the filthy windshield the dirt road was visible—meandering along a cliff edge that fell away to the right. Abandoned cars, clothing, and other human paraphernalia littered what should have been an isolated mountain.

At high altitude the chill crispness of the air and the bright clarity to colors always made her sink back in awe, no matter how many times she’d landed at such places. The purple of the blossoms in a bank of flowers almost seared her eyes, and the green swathes of grass seemed painted on.

A herd of yaks scattered to the left, climbing the grassed slope. Up ahead a building complex perched at the end of the road and the edge of the cliff. Their destination—the secondary base. On the mountain face beyond, a slender waterfall twined and plunged down the rock.

Above a rust-colored wall, the bottom stories of the building were square and painted white with a red-brown stripe running across the window section. Higher up the levels became circular, with timber screens decorating wide terraces. Floating in the winds and anchored to a golden spire on the very highest level was a gold and red airship.

“Barely a tenth the size of the Art of War,” she muttered.

“Looks like a monastery?” Sten scratched his chin.

“Yes. It does.”

At the front gate was a sign.

TRESPASSERS SHOT, FROZEN, AND DISASSEMBLED FOR PARTS.

“Ewww!” Emily braked, and their vehicle shuddered and squeaked to a halt. “Disgusting, but I havta say, we’ve not got more than a half hour of fuel left.”

On their few stops, they’d topped up the coal feeder on the roof from the bunker slung at the back of the half-track. The bunker was empty. Kaysana glanced at the sign again. “Not a monastery then. But this is where my instructions point us. And to get to Perihelion, we’re going to need that airship. We need to talk to whoever’s in there.”

“What’s it say?” Sten murmured.

She told him.

“Ah. Nasty.”

When Sten heaved open the side door and jumped down with the wolf, Kaysana put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Emily blinked, pulled a strand of her blonde hair across her eyes like a miniature veil.

“Good.” She smiled wanly. “Make sure you close the door. We don’t want any zombies hiding inside here.”

Emily shrugged. “Sure. And thanks for asking.”

“Hmm. Just doing my job—taking care of the babies like you has always been my job.” She paused and couldn’t decide what to say next. What she’d said was true, but she’d not always showed it before. Wearing your heart on your sleeve was a big no-no.

She checked the safety on her pistol and holstered it, then hopped down to join Sten and Cadrach.

The rust color of the wall wasn’t just paint—the wall and gate were metal. At the top, four yards up, sharp tines arched out.

“Can’t climb it easily,” Sten remarked. He walked up to the gate and hammered his fist on it. The clangs echoed away into silence; then something hummed and clicked. In the middle of the gate, a split appeared. Slowly it opened. Fine flakes of rust spun away in the wind.

“Looks like we’re invited in.” Emily swaggered up with a four-foot-long rifle in the crook of her arm. The sheen of oil on the blue steel barrel and the brass scope nestled on the top with innumerable little dials and knobs screamed either hunting or sniper rifle.

“Hey, ladies, it is open.” Sten looked Emily and the rifle up and down. “Nice. Where’d you get that?”

“Compartment above the windshield.” She grinned. “A beauty, isn’t it?”

“Mmm. For sure. I’ll go first. Wait here.”

Wait here? Kaysana pursed her lips. “With that sign there? Shot, frozen, and dismembered for parts? Not happening, sir.”

“No?” He studied her, then smiled. “I like the ‘sir.’ Not sure about you coming with me, though.”

His eyes met hers, and for the first time ever, she truly weighed him up and it seemed to her, he did the same. A little frisson ran through her. This man does mean something to me. I don’t want him hurt, and I think…I’m sure he thinks the same of me. Oh hell, am I in trouble. She drew in a deep breath. “Well, we are. We’ll all go in together.”

He nodded slightly. “Okay. Agreed, then.”

“Uh. Good.” Torn between the imminent danger and wondering whether to confiscate Emily’s newfound firearm, Kaysana swept her hand over the top of her hair, rearranging her ponytail. Cadrach padded in by Emily’s side with the canary perched on his head. “Emily. How long have you known the weapon was in there?”

“All day. Why?”

“So while we were looking for more weapons… Never mind. That box of napalm ammo Sten found may fit your rifle.”

After traversing a tiled courtyard, they walked up a flight of steps and into a two-story-high foyer. A hare hopped between pots of carmine flowers, then froze to watch them go past. A sweet scent meandered in the air. The three of them stopped midway and looked about. The hallway ahead led through open double doors into a large chamber. At the far end was a chair.

Empty. Quiet. Yet Kaysana inched her hand onto the butt of the pistol.

“Come closer.” A man’s amplified voice boomed through the dwelling. “Just make sure your dog does not eat my hare, or Clavis. I like my pets.” A gleaming python, as fat as a fire hose, made its way toward them through the doorway. The snake scrunched up the green carpet under its belly. “That is Clavis.”

Hissing and clicking, the snake undulated nearer. Kaysana stared. The skin shone like polished chain mail, and suddenly she understood why. Clavis was no flesh-and-blood snake. The skin was silver and black metal. The eyes were red as the finest rubies.

“We have no dog,” Sten called back. “He is a wolf, the biggest one you’ve yet seen. Tell that damn snake to back off.” He added in a low mutter, “Hate snakes.”

“Clavis will not bother you. Please, enter.”

With the clockwork snake circling around behind them, they walked along the carpet and entered a room where a double row of square columns supported the ceiling. Like many Tibetan buildings, the walls and columns were painted with an eye-scalding palette—blues, greens, oranges, and a spattering of red. A man stood beside a pile of traveling trunks and suitcases. A decorated rifle hung from his fingers.

“Welcome. I spotted you through my periscope.”

Midforties, thought Kaysana—silver-gray cropped hair and goatee, and fine wrinkling about the face. Distinctive blue eyes… She scanned the rest of him—the white cravat was in disarray, the shirt was untucked, and the dove gray frock coat was terribly creased.

“I saw you.” He rubbed absentmindedly at his lip. “One animal, two women, and this man who is more than he seems.” At that he whipped up the rifle and pointed it at Sten. The snick of the first stage of the trigger being depressed was loud.

By then Kaysana had her pistol trained on the man. The snake hissed and twined about Sten’s feet.

Sten froze in the midst of reaching up for his shotgun, his broad shoulders bunching.

Instinctively Kaysana sidestepped to stand in front of Sten, shielding him. Shock hit as she saw the stranger’s mouth gape and the small shift of his finger… He was about to fire, but she only set her feet firmly on the floor.

“Move, Kaysana.” Sten’s hands fastened at her waist, and he lifted her, swung around until he’d turned full circle and put himself between her and the stranger.

His back’s to the gun. She’d made it worse, and she cringed inside, waiting for the terrible sound of the gun firing.

“No! He won’t shoot me!” She squirmed about in Sten’s hands, went on tiptoes, and peered over his shoulder.

“Get your damn head down!” He crushed her to him, smothering her face into his shoulder.

“Mmm!” She wriggled, pushing at him with her hand—keeping the pistol pointed at the ceiling. She couldn’t budge him. The man’s a stone wall.

“Do you know what he is?” the stranger asked. “He’s a variant of the frankenstruct. Double muscled, strong, prone to uncontrollable rage. He’s a killer. I should shoot him.”

“No!”

“If you shoot now, you might get someone else.” Sten’s voice rumbled in his chest, right next to her ear. “Let me get clear of everyone. Please.”

Oh God. The thought of a bullet thumping into Sten while he held her, of feeling him jump, of his life draining away. Not again, not another person I—

“Decent of you,” the stranger said, sounding puzzled.

She wouldn’t let him die. “No! How can you condemn him? I know him. I trust him.” She looked up into Sten’s eyes. “I do.”

“Well, and I guess you’ll have to shoot me too.” From the sound of it, Emily had moved between the man and Sten.

Thank you, Sten mouthed to Kaysana. Then he leaned down and, despite the threat behind him, kissed her slowly.

When he pulled away, she jerked up on tiptoes to check, then slumped back down and whispered, “He’s stopped aiming at us.”

He searched her face. “Good. Why’d you do that? Step in front.”

“I’m not sure.” She shot him a withering look. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

That drew a chuckle from him.

“Here.” Emily nudged Kaysana’s elbow. “When you two lovebirds are done, he’s stopped aiming that fancy gun at you and’s got something to say.”

“I do indeed.”

This time Kaysana faced him with Sten’s arm about her midriff. Emotions played havoc with her insides. “Who are you?”

“Me? You may call me Dr. F. I might ask the same question of you.” He sat on the pile of suitcases, letting his rifle rest on his thighs. Something whirred when he bent at the hip.

The weapon clattered against something as if Dr. F.’s grip was shaky. “You’ve convinced me about him.” He pointed at Sten. “He’s shown none of the telltale signs of aggression. How have you achieved this?”

“Whoever he is”—she gazed up at Sten—“he’s his own man, not some creation of mine. How do you know so much about frankenstructs? How do you know what signs there might be? I thought you were the last of your line, Sten?”

“I am. How do you know, Dr. F.?”

“I helped create you.”

At her waist, Sten’s fingers dug in. The man smiled.

“Perhaps you can help me load all of this”—he indicated the suitcases—“into my airship. Later I’ll dig out my old notes on frankenstructs.”

The snake, Clavis, traveled over to the pile, then wormed up to the top suitcase to lie quietly clicking, its ruby eyes vigilant.

Kaysana swept a lock of hair from her eyes. “Perhaps we can help you, but we need your airship to reach Perihelion. Also there may be information here that can aid us.”

“To Perihelion?” His eyebrows rose. His brow wrinkled. Something in his dark gaze spoke of hidden knowledge. “What information?”

She took a breath. Once, she would have been ashamed to reveal who she was while accompanying Sten. “I’m a GAM officer. You must have noticed the strange happenings?” He nodded. “Perihelion is the cause. I’ve been informed this was a secondary base, and the cure or a way to destroy the plague is here.

“We’re going to Perihelion, to fix what’s going wrong. If this isn’t done, the world will suffer.”

Quietly, yet loud enough for his rumbling voice to carry, Sten added, “Armageddon. Proliferation of zombies—that sort of crap.”

“They were asking for trouble with that experiment.” Dr. F. clicked his tongue. “I’m not keen on putting my life on the line. But information?” He shrugged. “There is nothing here. There is no cure, no grand and sure way of stopping this plague.”

Nothing? Fear stirred. This place was supposed to hold the answer.

“Please. Help us, Doctor.” Kaysana flicked on the safety and shoved her gun in the holster, stood there at ease with her hands clasped. No use prodding and hurrying the man. Panic him and he’d duck for cover. “We need your ship, sir. We need any data that may be stored here.”

“Yes, I understand. I understand that you think some miracle answer is here. But trust me. There is nothing! If it were that simple, it would have been done by now.

“I also understand that things are going to pot. Why do you think I’ve been here, hiding in the basement? When things looked iffy up there, I left. Just unfortunate the plague spread so fast.”

Kaysana hooked her thumbs in her belt. How could he be so sure? “Doctor. We are the solution.”

“Well, yes, so I gathered. Might I also add that I’ve seen women being dragged past here. Most of the zombies are men, and it appears they're targeting the few women who are left.”

Sten grumbled. “Damn. And how many of the weird ripples do you get here, Doctor?”

“Ripples?” His brow corrugated. “Look, you may borrow my airship, you may pick my brain for information, but I shall have to accompany you if you take my ship.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Why? I don’t trust you to bring it back. I’ve yet to see a zombie that could fly, and I can remain in the ship while others sally forth. However, you and the young lady”—he inclined his chin toward Emily—“should consider staying here.”

“Excuse me”—Emily dragged a suitcase to where Cadrach sprawled, watching the snake’s tail tip. She sat with her hands on her knees. “I’ve had a hard day driving. But I’ll say this—I’m going with them. The captain will go, and I won't stay by myself.”

“Staying here alone?” He shuddered, fingering his goatee. “The swarms of zombies going past are unsettling. It’s why I’ll take the cases up the stairs instead of landing the ship outside the wall.” He stood. “I’ll be taking off at dawn tomorrow. Why don’t we discuss the details at dinner? After we load my cases.”

What are the odds of him trying to go without us if we get his equipment aboard? She couldn’t decide. Emily looked exhausted, though. The toll from seeing the killings on the rooftop might finally be hitting her.

We can’t walk across the mountain.

Sten spoke up while she was still deciding. “Sure, we’ll do that, Doctor.”

Chapter Fourteen

Carrying the cases up six flights of stairs was easy for Sten. He could have done it in half the time but chose to go up with only one case on the first trip while he followed the doctor. Ever since Dr. F. had announced he’d helped create frankenstructs, questions had simmered up. Zen helped him keep a handle on his emotions, but he still needed to know about his past.

After that one trip, however, Dr. F. begged off.

“Place the cases here.” He pointed at the back bulkhead of his airship, the Emshalley.

“Right.” Sten lowered the steel case to the timber floor with a thump. “Gotcha. I’ll strap them down after they’re stacked.”

The command cabin was no more than four by four yards, and with suitcases along the back wall, any swinging of cats would have to be done somewhere else. At the opposite wall was the long, polished arc of the timber flight panel with the altimeters and velocimeters, the steering column and air pressure gauges. A wide yet narrow armored glass window looked out over the rooftop. Brass inlaid the panel and encircled the gauges. The rest of the cabin, though… Sten raised his eyebrows. A painting of the Dalai Lama was riveted to one wall, and the rainbow color scheme from the monastery was here too.

“Where’d you get the ship?”

“It belonged to the monastery. The monks donated it to the PME when they left.”

“Donated?” More like the PME evicted them and claimed it. He didn’t push the point. Need the doctor on my side, to get answers. “No weapons, then?”

“No. None on board. I don’t especially like guns.” Dr. F. pulled down his waistcoat.

“Tell me, Doc, where’d the others go? This place must have had more people?”

The doctor studied him. “Most evacuated earlier. I stayed behind with four others at the last moment, afraid of what might happen on a large airship if the virogen hit.”

“Ah-huh. So where are the other four?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a cautious man. I watched and waited. Stayed down in the shielded basement mostly.” His mouth twisted. “I came up and shot those who became zombies.”

Who’d’a thought? The man looked as tough as a daisy. “You did right.”

“Thank you. I will never forget seeing my colleagues become mindless things.” He shuddered. “Ahem. Dinner will be served up here on the roof in an hour—before the light goes. The steam generator is almost out of fuel, and I’ll be recharging my legs and Clavis before we take off.” He lifted his trouser cuff enough to show a shiny metal joint in the gap between sock and trouser.

“Clockwork?”

The doctor put his foot down, stomped a few times as if seating something into place, then shrugged. “Clockwork in emergencies. I use a voltaic battery for everyday use.” He walked to the boarding ladder. “Dinner will be informal.”

With the doctor gone, Sten took a moment to recheck the cabin. A hole showed in the center of the flight panel. He traced his finger around the brass-framed cavity that dived into the guts of the panel. “I’ll betcha this craft won’t go without whatever fits here.” The doctor was crafty. Some sort of machinery was missing.

Dinner on the circular rooftop meant sitting around a bonfire on wooden boxes covered with embroidered rugs, roasting skewered meat, and drinking warm champagne. Beyond a few yards out, the flickering light gave way to blackness. The tamped-down earth underfoot was common hereabouts for a roof.

“Vintage stuff.” The doctor waved his glass and skewer like a wild conductor, splashing wine into the fire and sending up a hissing puff of ash and flame. “Drink, eat, be merry, for tomorrow we fly. Hic.”

Sten dubiously eyed his skewer. Unknown meat. Kaysana was already chewing off a piece. She grinned, then sipped her wine, and he smiled back. That she’d sat down on the crate next to him pleased him so much.

He nibbled. Not chicken… Damn well better not be human. “Rabbit?”

“Hare. Not my pet, though—course. Would never never do that!”

“Eat up, Sten.” Kaysana leaned in. “This might be our last meal for a while.”

“Are you tipsy?”

She sighed. “No. I’m not. I’m air fleet, Sten, through and through. No matter how much what we might do scares the crap out of me, I won’t be getting drunk.”

Sten nodded. “Good.” He looked around. The doctor was busy poking the fire with what looked to be an antique sword, but he ignored the sacrilege. The clockwork python lay coiled at Dr. F.’s feet, and Emily… Sten blinked. Emily lay against Cadrach’s stomach, scratching his ears and feeding him meat while murmuring something. His wolf was turning into a pussy.

He lowered his voice. “So what scares the crap out of you?” He stared into Kaysana’s eyes, those beautiful amber eyes that reflected gold and yellow from the fire’s light. “Us making love?”

This time her swallow was a nervous one. He could’ve smiled then but stayed serious, kept his mouth quiet, letting her think. She didn’t look away, and to test her response, he placed his palm on her thigh. At the feel of her skin, his cock stirred. He glided his hand a few inches over the smooth, womanly curve—so warm, strong from regular exercise, and his fingers were only inches from the top of her legs, and he sure knew what lay there. Lovely.

The skewer in her hand wobbled. “Oops!” She grabbed it tighter to stop it tumbling from her hand. “No, I’m not scared of…making love with you.” She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“No? I have, though—hurt you—a little. Remember?”

“Hmm.” Despite the gloom, he was sure she blushed. “That was, well, I guess I wanted it. I-I’ve figured that out.”

God, he loved seeing her stammer from embarrassment.

“You know, I’m figuring things out too,” he said softly. With his skewer held in his teeth for a moment, he pulled their two boxes together. The timber of her box screeched as it dragged. “Come here.”

Kaysana gave one deep exhale before shifting over until their bodies touched, and curling in under his arm. He kissed above her ear. “This is so right, woman. Like we should be doing this every night.” She sighed again, snuggled even closer, put her arm around his back. That she couldn’t reach past his opposite hip made him smile. She was small. Yet they fitted together so well.

“I know what you mean, Sten, I do. But it can’t be.” She sniffed. “Let’s just enjoy each other’s company, hey?”

“Okay. For now.” He was going to sort this out. Surely she had to see they needed each other?

Time passed. The moon rose and hung like a blue-white battered plate a hand span above the horizon. The fire burned low, and the doctor got drunker. For once Sten’s courage failed him. He needed to ask his questions but couldn’t. Kaysana half lay across his lap, staring at the embers, and he calmed himself by stroking her lustrous hair. The jittery feeling in his stomach made him want to puke.

The doctor stood unsteadily, a bottle swinging in his hand. “I’m off to have a snooze. Wake me at dawn, won’t you, sir?”

Behind him, the door leading below clicked shut, and Emily approached.

“Wait, Doctor.” Sten threw his skewer into the fire pit. The packed earth on the roof had come in useful. Least the building wouldn’t burn down. “I have a question to ask.”

“You do?” Blearily he dragged his hand down his face. “Oh! Course. You want to know about your past?”

The man had him figured. Fuck, he hated being predictable, but he guessed it was obvious. “Yes.”

“Wait. Too drunk. Some of that info was in the reserve files… I was in on the experiments up there, you know? Even when Jurgland accidentally swallowed a teensy dose of the virogen. Went all glowy. Ish the reason I quit, ya know? They took all those files.” He swept his arm in an exaggerated arc. “The people who went earlier. Ya know? Chickens! All of ’em.”

“You sure of that, Doc?” Emily tapped his shoulder and, when he swung to face her, planted her feet and folded her arms. “’Cause I checked below and found this lovely room full of filing cabinets. I had to pick the lock, but seeing it said File Room, I figured it was worth it.”

“Wha? You did? They’re all…all empty.”

“No. They are not.”

Sten grinned at the sight of the little woman confronting the doctor. Fuck. She’d picked the lock?

“What have you found, Emily?” Kaysana leaned forward.

“Loads of full filing cabinets, ma’am. I shook them. The locks are harder to open, though, than the door’s. A librarian can sniff out books and stuff, you know, Doc. You”—she prodded his chest—“are lying!”

Whoa, remind himself never to get between Emily and books.

“Is that true, Doctor? I told you we needed those files.” Kaysana’s voice rose.

Before she could stand, Sten yanked her back by the waist. “Cough it up, Doc, before the ladies shred you.”

“Ish…ish. Oh hang it! Here!” Swaying, he searched the pockets of his frock coat. A silver fob watch tumbled from the coat and swung, glinting, from a chain. “Ah! I was just trying to save wasting time. There ish no miracle cure. It’s a virus. Incin…incinerate it. Starve it of nutrients! Do that and it will die out. The hard part is getting close.” He handed Sten an envelope. “The key. One story down. An’ my notes about you are on the table. Ya know, frankenstructs.”

Kaysana murmured, “If we can fit them in, I want everything loaded aboard. There’s always a chance we will find something worthwhile.”

“Of course.” He wanted to grab the doctor and shake him until his teeth rattled and he answered in greater detail, but it was pointless. Instead he let the man stumble over to where some mattresses were laid out on the roof. Luckily the parapet went up pretty high. The man wasn’t going to fall over.

“Thanks, Emily,” said Kaysana. “Well done. Go finish your meal. We’ll sort this out.”

“My pleasure. Knew he was being suspicious.” She smiled, saluted, then trotted over to where Cadrach lay.

Kaysana angled her head to peer up at him. “You good?”

“Sure.”

“I can imagine how much you want to look at those files. Me too. Looks like we have a heavy night of reading and toting them into the ship.” She poked him in the ribs. “Okay?”

He studied her. Did everyone see through him like this? “We’ll go together. But not yet.” Right now was special. Fuck, tomorrow they might die. The idea screwed into him, sharp and nasty.

“No?” Already he could see her relaxing, cuddling in closer. She knew as much about war and violence as he did. You took your moments of peace and held them tight. “Sounds good.”

“Sometimes your head thinks like it should. Sit here with me and enjoy the night.”

“Hmph.”

But…still, he couldn’t help thinking.

Sten clutched the envelope, half crushing it. Kaysana settled back down with her head in his lap.

Do I want her to know what’s said about frankenstructs? Or to know the terrible things done to us or that we have done to others?

The unfairness of his past struck him like a blow. Rocked by the unexpected, the world around him blurred. The crackling soared to life in his head, then tripped into a rhythmic pain.

No!

Calm. To a slow count of ten, he took himself down from the near-peak of rage, until his thoughts washed in the ankle-deep waters of peace.

Damn. Haven’t been caught like that for ages.

He looked down at her, then let himself slip into a light trance, calming the flurries of anxiety. As if a scale had tipped from one extreme to the other, desire flared. He tucked away the envelope, then leaned over and drew a slow, spiraling line inside the whorls of her ear. The burbling sigh that came from deep in her throat made him smile.

He’d never seen her like this before—willingly coming to him. Not that he’d ever been a man to drag a woman away by her hair…not until Kaysana. Yet he accepted that this was part of his desires, deep down where he’d never before gone.

Tomorrow was a time for worry and world-altering events. Tonight was for love.

Chapter Fifteen

Kaysana turned on Sten’s lap and gazed up at him. The firelight made the creases and ridges of his face seem hard and frightening until his mouth twisted in a smile. How could she resist that invitation? She stretched up and played with the curves of his lips—then he opened and sucked in her finger. The snug, moist depth of his mouth echoed inside her, and she lowered her eyelids to savor the build of tension, squeezing her thighs together, imagining his mouth on her.

“Can I have my finger back?” she whispered.

Instead he delicately sank in his teeth, then sucked on her again. A weak groan broke from her mouth. Yet if he’d released her, she’d have been disappointed.

As if he saw her thoughts in her eyes, he nipped once more before reaching up and taking her hand away, gently placing it by her side. But she didn’t desire gentle. Not from Sten.

One finger slipped under her chin, then traced the long line of her jaw. “What do you want, Kaysana?”

He knew. How close she was. To giving in.

She swiveled and got her legs down, feet on the floor, then considered him, her face half turned away, observing this man, her master on so many occasions, from the corners of her eyes. Can I do this? This isn’t the virus talking, this is me.

Before she could answer herself, she slipped to her knees before him on the bare earth. Then blinked up at him, stuck in limbo. She licked her lips and dug the words from her throat.

“Once only.” Swallowed. “Never again.”

She’d do it just this once, because her heart cried out for it.

If the world had crumbled, it seemed as if Sten would have ignored it. He studied her for a long time with narrow and intent eyes.

“Once. You’re giving me your body but not your soul, Kaysana. I want both.”

“What? I—” That prospect scared the hell out of her.

“Once and then you run away?” He planted his palms on his thighs. The sadness in his craggy face shocked her. Big, rugged, like a caveman come to life…but he wanted more from her? “You don’t share your fears with me.”

No. Not that. She sat back on her heels, dumbstruck.

“Maybe”—he tilted his head—“sometime soon?”

She could say this. It didn’t commit her, not really. “Maybe.”

“Uh-huh. A wobbly ass maybe. I’ll take that for starters.” He bent over and said, each word clear as ice and cutting into her like a knife. “If you trust me, give me your wrists.”

Again she swallowed through a throat now desert dry, aware of her heart jumping inside her chest and of sweat prickling her back despite the coolness. She put one wrist on top of his open palm. He closed his hand, fingers and thumb securing her. Without tugging, already she could tell there was no give.

He waited. The earth was cold and gritty under her knees. Why is this so hard to do? Shaking, she put her other hand into his keeping.

“Thank you.” Keeping his large hand on his lap, he trapped both of hers at the wrists. The power in him transfixed her. Being fastened to this man with no choice remaining sent a joyful quiver into every inch of her body. Her heart raced away, leaving her spinning, a little satellite of Sten. He was the sun, and in one action, she’d become his follower, a penitent worshipper at his feet.

He pulled off the tie on her hair and dropped it to the crate. The feel of his fingers on her scalp as he combed out her hair made her hum in pleasure.

“Beautiful hair. Like silk.”

Using the same hand, he unbuckled his belt. The tinkling and slithering sounds made her tense. Methodically he threaded the belt out through the loops, his eyes never leaving her. Her nipples tightened. Would he hit her with that? Feeling deliciously cowed, she inched forward, waited to see if he would deny her, then rested the side of her head on his lap, over her hands and his. Being the small one felt good.

The sound of the belt coming loose had a bright inevitability. Coiled in his hand, he held it next to her mouth. The triangular end brushed her lips.

“Kiss it.”

She did so. Cool, rigid leather. Bitter taste, bittersweet smell, intoxicating, carrying the promise of pain and pleasure.

When he took the belt away, trailed the length down her spine, and leaned over her, she knew where he aimed to put it. The leather leaves of her skirt had already slipped and split to either side of her bottom, baring her to the night. A gust of the cold air buffeted her pussy.

“Wait,” she whispered. “Emily will see.”

“Do you think it matters? You’ve chosen. Keep still while I fuck you with the belt. You want it.”

Ahh. A tear trickled out. She did. Ashamed though she was, she wanted this.

With her face still pressed to his trousers, she felt his erection stir at the same moment the tip of the belt tickled her. He trailed a meandering course along her slit and back. His arm and the weight of his chest flattened her and her hands where he held them. Inserting his boot between her knees, he shoved her legs apart. With a wiggling motion, he pressed the tip inside her, pulled it out, then teased her clit with the dampened leather. Around and across her, the belt went and pumped up the tiny center of her pleasure.

“This is telling me something.” He pressed his fingertip to her clit as if checking his aim, then tapped it with the belt tip. Each torturous though tiny blow made her jump. His hand adjusted around her wrists. “What is it telling me, Kaysana?”

The belt slapped onto the full length of her slit. She squeaked. Three, four, five times, he whacked her, and each time she flinched and bit her lip. Exposed as she was, the blows rocked through her like a crackling fire. They seemed to mark her. His. Trapped beneath his chest, she could only tremble and gasp and take what he gave her. His weight lifted. The echoing heat of his blows thrummed into her, spreading, deep and delightful.

“Kiss.” The belt arrived at her mouth, wet with her juices. She kissed it. “What does this tell me?” Then he reached down, smoothed his wide hand over her bottom, onto her folds, angled two fingertips into her entrance, and plunged them slickly in, spearing her, stopping short.

“Umm.” Her eyelids coasted halfway shut. Fastened down at both ends.

He thrust a smidgen farther. The sensation tripped up her words. “Well?”

An answer? She curled her tongue tip over her lips, wetting them, tasting herself. “That…”

“Yes?”

Another slow thrust made her groan and writhe.

“That I want you to…”

“Say it.” He buried his mouth in the hair below her nape, blew warm air onto her sensitive skin. She scrunched her neck, shivered.

Like a woman peering under the crack of a door into hidden, dark desires, she buried her self, became nothing, and found the way in.

The words squeezed from her. “Fuck me. Please. The way you want to.” She’d said the same words at the shop. This time was different.

“I’m going to, dear.” He picked up the haversack from the floor, put it over his shoulder.

The belt went around her wrists. Then he stood and led her by the free end over to the little bridge connecting their rooftop to the one where the airship was anchored. Into the darkness. She couldn’t help noticing Emily staring, her eyes bright and wide with reflected light.

Being made to follow him across the dark earth of the roof, like servant or slave, the leather digging into her wrists…it was humbling. Emily wouldn’t talk, and somehow knowing she observed made Kaysana’s body heat up even more. Her head was so messed up.

Her eyes adjusted slowly to the moonlight, sifting objects from the darkness. Sten turned. The distance between his hand and her bound ones was only inches.

The fat armored balloon of the Emshalley was close on their left. The links and fine skinline chains encircling her twinkled with gleams of fire and moon.

“Kneel for me, girl.”

The distant tone, the dark pits of his eye sockets sent a tremble to her legs.

“Eyes down.” Sten loomed over her. A jerk pulled taut the belt.

She flexed her fingers, then knelt, her legs stiff from…fear? Did she fear him? Why? Some shift of power had left her stranded.

“Sir?” The sir came easily.

He slipped the belt from her wrists. “That sounds nice from your mouth. Put your lips to my boots. Kiss them also. Ask me for the belt on your pretty ass.”

He wants me to…beg him to hit me? Her clit poked up high outside its hood. Her lower lips were swollen…and not just from the way he’d slapped her there.

“Please, I need…I…”

No. I can’t say this. Desperate, wanting, yet she stared at his feet. “I can’t…”

Feeling as if she’d sealed some dreadful fate for herself, she lowered her body, craned forward her neck, and kissed his boot. Dust and grit on her tongue and even here, she inhaled his scent.

“Well.” Disappointment radiated. “That’ll do then,” he said quietly, so low she almost missed the words. “Remove your clothes.”

Hands shaking, she pulled off her top and, at his nod of permission, rose and shimmied off the little leather skirt. Her boots joined the pile. The cold sent goose bumps running across her skin.

“Hands at your back. Clasp them together. Kneel again.”

The position made her breasts push out, and her nipples might have been metal, they’d turned so hard. If he bit them, they might shatter…she might shatter.

The air jittered with tension and stank of smoke. Every step he took, every action he directed sent her spiraling deeper, wrapped her around him in some aeon-old ritual. He unslung the haversack from his shoulder, stuck his hand in, and pulled out a glittering spiderweb of fine cables.

She stared, unblinking, remembering them. From the ship, and from when he’d first… Yes—then.

The wires, the little evil-toothed clamps at the ends hypnotized her. He dropped to one knee, yet even so he was above her, taller, bigger, meaner.

Her breasts swayed when she shifted. “Please…” Flee or stay?

“You won’t move, girl.” The jaw of the first clamp opened, ready to bite. He grasped her whole breast, slipped his fingers to the peak, and pinched her nipple, pulled it out. “You’re brave. You’ll take this. First one.” It bit her. Fire twined, screwed in, leaped into her flesh.

She hissed in air, clenched, unclenched her hands, but Sten put his hand to her throat, pressed his fingers and thumb a quarter inch into muscle, steadying her with the small, violent act as he made her keep still.

“How’s that?”

What? Looking up at him…he seemed as far away as the moon above. He loomed. He watched her. Waited.

“I…” She shut her eyes, felt the pain as it blossomed and wove into her, and she opened her eyes again. “I’m okay.”

His smile strengthened her. “Next.” Another hot bite at her nipple. Panting helped. “The last.”

When he searched out her clit and shuffled his finger and thumb about until he pushed up the nub of flesh, she keened and stiffened. Then he placed the clamp. Bite and sear.

“Aaah.” Openmouthed, she breathed out through the pain. He thumbed the furrow of her neck, soothing her until the arch of her back softened and she opened her eyes to his gaze.

Neatly he wound the wires together in front of her. She followed the lines to where he held them, fascinated, awed at the feel. Metal directions to her sex, amplifiers of her need.

“Up.” He tugged, and she got her feet under her, swayed, then padded after him to the airship. “Press up close.”

The skinlines of the ship crisscrossed and formed a grid of fine chains. Hand flattened on her back, he set her standing so the skin of the balloon touched her breasts. The cold leached in. Sten stretched the wires from each of her nipples to either side, wrapping them about a skinline chain. To the left, then to the right, he adjusted them, checking the tension.

The little teeth were sunk in deep. She wouldn’t forget them. But the wind might pick up… “If the ship moves.” Though she’d said it quietly, her voice ruptured the silence.

The belt slapped on her ass, and the wires yanked at her. Kaysana came to a shuddering halt. If dragged off, those teeth might scratch her badly.

“Don’t. I have the anchors set. Trust. Remember.”

Trust? Did she? Saying and doing were different. Though she’d not grabbed the wires, her hands were splayed on the balloon. She turned to set her cheek on the cool skin, striving to breathe.

“Yes, Sir.”

Rope encircled one wrist, then the other, interlacing with the chains and tying her more thoroughly to the balloon. The rough handling rocked her, and the metal teeth tugged at her nipples. She shivered. She was spread-eagled across the airship and at Sten’s mercy.

“The last is this.” He buckled the collar around her neck, knelt behind her, brought the wire leading to her clit up between her legs, and connected it to the collar.

“If you move, these will bite, Kaysana.”

At her nape, he gathered her hair, used it to hold her neck back at an angle while he, one by one, untangled strands of loose hair from the collar. With more rope, he tied the ponytail together. Then he leaned on the balloon on either side of her, covering her hands with his. His weight crushed her into the balloon, tweaking the clamps. He nestled into her neck.

“If you cry at all, I stop.” His left arm lifted off her; then his palm curved into her cleft. One finger entered her, dipping in as slowly as tears cruising down a face.

“If I don’t?” With his face near hers, the sounds seemed soft and muffled, intimate.

“You will.”

Her hot breaths and his mingled.

Cry? Of all the signals he could choose… She curled her hands. The sound of her nails scratching the canvas centered her. Crying was for girls.

Then he stepped back, and struck her.

The sound of the belt hissing through the air over and over, the slap when it met her ass, her skin, became a recital of pain. Over and over, back and forth, one side, then the other. He didn’t speak. He didn’t care. No one cared. Her skin vibrated with endless fire; her lips slipped and made moist tracks on the balloon. Her sweat ran in burning paths down her back and splattered the air with each hit. She didn’t…she didn’t…she never…cried.

Didn’t. Won’t. Never cry. Never.

The slap of leather echoed in the distance. The balloon she leaned on gave like a newly made bed—soft, comfy, big. The air grew warm. The reflected light of the moon bubbled and shimmied. Nothing mattered. Nothing…at all.

The feel of his hands on her made her smile.

“There. Almost there,” he said.

Things undid, went. He freed her. Laid her on the ground and kissed her lips until at last she kissed him back. His hand smoothed her hair away from her forehead.

“There. You’re okay. I’m here, Kaysana. I’m here.” Moisture fell on her face.

“I…don’t cry.” She put her trembling hand to his face and found tears. Frowned. “You?”

“Me.” His fingers touched her cheek. “And you. You’re crying, Kaysana. You screamed and I stopped, but you’re crying too.”

“Me?”

It was true. Her face was wet with her own tears. And her ass burned like it’d been dipped in a fiery pit in hell. “Damn,” she said quietly. “Damn.”

“Who do you cry for? Tell me.” Those big eyes of his searched hers as if she had some wonderful secret.

Inside her, a tension that’d been there for a million years collapsed in a rush, like a dam made of mud washed away in a storm, the dirt swirling away forever. “Mingzhu.” Too quiet to be heard—he frowned down at her, and she dredged up her courage to say it louder. “Mingzhu.”

“Who is that?”

“My little sister. She died, long ago.”

His frown deepened. “Then leave her there, in the past. Let her be.”

“Don’t know if I can.” A knife seemed wedged in her throat.

“You will. This might help.” And he removed the silver wolf pendant from around his neck and placed it about hers. “There. He can guard you. My friend’s.”

The gift stunned her. She recalled his friend—this must be the one who’d died. “His name?”

For a while she thought he wouldn’t tell.

“Abrian.”

“Abrian. Thank you.”

She fingered the cool metal of the medallion. She was lying on her back, naked, under Sten. He’d spanked her with his belt. Cao. Hell. Her nipples stung, and so did her bottom. Every time her heart thumped, her clit echoed the beat like a tiny synchronized engine. She tongued her lip…and he noticed.

“And thank you for telling me.” Then he cupped her chin and kissed her, said softly, “Now I’m going to make love to you.”

That sounded gentle. And so not Sten, not the man she wanted. “Make love? Sounds…” She swallowed. Dare I? “Sounds…tame.”

“Does fuck sound better?” Sternness hardened his face, wrapped her chest in cold bands of steel, froze her breath.

Fear shivered through her. Big man. Small me.

“Umm.”

He sat up, grabbed her hips, and flipped her onto her stomach. Squirming made the cold earth rub on her sore flesh, cooled her, made her feel alive. Yes.

With his knees, he spread her legs. Then he held her down, inserted two fingers into her cunt, and pulled them out. “Wet. Yes. I think I’ll fuck you. Making love is for pussies.”

She bit back most of a giggle. Not that she ever giggled. That too was for girls.

“But first…” He whipped leather around her wrists, cinched it up the middle between her hands. She twisted and wriggled her hands but couldn’t get loose. Cloth wrapped across her face, blindfolding her, pressing in on her eyes. Blackness descended. Ah. This is different. The pulse in her temple pounded madly.

He might do anything with her. Her trembling was equal parts trepidation and anticipation. “Sten—”

Another cloth wound around her at mouth level. She pushed with her tongue, swallowing, trying to shake her head but not succeeding, while he knotted it.

He growled just behind her, inches away, lodged his fingers on either side of her throat. “Tame, am I? Be still or I’ll do this in front of the fire. You wanted to be fucked my way. This is my way.”

The way he lifted her so easily up to his chest, as if she was no heavier than a pillow, made her feel tiny. She guessed she was compared to this massive man, and it made her so goddamned happy, in a scary way. She lay on her back in his arms—one arm under her shoulders with his palm cupping her breast, the other beneath her bottom where her ass curved into her thighs.

“You can’t see me, but I see you, beautiful.” His mouth encompassed the peak of her breast, sucked her areola into the wet cave where his tongue played with her at his leisure. Lapping, sucking, teasing the nipple over and over. Biting, hard. She squeaked but couldn’t stop what he did, or stop herself arching up into him.

“Good.” He did the same to her other breast, sucking at it for so long she squirmed, wondering if her skin would peel away. “Now both are sticking up and poking at me. Damn cheeky nipples.”

They were wet, aching where he’d licked and where the clamps had recently dug at her. She made a pleading noise through the gag and wiggled her ass, dying to press her groin on him.

He chuckled, adjusted her into a different position in his arms, then began to walk. “Wanting something, are we?”

When he stopped and set her down on her knees, her raw bottom bumped onto her heels and she squeaked again.

“Sore?” The amusement in his voice stirred her, and she grunted. “See how nice I’m being? Talking to you before I fuck you? Hmm. Open your legs.”

Obeying his instruction wasn’t quite automatic, but the strange pull on her to do so was utterly tempting. Why the inner workings of her mind had changed to accept this… She opened her legs a few inches, then farther—feeling exposed and even more naked, somehow, than before.

“Very good. Stay.”

His obvious delight and arrogance, the assumption that she wouldn’t move, prodded at her to respond—like a half-lost memory she couldn’t quite place. Once, she would have delivered a snappy retort, despite the gag if she could’ve, but the moment faded away, passed…or maybe she let it slip by.

She sat on her heels, the heat from her bottom reminding her of his authority, and waited for him to tell her what to do. Waited, wondering if he was looking at her. The way he’d abused her nipples made her breasts feel heavy and made her so aware of being female.

Without him doing anything more than this, merely making her wait, her pussy seeped. Moisture gathered, her folds swelled, and the liquid meandered downward to the crease of bottom and thigh. More waiting, and more of her moisture leaked, trailed farther across the back of her thigh.

Where is he?

With only blackness before her eyes, she listened to the noises of him stripping. To the quiet sounds of cloth on skin, of feet on dirt.

She smelled him and inhaled, swayed on her knees, straining to follow the scent.

“I’m here.” He ran his splayed fingers into her hair and clamped his mouth on her gagged lips, claiming her, making sure she had to respond. By the time he finished, she was panting and dizzy. Then he spoke near her mouth. “I can kiss you…”

Tentatively she curled out her tongue, licking him, feeling his lips shape words.

“…anywhere.” He licked her tongue with his. “Do anything.” A warm, commanding voice, and his warm, large hand on her pubic mound. He slid his hand farther, discovering her slippery dampness. Then he casually entered her pussy with his thumb and wormed his finger up, up, into her second hole.

She closed her eyes behind the blindfold and held her breath, knowing every small curl of digit or bump of his knuckles as he stroked inside her. Knowing every clench of her muscles down there. Desire mounted…until he pulled away. Then she whimpered.

“Your turn to do some work.” She heard him stand. The gag was pulled from between her lips. His cock pressed at her mouth.

At the back of her head, he twisted her hair, winding it around and around until he could use it like the reins of a horse. He urged her forward, deeper onto his cock. Her lips slipped wetly over his soft head, and two inches of him slid inside past her teeth.

“Yes. Take it in. Suck me.”

Her bruised lips stretched over him, wider, sucking as he told her to, and she cruised her tongue along his cock as if measuring his length. She moaned past him. With her hands behind her, she had no say, and that heightened her own arousal. She loved it.

“Keep your throat open. Take it all. Try.”

She went to shake her head, couldn’t, not with his cock occupying her mouth and his hand in her hair. She’d never done this—been able to take a man down into her throat. Whores did that. Not her. She’d never wanted to. But with her breath huffing in and out through her nose, some strange need flowered. To please Sten, she’d try.

As he moved back and forth, his soft tip going out to her lips, then slow and surely back into her, she accommodated him, opening wider or closing smaller, shaping her mouth. She shut her eyes beneath the cloth, kept her hands clasped and relaxed. His head went past some limit at the back of her throat and kept going. His balls touched her, withdrew.

“That’s it.” He made small, harsh sounds in time to his rhythm. His cock swelled, and she hummed in pleasure.

STEN LOOKED DOWN at Kaysana with her lips around him, feeling the vibration in her throat and the pulse of his cock. With the rope of her hair twining around his fist and with her kneeling and sucking him off…hell, it was almost enough to make him come all by itself. She’d sunk way down into submitting to him. Much farther than he’d thought she’d ever go. A very determined woman, but right now she was his, through and through.

This couldn’t be only once. She was wrong. By the end of this night, she would see that.

He pulled himself from her mouth and replaced the gag, then half knelt and said in her ear, “There’s so many ways I’d like to take you.”

He got the thick blanket, folded it, and threw it over the wide, rounded edge of the parapet behind her—for comfort’s sake. He put his hands under her armpits and hoisted her up so she balanced there.

With her head hanging back over the drop beyond and her arms pinned beneath her, with her bound hands at her ass and her feet just reaching the rooftop, she couldn’t do anything except show him the smooth curves of her body. She strained to lift her head, searching blindly for him.

“I’m here, darlin’.”

To reassure her, he rested his palm on her tummy, then leisurely swept his gaze up her body. The moon had risen high and shone down, turning her into a silver statue with her mound angled up to him and the split of her sex delightfully visible. He continued upward, taking in the cute dip of belly button, her breasts and their peaked nipples, and the backward arch of her neck.

Her hair spilled into the night like a black river, flicking in the light breeze. The wolf pendant slewed across her neck, slid over her collarbone and fell—to swing and dangle in a spin of silver. Each breath she took made her breasts move in that fascinating way. He smiled. Looking at tits always made him happy.

He traced around one nipple as he considered, watched how she held her breath and the subtle increase in the arch of her spine, but then…her clit tempted him. The little button stuck out like a fruit waiting to be plucked, or eaten.

He let both his hands shape her and coast down her sides, from her chest to the inward curve of her waist to rest on her hips, then on her buttocks. He knelt before her and leaned in, breathing her smell…before he sucked her clit into his mouth.

The little squeak from Kaysana made him grin around his tiny prize. Then he applied himself properly, stretched her lips out to either side with his thumbs as he laid his tongue over her, toggling her clit to and fro. The scent of her pussy, her female musk, hardened his cock. By listening to her breathing, by seeing and feeling the motion of her hips, he gauged her arousal. When her toes dug scrunching circles in the dirt and small urgent noises came from her gagged mouth, he knew she was close.

“Care to tell me what you want done to you?” He stuck his tongue out stiffly and tapped her clit. She moaned, and her groin bumped at him. “Hmmm? Cat got your tongue? If you can’t say it clearly, maybe I should just walk away?”

Her indignant series of squeaks made him grin again.

He plastered his mouth over her, sucked at her clit, hard, then even harder. Nibbling and sucking made it stand out from the hood more than he’d ever seen it do before.

“Ahhh. Now that has you horny.” He moved one hand inward. In the bright moonlight, he saw her clit twitch and felt her pussy do the same. More of her juices ran onto his knuckles. He massaged up and down her slit, then extended two fingers and pushed them inside, slow as slow could be. Every inch of her quivered. He wriggled and got all five of his fingers in. Kaysana raked in a harsh breath and stopped breathing.

“Like that?” His voice was husky. He pumped in and out, noticing, as he moved his hand, when she clenched harder onto him. “Ahh. This spot?”

There he stayed, nudging his fingertips back and forth.

He reapplied his tongue to her clit, licking and licking, and when she panted and thrust in tempo at his mouth, he kept at her. Her legs stiffened. Her thighs pushed, as did her mound. Her back bowed. His dick jerked at the sight of her reaction.

“Mmm. Mm!” The strangled whimpers came from deep in her throat, and her entire body undulated. He didn’t cease using his tongue and instead waited for the shuddering and the whimpers to run their course before he stopped and removed his hand from the pleasingly slick mess her slit had become.

He wiped his hand down her leg, tickled the back of her knee, smiling when she squealed and tried to get away.

“Oh, that’s cute. Damn, s’pose I shouldn’t torture you, though?” Her indignant huff made him grin.

He kissed her thigh, rose, and pulled her upright. The shaking of her legs slowly settled. He turned her around and bent her over the parapet again—this time on her front with her ass delectably presented to him.

“How’s that?” Her breasts hung on the other side of the parapet, and he curved his hands over them to pinch and pull at her nipples.

“Mmm!” She flinched and swung her head toward him. Blindfolded and gagged and her sound had not been a happy one.

“Don’t wriggle!” He smacked her ass. The bouncy feel of it reminded him of the time at the shop. She stiffened, let out a minuscule moan; then her head lowered and her stance softened.

Giving in. Now that was nice to see.

“Much better,” he murmured before putting his mouth to her nape, then his teeth around the side muscle. He bit hard and then soft, and again and again, until she gave another moan. He moved so his cock was against her bottom, let it slip between her legs so the moisture of her pussy wet his whole length.

He kneed apart her thighs, dipped down to get the right angle, and pushed. The first tight clutch of her pussy on the head of his cock made her lift her head and inhale sharply.

So he bit her again and muttered sweet, dirty words, ramming into her harder, lifting her up on her toes at the peak of each thrust, making her squeak and gasp.

How had he ever thought this woman would reject him? This was her at her most primitive and him taking it all in, glorying in her surrender. Fucking adorable, and the way she quivered and gave herself, her body arching farther into him, head back, making the small noises no woman ever made except in the throes of sex…hell, she was his.

He thrust and held her there, up in the air, her toes striving for a hold but finding nothing and sliding futilely down his legs, because he…was…her…master. Her pussy clamped hard onto him, lava hot. “Come for me, girl. Come! Let me feel your pussy tighten.” Then he thrust again.

Her body spasmed at the same time his balls seemed to crunch up into him. The convulsive tremor inside her and her little whine transformed into panting groans. With one last push, he came, the force building up from his toes and thighs to pump into her until he wondered if he’d delivered his own damn soul into her body.

He listened to his thudding heartbeat and smiled into her hair, inhaled her scent of sweat and woman, wrapped his arms around her until there was nothing between her skin and his.

Something within him solidified—some connection with Kaysana was in his grasp. Not just love or trust. He felt toward it, like a man with a part of him missing who’d seen it reappear. He could almost see and touch it inside his head. Terribly beautiful, as if she were a part of his body. As if every atom of Kaysana was under his thrall.

The two of them stood curved against each other, recovering and breathing together. The night air played lightly over them. Sten watched Kaysana’s fine neck hairs stir. When her breathing calmed, he stroked his hand down her side, found the leather bonds. He freed her hands and massaged her wrists, then removed the blindfold and the gag.

“You good?” he asked. She nodded, cuddling into his chest. “Want to get dressed?” Again a nod.

Dressing, picking up the gear, and returning to the other roof so they could clean up were done quietly. All he wanted to do was get her to sit with him, and then with a little more time, he’d get her talking before they slept. His exhilaration became a satisfied certainty. She was his. Yet they had to settle this. He needed her to say it, out loud. Whatever happened tomorrow, this was important.

Their sleeping blankets were over where the others slept, but he drew her to their spot beside the dying fire and made her settle against him with a glass of water in her hand. He straddled the cloth-covered crate with a leg to either side. She was pliable, willing to listen to him…yet something was wrong in the way she examined the moon and plucked at his fingers where he’d laid his hand in her lap.

“You ready to talk, Kaysana?”

“Yes.” She inhaled deeply, exhaled.

He rested his chin on top of her head and snuggled one arm across her waist. “I want to make sure you know that you’re mine. I won’t have it any other way. Can’t.”

No answer.

“You liked what we did together? What I did to you?”

“Yes.” The word was as quiet as the click of a gently shut door, yet the next was stronger. “Yes. I did. It’s so odd the way I feel about you and what I wanted you to do, and how I wanted you to just make me do things…but I’m glad. And grateful.” She wriggled, got comfortable, then picked up the pendant and let the moonlight fall on it. “For this among everything else. But whatever happens tomorrow, we should go our own ways afterward.”

What? “What! No.” He gripped her ear, gave it a shake. “No. We’re right for each other. I can help you. You complete me, and the other way around. We’re right together.”

Her sigh shook her, and he pictured it sinking like a gray cloud to the very bottom of her toes. Heaviness weighed down his stomach.

“Maybe, in some ways, but we are also wrong for each other. I can’t give up what I do. My grandfather honors what I do. I must go back to what I have trained for and striven for my entire life.” She doodled circles on the back of his arm. “We may die tomorrow. But if we come out of this okay, what we did tonight was…fun, but it’s gone. We must go back to our true lives.”

He knew her well enough now to recognize utter determination when he saw it. Could he make her follow him? No. Besides, he needed her head in the right place, wanting him, wanting what the two of them created by being together.

Strange how much he longed to both pick her up and care for her, and yet also to frigging shake her until her brains rattled and she agreed with him.

“Don’t you feel the bond between us? Something just…” He fumbled for the way to say something so slippery.

“I feel something. Yes. I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of it completely.” She shrugged. “Maybe we can somehow get together, in secret. In small towns, when I get breaks?”

In secret? Hell. His thighs clenched into hers. He resisted that urge to shake her, again. “You still hate frankenstructs that much?”

“No. I don’t.” She shifted. “I just know what others think. I’m sorry.”

“So what I am is nothing. I’m a frankenstruct, and you aren’t wanting to be seen in public with me?”

Though little bubbles of anger threatened to erupt, he easily quashed them. No matter the provocation, he would remain calm. He’d never let her see that awful part of him. Even if she stabbed him through the heart.

“No! It’s not just that!” She twisted around, stared at him. “Even if I came to you, if we stayed together… You’re a mercenary. I worked all my life to become what I am—an air fleet captain!”

He wouldn’t get angry—sad maybe, but not angry, not with Kaysana. But he put on his darkest look, then said his piece, quietly. “Here’s another fact—you are a lonely woman. And another—I am a lonely man.” Her face froze. “Stay as you are, then. I won’t push you farther. Come to me on your hands and knees and I might think again.”

He shoved himself upright and strode away. Fuck. What a night.

It wasn’t until he stood in front of the filing room door that he realized he’d gone down the stairs without seeing a thing. He kicked open the door, splintering the lock from the frame, and barely felt the pain.

Chapter Sixteen

Kaysana rolled forward on her knees, bowed her head, pressing it into the pillow on her rolled-out mattress. Why had she lied? Her attraction to Sten wasn’t a compulsion anymore…yet her feelings for him were far greater than she’d let him see. She yearned to go to him and beg forgiveness, to drop to her knees, hug his legs, and kiss him wherever she could reach. But the kernel of truth was there—she couldn’t stay with him. No woman in her situation with any sense, any brains would. Trash her entire career on a whim? No.

Got to pull myself together. Business as usual. She sniffed. Either she could ignore Sten, get on with life without him, or she couldn’t. Chin up. Stop being weak.

The nip in the air reminded her of where they planned to go on the morn. Near her mat the doctor’s pile of clothing, suitable for subzero temperature, sat in a neat, furry pile. She may as well sort out her size. Emily had already donned hers and was asleep with Cadrach at her feet.

After tugging on a few sets and discarding some, she had found herself a pair of fur-lined pants, a hooded jacket, boots, and gloves. In daylight it would be the lovely bright white and orange the PME favored for Arctic gear. There was even a little knife sheathed in the boots.

The air twitched in that familiar way—like warm jelly rolling across her. Zombies?

A scuffle and a roar from Cadrach made her whip around. A few yards away, two figures wrestled under the moonlight, a pretty scenario wrought in silver and shadow, as if they merely danced to and fro. Until they swung around. Twin lights of flame churned in the eye sockets of one of them. The doctor was a raised man.

No weapons at hand—they were stacked by the fire. No time for finesse, she ran full tilt.

“No!” Emily wheezed, thumping at where the doctor gripped her throat.

A blur of gray—Cadrach leaped at them. The doctor flung Emily down as a child tosses a toy. She rolled limply. He swept his arm in a vicious arc, cracking into Cadrach in midair. With a yelp, the wolf flew, twisting and skidding across the rooftop, smacking into the stone edge. He lay still. The doctor reached again for Emily.

You forgot me. Kaysana launched into a leaping kick, leg straight as a spear, foot out and aimed at his back.

At the last second he turned and batted her leg away. She landed and tumbled. Pain burned into her side. Bounce back up, woman. Emily’s down. The pain is a lie. She flipped to her feet. Could you punch a zombie into submission? She’d try. Keep out of range. Don’t grapple. He’s strong.

Again the doctor bent to pick up Emily.

Her kick caromed off the back of his skull and sent him flailing and tottering sideways. Had the furred boots softened the blow? Should’ve, would’ve flattened a normal man.

The impossibility of this, of killing a raised man bare-handed, sank in.

She growled. “Leave her! Try me. Try me, you bastard.” Why now…why had the doctor changed now? Why not before? She sucked in a lungful and screamed, “Sten!” Where is he?

“Coming! I’m coming!” His distant reply punctuated the rasp of her breathing and Emily's whimpers. Oh God, he’s downstairs. Too far.

The doctor pivoted, and the lava flare in his eyes made her misstep. She recovered and faked a kick. The little knife in my boot. It’d lengthen her reach. She’d wait for a chance, then grab it. Hands up and ready to strike, she cautiously circled him, waiting, waiting, backing toward the weapons at the fire. Waste enough time and Sten would…

“You…” The deadness in his voice was as riveting as the toss of earth on a coffin lid. “…will suffice.”

With a faint whine and whir of clockwork, faster than she could register or react to, the doctor blurred into motion. Something thudded into the side of her head. Pain splintered through her. Darkness conquered, and she fell, spiraling into the black.

* * * *

Filing cabinets lined the walls. On a table in the middle, two heavy books awaited him. He knew his name in letters, if not the titles of the books. A folded piece of paper lay atop with Sten penciled neatly on it.

Too easy. Now he only needed someone he fucking trusted to read them for him.

A small, square window drew him to the outer wall, where a frigid breeze tussled with the papers tacked to a nearby notice board. Wrought-iron vertical bars curved down over the window. For a long time he stared out through those gray claws of metal at the night and saw nothing except her body in the darkness, and heard only the regular lub-dub of her heart when he’d nestled his head upon her breast.

From far away, along the road they'd traveled, came the distant noise of a revving engine.

“Shite.” Wasn’t working. He couldn’t forget her. Never would. But he’d thought she’d come around to thinking the same of him. “Fool. I’m a fool.”

The engine sound grew. The screech of metal and brakes, though a long way off, made him stand taller as he strained to hear.

“Sten!” Kaysana screamed.

What the hell? “Coming! I’m coming!” He spun and sprinted toward the stairs, took them so fast he barely touched ground. He burst out the door onto the rooftop.

With the fire low, his night vision was good. By the bedrolls, the doctor faced off against Kaysana—his eyes were pinpoint fires, entryways to hell. He kicked at Kaysana, vicious and fast. She dropped, and he caught her, slung her over his shoulder.

“Nooo!” Feet pounding as he ran, he groped at his left side where his sword should be. Not there. The raised man, slick as a fleeing rat, sprinted away, carrying Kaysana like the corpse of a slain animal.

Had to catch them! Had to! By the time Sten reached where they’d fought, where Emily struggled to her feet, the doctor had gained the parapet. Then he jumped over the side and vanished from view.

Sten slammed into the low stone wall, where they’d gone over, clawing at the outer rock wall to stop himself following them headfirst.

A light thundered and poured toward him at roof level, dipped. Above it, silver zipped around in a circle. The distinct stench of burning boosted coal washed over him.

Someone steered a gyrocopter in for a lunatic landing, its searchlight swiveling through the trees as the craft wove closer, dropping fast. Four stories below were two figures in the gardens—one carried atop the other.

As the gyro hit the ground and bounced, Dr. F. loaded Kaysana, then scrambled in after her.

The craft rose and hovered before him. A dim figure inside swung a tube his way. The twin orange flares in its eye sockets marked a raised man. Sten frowned, heard half-familiar pings and clicks. The sound of a Gatling gun beginning to turn.

“Emily! Duck!”

Sten threw himself down. His arms scraped and slid. Soil puffed up his nose. A barrage of bullets roared over his head, churning up dirt, marching across the opposite parapet in a smoking parade of pulverized stone. A low black silhouette marked where Emily lay. On the far rooftop, the airship hissed and crumpled as bullets hit the envelope. The cacophony ceased.

On his knees, he peeked above the edge in time to see the gyro swerve into the night and zoom away, taking Kaysana with it. His ribs protesting with little spikes of agony, he climbed all the way to his feet.

Where he gripped the stone, the rough edge of the parapet carved tracts of skin from his hands. She was gone. Cold traced his bones, crackled into his heart. Then numbness settled. Determination arrived.

He had a job to do. Rescue his woman. Save the world. All in a day’s fucking work.

Damnohdamn oh fuckin’ damn.

When he turned, he found Cadrach limping up behind him, shaking his head now and then. The clockwork snake, Clavis, slithered across the wolf’s path, then curled up on the bedding. Sten squatted. “You all right, boy? Let me check you.”

He patted Cadrach all over. Relief flooded him—nothing seemed seriously wrong, just bruises, and touching something that was alive and real and not going to kill him…he so needed that.

He sighed. “’S okay, boy, we’ll get her back. You and me—”

“And me too.” A dark, glistening line trailed across Emily’s forehead. She hobbled over and stood before him, swaying. The fur clothing made her look older, bigger. Inside though, he knew she’d be hurting.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m okay. Just makes me more determined to finish this.” She put a hand on his head, patted him like he had the wolf, then let her arm fall to her side. “She saved me, you know. I heard her taunting him. We’ll get your lady…my captain back. We’ll do it. You, me, and wolfie.”

He nodded, assessing the pint-size dynamo. Never let a woman see your weaknesses. He could do this.

“So, Sten, where do we start?”

Cadrach sat on his haunches, and he let his hands slide down the soft fur of the wolf’s head. The urge to crush something, squeeze hard until something, anything, was flat and very, very dead, leaked away.

“From the direction the gyro took, it’s heading for Perihelion.” He straightened. “How can we follow, when the airship’s like a piñata at a target range?”

“Yeah.” Emily turned to look. “Man, she’s not good.”

He wriggled his toes in his boots, feeling his toenails scrape on leather while he stared at the airship. Much of the balloon had collapsed. “That's the only way we can get to Perihelion, and the doctor has removed something from the controls. The engine won't start without that missing piece, and the envelope is shot to hell and back.”

How were they to rise above the mountain without an airship? He needed to figure this out damn fast, or it wouldn't be just half the world that’d die, but Kaysana too. And he wasn’t sure which was worth more. Nah. In a pinch, the world would lose out.

“Well, let's have a closer look at the Emshalley. I can fix most any damn fucking thing.”

What if I can't fix this, though? He brushed away the thought. I can. I will. ’Cause I have to.

“Hope so,” she murmured.

The dismayed look on Emily’s face made him pull her close. “Here, girl, you need a hug as much as I do.”

She snuggled in and put her arms around him. “Thanks, Sten.”

God, I pray she’s okay.

These zombies didn’t toy with their victims. They ate them, killed, raped them, or tortured them and, from what he’d seen, sometimes all at once. The warmth of Emily’s body only reminded him of how Kaysana felt against him. A patch of blood on the roof glistened in the moonlight. Hers. Jeez. The wolf pendant lay near the puddle.

The engine noise from earlier started up again, coming closer. The many screeches and clangs of metal made it sound as if someone was tormenting a machine.

“We better see who that is. They need a driving lesson.” He sucked in his cheek. “Run and grab that sniper rifle of yours, Emily. Just to be on the safe side.”

Chapter Seventeen

The racket in the room nearly deafened Kaysana, and the throbbing pain in her head didn't help. Icy air swirled around her. Someone rolled her over, tugged her hands behind her back, wrapped something around them. By the time she figured it out, she was bound firm enough to make her hands tingle with pins and needles. Her legs were tucked under her, and the bone-jarring vibrations through the metal floor stirred the fur of her boots against her fingers.

Kaysana managed to open her eyes. Light fluttered around the room.

Where is this? The sound gave her the answer. Gyrocopter. The shaking and shuddering underneath her, the metal floor—they were going somewhere.

Her sight focused. A man with fire in his eyes stood over her. Goatee. Gray hair. The doctor’s face swam into focus.

“Doctor?” Her tongue seemed to have died and been wedged back into her mouth all swollen and dry.

“You are awake? Good.” His voice sawed deep through the words. He smiled. “You’re needed alive and feeling.”

He thudded to one knee before Kaysana and pulled her head up by a handful of her hair.

“You'll be a tasty one.” The fire in his eyes blazed brighter.

Fuck… She tried to squeeze back into the floor. Not good. How could she escape this? Sten would try to save her. The man would leap into a pool of burning lava to save me…and I know it. Knew it back there, even. In the clarity of danger, she saw him as what he was…a forceful yet good man who more than liked her. I screwed up. Could’ve at least told him how much I…what? Loved him? She didn’t know, still, didn’t know.

Time to save myself. She sniffed back the tears. The knife in her boot beckoned.

Some movement drew her eyes downward, to the doctor’s legs. His torn trousers were painted in the dappled light of the moon and man-made sources. With the gleam of dark liquid to guide her, Kaysana suddenly translated the colors as blood and fractured bone. His upper legs were shattered, and yet he stood on them. His lower legs were gleaming rods and coils, pumping hydraulics and cogs. Electricity blazed in sputtering violet across stripped wires.

He struck her across the face, sending her head jolting away, only to be ripped to a stop by the hold on her hair. “I shall have some fun with you.” He leaned in, eyes flaring brighter as he closed in on her face. Jagged teeth showed, bared by the snarl of lip. “I smell blood.”

She drifted into unconsciousness. And in and out. Time flickered past in a susurration of silence and the thwop thwop of gyro blades.

She blinked. The world firmed. How long was I out?

Snow and icy air swept in through the open side door. They were high in the mountains.

My legs still aren’t tied.

The doctor grinned at her—fractured teeth, blue-black gums, no lips. Chin spotted with old gore. He’s eaten his own lips. Something lurched in her stomach.

“I see you. Time to play.”

He curved her head to one side and buried his face in her hair. The sweep and dart of his tongue in the wound sent agony peeling through her. He sucked hard, his tongue rasping on her raw flesh and her hair. Kaysana shrieked and wriggled, thrashing about. But he pinned her with a knee on her belly.

“Stay, little meal.” The doctor chuckled and resumed sucking and slurping like a baby at his mother’s breast. She bucked. His teeth slid like tiny chisels across her scalp to fasten on her ear, tight.

His teeth ground in harder, deeper. Knife, get the knife. She bent her legs under her, struggling to reach the knife, heaving his body upward. A shriek burst from her. She heard and felt the click of flesh and cartilage severing. Scalding pain exploded down the side of the face. Wet blood slicked her face. The doctor swallowed.

Her hand met the hilt of the knife.

She forced logic into her brain despite the zombie growling at her ear. Shoved away fear, indecision, and the muzziness from the head wound and cataloged what she saw. Open door. One other raised man at the controls. The night whipping past outside. One chance. Only one.

Twisting sideways, she freed her legs from beneath, then heaved up to jackknife her body. Both feet were at his armpits. Now! She kicked, straightening full-length, and sent the doctor sailing straight out through the door into the night.

Fast now. Fast fast fast. She concentrated, ignoring what she couldn’t change—the guttural cry of the pilot, the craft suddenly diving.

Bend legs under again and feel for the sheath in my boot. Whip out the knife. Don’t cut myself. Insert between body and wrist rope and pray. Rip it through. Yes!

Her wrists free, she flipped upright, catching the back of the pilot’s seat to steady herself as the gyro lurched in flight. Ignore the dead copilot still strapped in, with his brain cavity exposed and the blood frozen on the seat. Ignore the staring, smoldering eyes of the pilot and the drool at his mouth…the flesh torn from his cheekbone, dangling and whipping across his face like a swing.

Anchor one hand in the zombie’s hair, grab it tight, and thrust the slim blade into his ear. Feel bone crunch but ignore again. Not in far enough.

Hammer at the base of the hilt as he gropes for you with his clawed hand. Watch the knife slide, with thump after thump, another…agonizing…three inches into his head.

Grab the hilt again and twist and twist and twist.

The squelch of his brain being pulverized and his screeches embedded into her memory like splinters in her heart. But she only stopped when the gyro threatened to dive full speed into the ground.

Kicking out the newly defunct and still trembling zombie pilot wasn’t an option. Heart thundering in her ears, she plonked herself onto his lap and set about frantically trying to regain control.

The speed of the dive lessened. The arc flattened.

“Come on, come on!” Teeth gritted, she leaned back into the seat, into the dead zombie, using all her strength, with her grip on the semicircular steering wheel surely denting the leather and wood beneath.

* * * *

Steam screaming out the side stacks, crimson sparks flying, blades spinning like a dervish on drugs, the gyro shuddered, slowed, and pancaked into the deep snow with a loud crumph.

The blizzard howled, gently covering the burrow made by the crash with a soft blanket of white. Metal clicked and quieted as it cooled into subzero. Way back, miles back, the fallen raised man clawed his way free of snow. Its master knew of its plight. It trudged off, slow and sure, and flawlessly correct in its navigation.

* * * *

Leaning over the front parapet, Sten peered down the long road. No headlights, just a distant movement and that approaching engine sound. He raised the sniper rifle to his shoulder, settled his cheek, and sighted through the scope. A blurred vehicle came into view. Clicking the scope out to its farthest range, kneeling, and resting the stock on the stone helped.

“Damn. I see orange eyes in the cabin. It’s an überzomb driving a big truck. He seems to have sorted the driving, and I figure he’s heading for us.” Did they have the brains to ram the gate? They could fly gyros. The closer they were to Perihelion, the smarter the zombies seemed.

“There’s four rounds in there,” Emily whispered. “Can you get him?”

“I’ll try.” The finely wrought gold tendrils on the stock curled smooth under his skin, and he anchored his fingers onto them, drew in a breath, and held it. Squeezed and squeezed again and again.

The gun rocked back into him. Bullets cracked the air.

The truck was still coming. Sten grunted. “Missed. The roads so damn bumpy… I’ll wait until he’s a bit closer. I’m a close quarters man.”

“Sir?” Emily tapped his arm. “May I? Rifles and me like each other.”

“Yeah?” Debating didn’t seem right. He handed her the rifle, watched as she swiftly knelt beside him, reloaded, and nestled herself around the long weapon like it was a part of her.

She wound out a screw on the sight, slotted down an extra lens. Moonlight flowed serpentlike along all the little prettiness on the stock and barrel. Blue and black, contrasting with Emily’s tousled blonde hair. Concentration solidified her into a sculpture of flesh and metal.

The single crack when she fired made him turn to look down the road. A spine of spiraling blue-orange sped forth and vanished into the black. Silence gripped the night as he strained to see.

Flame blossomed, swerved to the side, and fell in a long, silent curve down into the darkness of the ravine. A rumble and rolling boom signaled the end of the vehicle when it hit the bottom.

“Damnation, girl! How’d you learn to shoot like that?” He whacked Emily on the back as she rose.

“Ow!” She rolled her shoulder, stepped away from him. “Hope there’s no more of them coming. Anyways, Sten. My daddy always taught us girls to be ready for anything, including war. I can shoot better than I can knit. Though not as good as I can catalog a book. Here.” She thrust the weapon back to him. “That was a napalm round too.”

“Oh?” He did a sweep of the landscape through the scope. Nothing moved on the road or the slopes of the hill. He thought he knew why they’d suddenly appeared. His fault. I let my libido tell me what to do. Fuck. He tucked away his guilt for another day.

“That was a big bang for one round. You hit the zomb? Or the truck?”

“The zombie.”

“Those überzombs burn darn well. Let’s go check the ship.”

The envelope of the Emshalley had half the air cells deflated…irreparably so. It’d need a week in a repair dock. Next to where his knee rested, holes showed where bullets had passed through the air cell. Sten fingered the tattered cloth.

“I can cut away the ripped cells, Emily, and we’ll have maybe half the buoyancy.” Sten looked up at the remaining envelope of the airship as it moved in the night breeze. “The less weight, the better.”

“You tell me what to toss, and I’ll do it.” She clapped her hands together.

He climbed to his feet and wiped his hands on his trousers. Dawn was hours away.

“Sure. But there’s other stuff needs doing. When I say, I want you to go to the File Room and bring up whatever you can find about Perihelion. We need a map to get us the quickest way through these mountains, at as low an altitude as possible. And a map of the base itself.”

“If it’s there, I’ll find it. We can do this!” She grinned at him.

“Where’d you get all this enthusiasm, woman? Your daddy?”

“Well.” Emily pulled a face. “Maybe. I just know things don’t get done unless you do.”

Cut away the torn cells, throw out excess weight—baggage, weapons, even the cabin framework maybe. Ascending in altitude without cover or insulation might be slightly suicidal, but there was no choice, and then…then he needed to do the impossible and figure out where the missing piece of the control panel had gotten to.

Hours of work. And what were the odds she’d still be alive… Stop. He shut his eyes for a second. Guilt later, remember?

“Then let’s get doing, Emily.”

Chapter Eighteen

The File Room housed an entire cabinet of maps, and Emily brought several up to the roof while Sten cleared out the last of the mess. He glanced at a few, approved them. Finding a safe route to Perihelion seemed sorted out.

“What about the base itself? Or the automaton? Other defenses?”

“Can’t say for sure.” Emily slid a lithograph from the folder on her knee. “But there’s this. Seems to be of the base and this”—she held it up for Sten and tapped a corner where something tall poked up from the snow. “The inscription's in Latin, like some of the research they did. I translated it, but I’m still not sure what this is a picture of. Do ya think it’s your automaton?”

He let go of the canvas he’d been cutting away, leaned in, and scratched his nose with a finger. Eye-scalding blue sky set off a steel and bronze monstrosity. A multitiered metal stack with a dome sitting atop and cannons bristling in rows, mounded up from the snow. Brass and orange logos and numbers were stamped here and there. Steam puffed from a back array of perforated funnels.

“Holy fuck. Looks nasty. That must be it.” Sten wiped sweat off his brow, spat to the side. “Now we know what to keep an eye out for. But odds are, it’s meant to have a human driver.”

Half an hour later, he stretched his back, listening to the series of tiny cracks from his spine. “Done.”

The Emshalley was as disfigured as a bug with its legs pulled off. Half the air cells were gone and the skeleton of the framework stuck up here and there like the bones of a half-eaten corpse. A man-high pile of discarded gear sat to one side. He figured they could lift high enough to get over the peaks…if they could start the engine.

“Come.” He helped Emily to her feet. “Let's check out the control cabin.”

Inside, he stood, hands in pockets, jingling the keys from the old gyro and staring at the control panel.

“That’s one whopping great hole.” Emily poked her finger in the cavity.

Sten scowled, sniffed loudly. “Yep.”

He toyed with the edge of the envelope from Dr. F. The key was still in there. He’d opened the room and put it back. The world was teetering on the brink of a big heap of shit. And Kaysana might die. He heaved out a ragged sigh. And he couldn’t figure out this puzzle. Where had he seen something that’d go in there?

Not that he loved her or anything. Not. Totally crazy, that would be. Only been a few days of gobsmacking sex and all. He knew more about the ass end of a donkey than he did about her. Really, add up all the facts and you got nothing much. I can’t love her. Except dammit, maybe I do. And I sure as hell don’t want her to die. Just the thought made his stomach ice up, made the future seem as stupid and useless as a house of sand.

The control panel was rectangular in a way. The hole is circular. Does that mean anything? Or the color? Is there little writing anywhere on this frame here? No.

He took the envelope out and absentmindedly flapped it across his other hand. Whackitty whack.

“I’ve got this key and the gyrocopter key. Seems like this thing missing is a key too.”

Emily squeaked. “’Course! Do you know what key is in Latin? Clavis!”

He swung toward her. “The clockwork snake?”

“Yes!”

They found the creature curled up on the doctor's blanket. Sad in a way, and weird. It wasn’t alive—or feeling—was it? He stooped and picked up its midsection, grunting as he lifted it over his shoulder. Clavis hissed out a little cloud of steam, then coiled around Sten’s neck. Three yards of pissed-off snake thing. As long as it didn’t tighten, he'd be okay.

“Stay, snake,” he muttered.

At the control panel, Clavis allowed him to unravel it from his neck, but the tail end refused to enter the hole and twisted aside.

“Maybe your head end?” The ruby eyes of the snake glittered. “Dayum, snake. Don’t give me that evil look. Stuff yourself in that hole.” He needed to get this sorted. Every second of time wasted could mean Kaysana’s death.

Hands slippery with sweat, he aimed the head at the hole and shoved. The first counterclockwise squirm of the bumpy metal skin caught him by surprise. Then the snake wormed into the hole, its body screwing round and round as it disappeared into the cavity. With a muted click, the last few inches revolved and locked. From deep within the panel, a hum sounded.

“Wow. Done it, Mr. Sten.” Emily nodded appreciatively.

The little frankenstruct canary whirred in and landed on his shoulder, fluffed its feathers, and cheeped.

“Hi, little one, looks like you’re coming too? Hope you can pull your weight. Does this one have a name?”

“Yep. Twitter Rainbow.”

“What? Uh.” Sten grimaced, feeling like he’d swallowed a sour pill. “Twitter will do me.” He stroked the top of Twitter’s head with his finger, feeling the soft feathers. It reached up with open beak and gave him a firm nibble. “That’s the spirit. Now let’s get this rescue humming.”

The little bird flew to the portrait of the Dalai Lama and settled there. The picture was one of the few nonessential things he’d not tossed out. Maybe it’d bring them luck. They needed it.

Staying cheerful on the outside sometimes had the disadvantage of making him miserable on the inside. But…never this bad. Never before. Damn the woman. She'd better be alive, or else.

* * * *

Cold. Darkness. Snow under her cheek. She blinked. Dead man beneath her.

The last made Kaysana shove her arm into the snow that had leaked in through a corner of the windshield. She frantically wormed off the pilot’s lap and fell backward to land in the snow-surrounded cave that was all that was left of the midsection. Light filtered down from a clear patch in the glass above. The fine lines of the wire reinforcing in the glass made the moon-glazed sky seem like some fairy-tale dream. Outside, the wind was shifting snow across fast, then whipping it away.

At her feet, a canvas-wrapped hose rose like a grotesque worm from the whiteness. The mount of the Gatling gun gleamed, half-buried, with the ammo belt draped over it. Nothing moved except for her.

The entire gyro might be buried by morning. She touched the gnawed part of her ear and winced. Very little blood stuck to her hand. The bleeding had stopped apart from a little seepage. The cold had helped seal the wound. She mustn’t have been unconscious long, or her face and fingers would be frozen. Even so her hands ached.

I need to take stock. She did a wobbly circle. So dark, she could only guess at what some objects were and had to kneel and grope to see if they were useful. Gloves. Need gloves first and foremost. Her jacket and boots and pants were good.

The copilot didn’t need his anymore. Gray light filtering through some patches of the snowed-in windshield let her see a little. She shuddered as she pulled the thick gray gloves from him. His skull was shattered and the right side mostly gone. Inside his skull, the remains of his brain poked up like an island from a sea of frozen blood.

Luckily his hands were small and the gloves were clean and fit her. She wriggled her fingers and swallowed down the nausea. Thirst kicked in.

Traveling outside right now was suicide. In here she had shelter from the wind chill. The temperature would rise with the coming of the sun. Unless landmarks were visible, she’d be best to rely on marking the crash site and waiting and praying for Sten to find her.

He will as long as we were on the logical route to Perihelion.

If she was the searcher, she would be able to find herself. Ergo—Sten would find her. She’d dig herself out and mark the site and wait for three hours. After that, I’ll walk. Because after that, maybe he wasn’t coming. Or as Sten might’ve said, shit happens.

No water canteen. No food. No weapons. Just an extra jacket wrestled off the copilot for a blanket after she worked up her nerve. Getting clothes off a man in the depths of rigor mortis wasn’t simple.

Sleep, she told herself, and she made a nest of sorts from a sack and the clothes. But she shut her eyes and the zombies came alive, crawling toward her. She jerked her eyes open, heart pounding, to find only stillness and dark silence. Nothing lived here but her. So she tried again. Every time she shut her eyes, they came for her. Over and over, and fucking over.

Something tapped. She wrenched open bleary eyes to find the wind had lessened. Sleep had come after all.

Morning was out there. Had she slept too late? Could Sten have passed overhead and seen nothing because she was in here, beneath a foot of snow? By luck or some alteration of weather patterns or the angle of the slope they’d crashed on, the circle in the roof glass had stayed clear. Belatedly she remembered the knife she’d stuck in the zombie. How had she forgotten that? With some force and a lot of wriggling of the blade, she pulled it out of his ear.

The blade took ages to wipe clean.

By chinking persistently, the knife tip made a nice hole in the glass, which wouldn’t enlarge at all due to the wire. Her thoughts were plowing through the sludge of concussion and tiredness and dehydration and God knew what else. She gave up on the roof. Half an hour later, she’d forced up the side door. Another half an hour of digging and she found her way to the surface. The tunnel through the snow was just wide enough to jam her body into. She worked her right hand up through the hole to the surface and wriggled her gloved fingers out into the open air. More work needed to get fully out.

Something took hold of her wrist and pulled, hauling her through that last foot of snow, cracking it away in big chunks, and into the light of early morn. She spat out snow, groggily raised her head. “Sten?” And stiffened.

The sizzling orange eyes of the doctor met hers. His fingers were laced with tattered flesh, his eye sockets and goatee were rimed with fine ice, and he grinned at her past those ruined teeth and lips. Congealed strands of red-tinged drool stuck to his chin.

“Greetings. Come with me.” Beyond the doctor a gathering of three more zombies waited, swaying in the ruffling wind and slavering at her as if she was their breakfast.

The knife she’d stupidly lost somewhere in the snow.

“Morning, boys.” She let her mind tick grayly through the possibilities. Couldn’t fight them, and they were going, in general, where she needed to be. Kaysana sagged to the ground. Let them carry her.

And they did. The doctor passed her from one to the other on that mind-numbingly fearful journey. She hung over their backs, resting, despite the maddened pitter-patter of her heart.

If they eat me, they eat me, she told herself endlessly. The litany helped, after a while, and made the monotonous fear a bearable boredom. Besides, she searched the pockets of the coats of those who carried her and found a canteen of water that thawed out slowly in her jacket. She swigged it and tried not to smell their putrid flesh and breath. One had a packet of beef jerky in a coat pocket. It reminded her of Sten.

Her chest ached for a while, until if they eat me, they eat me overcame her lovesick notions. She shoved the food into her dry mouth and swallowed it down after what seemed a hundred thousand chews. Strength trickled back into her flesh.

Through the rocking gap beneath the armpit of her zombie carrier and up a slope of snow, she spotted the shining steel walls of Perihelion. Before it, the backs of a mass of zombies heaved like a nest of hungry maggots. Every now and then, a shriek split the air and the growling hubbub of hundreds of zombies rose.

She tried to lever herself up from where she hung upside down across the zombie’s back. With every scream and shriek, certainty wedged itself deep into her being. People, live people, were being tortured up there in some horrible way, and she was being taken to the same doom. Half-covered mounds showed where snow vehicles and gyros were buried.

“Now! You can put me down, now!” She thumped at the zombie’s back. Hoping, praying he’d stop. Nothing happened. He trudged onward, step by step taking her closer to death. Then a glimpse of the sky through the veil of falling snow revealed the red and gold of the Emshalley cruising in the heavens.

Sten. He’d come. Thank God. Not that she’d doubted. The man wasn’t the sort to stop at the first hurdle, or the hundredth. Forthright, strong of mind, someone you could depend on…hell, what was she thinking. She was about to get ripped to pieces, and she was pining over a man?

She ripped herself loose from the zombie’s grip…rolled free and ran.

Chapter Nineteen

At the extreme altitude, the Emshalley sounded like a dying clockwork creature—emitting screeches, pings, clicks, and even groans as it was strained by the blistering cold and the gusts of wind.

Sten shut the cupboard beneath the control panel. The canary was in there inside the haversack, along with a flask of hot tea. No wind chill in the cupboard. The course had taken them coasting through a low valley between the peaks that he’d never have found without the maps Emily had discovered. But it was cold, really cold.

On a pile of blankets on the floor, Emily and Cadrach kept each other warm. The wolf lay across her lap.

Ice crusted the windshield glass. He tapped on it. Thin pieces of the ice broke loose and skittered across the glass, leaving clearer areas.

Down below was their target. Through the drifting white haze, a low building appeared, set back into the side of the mountain, with wide steel doors the main clue that humans lived below.

He lifted the scope to his eye and cycled it through the ranges until the scene shimmied into focus. The gray smudges on the flat area before the doors were not human. No living creature would be gathered there as if at some massive picnic. The image coalesced. Zombies. Hundreds, maybe even thousands.

“We’re here!” he yelled and pointed.

Shivering, hands under her armpits, Emily peered out. Cadrach wove around her feet before nestling into them. Flurries of snow obscured the landscape, but through the gaps, Sten glimpsed a gigantic machine standing tall in a circle of brown earth. Snow capped the top of it and softened the angles of the metal. He pointed again. “Down there! Is that the automaton?”

“Think so. He's big!”

“Ah. He’s turned into a big snowman.” Sten turned the wheel to steer southeast. With compensation for the wind, they’d arrive in a few minutes. When he leaned over the panel, he hissed in surprise as the freezing metal leached heat from his arms. He buckled and buttoned the borrowed coat up tighter, wriggled a pair of thick gloves over his fingers. It would be cold down there. Not turning into a human icicle would be difficult.

The billows of snow swept away. Gods, no. He used the scope.

On the periphery where a slope crept up to the crowd before the doors, a person in white garb with orange markings struggled with zombies. He drew in a long, shuddering breath.

“I think that’s Kaysana down there.”

“You sure, Sten?”

“I think so. Where are they taking her?” He screwed the scope’s knob in tight, zeroing in on the center of the crowd.

Stretched out like some strange sacrifice, a man lay prone in the snow, puffed up like a gigantic gingerbread offering, with yellow-gold brilliance spilling from cracks in his skin.

“What the freakin’ hell?”

Two zombies tossed a writhing man onto the splayed-out figure. The glowing yellow man reached out, grabbed him by neck and arm, and tore off his head. Sten swallowed. Impossible not to watch. He had to know. With each gesture of his hand, the glowing man threw pieces of corpse into the crowd. The zombies milled about and threw up their hands as enthusiastically as guests at a wedding hoping to catch the bridal bouquet.

He pushed away from the control panel. “Damn!”

“You okay?” Emily stepped closer.

“I’m okay.” He dragged his hand over his face. “We have to move fast. I think Kaysana is about to be killed.”

“Oh.” The color drained from her face. “What can we do?” The frown between her eyes was deep as a knife cut. “There’s thirty shotgun rounds and maybe twenty for my rifle. How many zombies are there?”

“Hundreds.” He crunched his fingers into the control panel until the pain let him think. “I can’t…we can't save her. Even if I drop into the bloody middle of them with the shotgun, I can't kill them all.”

“No?” Emily chewed her lip, searched his face for a while before she turned to stare out through the glass. “Maybe you should see what’s left of the automaton. I have the operating instructions. Read them on the way here.” She went to the pile of blankets where she’d huddled and drew a blue book from it. “Like you said, not an automaton. Human piloted. Four two-inch cannons, close-range gauss guns, and backup wire-guided rockets. Plus a low-burn ember chamber. There’s a chance we can get it going, Sten. They called it a Hell Machine.”

“Hell Machine?” What was she thinking? He wanted to look out and see her again but couldn’t bear to. “It’ll be dead by now. Powerless. I’m going down there. I have to do something. You get away up high and wait. Run…if you have to.” They both knew this was hopeless, and he saw the flatness drop into her eyes.

Her lip wobbled. “No. Fuck it, Sten. If you have to suicide doin’ this, at least do something that might work. God, man. There’s no snow around the base of it. The snow’s melted! Doncha see what that might mean? That ember chamber might be running. Pleease! Try!”

He pinned her with a gaze hard enough to hurt. Could she be right? “Then we’ll steer for Mr. Snowman. But…I think she’ll be fed to that thing down there unless we can slow them down.”

“I could get some with the sniper rifle?”

“You might. Could hardly miss getting a few. But not enough. We need to get my shotgun to her.” He eyed Cadrach. “I can only think of one way that might work.”

Appalled, mouth wide, Emily put her hand on Cadrach’s head. “Jeez, Sten. You’re joking? Not him? How could he get to her, even know to find her?”

“Not joking, no. He’s done it before—found her for me.” He bent down, squatted, and patted his knee. “Here, boy.” The wolf ambled over. Sten shut his eyes as he caressed Cadrach’s ears. How torn could you be? Sacrifice Cadrach to the zombs—maybe for nothing? If he just headed for the snowman, he knew she’d die before he had a chance to do anything. Each second that passed was like the strike of a sword to his flesh.

“A man can’t get to her, Emily, but maybe a wolf can. I’ll strap the shotgun and ammo to his back. And there’s this.” He dug his hand in his pocket and dredged out the wolf pendant, held it out to Cadrach. The wolf sniffed eagerly. “He knows how to track her. And I’m betting on the zombs not wanting dog flesh. Okay?”

Slowly Emily nodded. “’Kay. I understand.”

“Good, then let’s do this before I regret it.” He mussed up Cadrach’s fur, then whispered, “And damn, I already do.”

"He’ll be all right, Sten.”

“Yeah, he’d better be. Come on.” He straightened. “I need one of the anchor ropes. Also I need you to write a note. A big one that says, hide and duck.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s it.”

Within a few minutes they’d rigged a rope harness for Cadrach, tying on the ammo and the shotgun in its scabbard, with the note tucked in as securely as possible.

“Let’s go, boy.” Sten cradled the wolf to his chest. He stepped to the open hatchway. Snow-covered ground drifted past below, then a lip of brown. “Got it! Leaving now!” No time for finesse. He stepped out and plummeted, rappelling. Only the secondary rope in his right gloved hand, playing out under friction, let him slow the speed of his descent. Cadrach whined and wriggled.

“Stay, boy. Nearly there!” His boots hit earth, shock jarring up through his thighs.

Sending Cadrach into the horde of zombs was the hardest decision he’d ever made. Sten cupped his palm under the wolf’s nose and let him sniff the pendant again. “Good. Now…go find her. Go!”

He watched the leaping flow of the wolf as he bounded up the slope, then wiped his hand down his nose and mouth. The cacophony of screaming people and groaning, grumbling zombies would send horror skittering through any sane person. “The world is so damn fucked. This had better work.”

Behind him towered the snowman. An automaton of greater complexity than any he’d seen or heard of. A collar of spikes stuck out from the stubby legs like misplaced spines on an upright porcupine.

“Now,” he muttered, “where’s the bloody door to this Hell Machine?” When he found it in the left leg beside the half-buried tread, the door wheel had to be kicked to get it to budge. He swung it open and stepped in, leaving the door ajar. Even so, without internal lighting, the stairs spiraled up into darkness. “Going up. And up and up.” He hauled out the revolver.

Somewhere at the top was the control cabin. He just needed to be brave and forget whatever unimaginable horrors might be lurking, though it was more the imaginable horrors that bothered him—he recalled exactly what a zombie looked like.

The steps rang under his boot like some off-key xylophone. Revolver in hand, he took the last step, glimpsed a seat with a man still in it, his head swaying, and past that a half snowed-in glass screen. Found the cockpit or whatever they call this.

A thin blue hose ran to the back of the driver’s seat. A heating system? The cabin was cold enough to have ice on the inside of the glass and on the timber floor. It cracked under his weight. He shifted, made sure the trigger was under his gloved finger.

“You okay?” Another step closer. “Hoy. Are you the pilot?” Another step.

The jiggling of the pilot’s head stopped. The chair swiveled slowly, creaking.

The goggles on his face were dislodged and lopsided, the inside of the lenses coated with blood and strips of thin flesh. No eyes. The zombie moaned, stretching his arms toward Sten. He struggled against the cross chest harness that fastened him to the leather seat.

Sten looked down.

The pilot’s fingers curled and uncurled. The nails were chipped and torn. Bone showed in the raw flesh. Some of the fingers had been chewed off.

“Fuck. Hope I never get hungry enough to eat my own fingers and eyes.” He drew a deep breath, held the pistol steady, and put a shot through the thing’s skull. It convulsed once and went still.

Yep, it was darn cold. The thing was stuck to the seat by frozen liquid. He didn’t investigate the type of liquid, just wrenched the zomb loose and dropped him to the floor.

Cleaning the gunk off the seat wasn’t necessary to get the automaton running. He sat on the slippery leather. At one corner, through the glass, he could see the distant scene unfold like a story in a play.

He’d work at something, then peek a look. Check the pressure gauges, and look. Find the switches, and look again. Zombies crowded Kaysana. He couldn’t read, but he could guess and he remembered the diagrams Emily had shown him. He found the switch for the voltaic pump, watched the pressure grow. Distant grating told of machinery awakening and thawing. Then he looked again. She was on top of a rock and being swamped by zombs. Cadrach was there, snapping, helping her. Wetness filled his eyes. There was ice on his nose already. His gut ached as if a spider with needles for legs were crouched inside it.

The pressure needle showed green.

He leaped to a seat on the far side, brought the gunner’s leather, glass, and steel headset down, and locked in the lenses. Then he loaded napalm rounds into the cannons. The turret engine started with a whine, and the cockpit swung. He sneaked a look at Kaysana again and couldn’t see her at all. Fuck.

The controls were in the form of a heavy steel wheel, with a pair of triggers on either side of it, also metal. He couldn’t get his fingers into them. Couldn’t grip the frozen wheel. He tore off the gloves, took a deep breath, and settled his hands on the wheel. The cold seared into him and locked his skin to the subzero temperature steel.

He breathed past the agony in his hands and prepared to shoot. Aim high and don’t swerve right—miss the goddamned rock. He found out why they’d named this machine what they had. The first shells erupted from the gun’s muzzle like a hose channeling the essence of hell. Bright and beautiful and deadly.

* * * *

Throwing herself to the ground and running worked for about two seconds. She might be faster than most zombies, but not the raised men. The doctor caught her by the hair, and she was ripped to a halt. “Aah!”

Relentlessly he dragged her toward whatever happened up there. She passed no humans—they were all ahead of her. But she could hear them. Every one of their cries or sobs or pleas for mercy drove a nail into her. GAM Air Fleet captain or not, she shook with fear.

Blood spattered down from above. The zombies tilted their faces skyward like thirsty men tasting rain. Sometimes it wasn't blood that rained down, but pieces of flesh. Soon her hands, her clothes, her face, were wet and red. She made her feet drag, clutched at the clothes of the zombies she passed.

But the screams of the dying living became louder, closer.

She dug in her heels yet again, feeling the snow pile up about her boots. The doctor only firmed his grip, pulled her on.

A snarling, grinning wolf barged between two zombies and slid to a stop beside her.

The shotgun beckoned, as did a clinking pouch strapped beside it.

She couldn't afford to shake but couldn’t stop her hands trembling like those of an earthquake victim reliving disaster.

The doctor released her hair.

As if he sensed her indecision, Cadrach butted his head into her. Zombies growled at the intrusion.

Man up, woman. She spat out blood, marking the snow with more crimson, grasped the gun’s butt, and hauled out a few feet of lethal metal. The leather hissed. Words on notepaper caught her eye—hide and tell them to duck!!! What the…? She whipped free the ammo pouch with its load of fat, gleaming metal, slipped it on her shoulder. Sten’s favorite gun. She would do it justice.

The zombie to her left grumbled, teeth bared, and as claw-curved hands snagged at her, she raised the weapon to her shoulder and yanked the trigger. Three quarters of the zombie’s head shattered, disintegrating into a million bits of mush.

The doctor turned, saliva swinging in a long strand from his lower lip, eyes blazing.

“Sorry, sir.” Apology out of the way, she gritted her resolve, if not her teeth, and blew his head off too.

As if she’d signaled the start of a race, Cadrach lunged and savaged the legs of a zombie, who reached down and swept blackened hands at him. Chunks of wolf hair flew. Blood and fingers flew. She shot the first of Cadrach’s victims. The wolf danced from zombie leg to zombie leg and throat, tearing and ravaging. And the zombies staggered after him, tripping over each other.

If they grabbed him, they would tear the wolf to bits. Damn.

Hide and duck? What was Sten planning? Where was he? She snuffled and blinked away tears and maybe snot or blood. Polite and pretty didn’t count here when people were being torn apart. Two full loads maybe of the gun? Fifteen rounds a pop. There is nowhere to hide here. No-fucking-where at all! As she thought, she blew them away. One two three four. Counting was second nature. On five she whistled to Cadrach and backed toward a snow-topped outcrop.

Teeth dripping black fluids, he followed her, slashing here and there at the following zombs. She cleared a path to her objective with six, seven, and eight. Nine and she gained the top, using two ledges to clamber up with a hop and a jump. Then she turned and saw it all.

Panting, growling, Cadrach stood beside her. Her heart turned to rock and sank. There were more zombies here than she could count in a month. In the gaps, at the center of them, a bloated golden man lay. Twice normal size, his limbs and body were pumped up with gold scintillations that burst in waves from huge cracks in his skin.

The ripples. The respite gave her back awareness. She could feel them again. The ripples that altered…everything, that made the lust, that sent the virogen forth—they came from him. He was the living, breathing incubator of this devastating disease. And the zombies worshipped him with lust and torture and death.

A raised man swiveled, then strode toward her—a shrieking and kicking child still draped across his back. He scattered lesser zombies with a sweep of his arm. Those near the bottom of her rock roused. Their red maws gaped. They hissed. Shots ten, eleven, and twelve took out the first three that set foot on the ledges. An eyeball rolled stickily over the snow beside Cadrach. She bit back the urge to vomit.

“Stay!” But the wolf lunged and tore off a hand. Tendons trailed from his mouth. “Drop it, boy.” It plopped next to the eyeball. A few more and I’ll have a matching set.

The grotesque thought tipped her past a limit into muscle-paralyzing horror. She stared too long. A scream rent the air. She looked up, met the blazing eyes of the raised man. He flung the screeching child, sent him tumbling through the air. She glimpsed brown hair and terrified blue eyes, then the boy’s body whumped into her, and she fell, rolling over the snow, the gun loose and spinning God knew where.

Sprawled on her knees, she gagged and retched. Bile burned her throat and eyes.

Stilted legs rose before her, crooked hands descended. She cowered on the snow-veiled rock. The small boy crawled to her, nesting into her side as if she offered shelter. Silent, full of deadly purpose, Cadrach barreled in and leaped for the raised man’s throat. One wicked swipe connected. The wolf fell in a crumpled mess, slid, leaving a thin trail of blood to the edge of the rock, then vanished over the side.

“Cadrach!” Knocked again during the flurry, the gold shotgun spun and stopped two feet from her hand.

More zombies climbed up and tottered close, their decayed feet crunching on the snow. The orange eyes of the raised man roiled as if in triumph. Beyond, the clearing blue sky mocked her with freedom.

“Mami.” With a whimper, the boy curled himself into her. His little heart thumped frantically against her skin.

No. She mouthed the word. No. I’ll not die a fool and a coward. She threw herself at the shotgun. The raised man grinned lopsidedly, jaw hanging loose. His hand rose into the sky, a long knife clutched in his fingers. The trigger…she searched for the curved metal, her gloved fingers hopelessly lost. Too late. Her death had arrived.

A bullet cracked, and the raised man’s skull blossomed with fire. He staggered back and fell. More cracks and fire seemed to rain from the heavens as three more zombies collapsed in flames.

Someone is sniping. Though wobbly with shock, she went to one knee and shot five times. Click. Empty. The rock was clear again except for her and the boy. And a few burning bodies. The fat in their flesh sizzled and smoked.

“Stay with me,” she croaked to the boy as she reloaded. “I’ll keep you safe.” I pray. And if I cannot, at least you’ll have some peace maybe, before we die. She picked her way past the bodies to where Cadrach had gone and looked over the edge. He lay down there with a circle of red about his head. Was he breathing? Couldn’t see. The boy came up behind and grabbed her boot.

The shots had come from the Emshalley that drifted above—two hundred yards away, an eternity away, a forever. No way could she reach it. No more shots sounded. Was it Sten who’d fired? Surely Emily couldn’t shoot like that? But it didn’t matter. The zombies returned, lurching around, staring with those clouded eyes. Fifteen cartridges left and all she had to do was kill a thousand zombies—today was more than a bad hair day.

She looked over the heads of them, and this time she found the live ones. Ten or fifteen people? And while she’d fought, the golden puffed-up man had eaten some. And still did. A corpse hung from his hands. The golden man’s skin looked ready to split. What would happen if he burst?

Not giving up this time. Not. She blinked, then rechecked the load of the shotgun. The circular backs of the shells shone. Wind tenderly caressed her cheeks and whistled past, riffling the clothes of the shambling zombies.

A distant engine whine made her turn her head. A giant sculpture in snow stirred. Metal joints clanked and clicked. Something whirred, then ran up into a higher pitch. Great chunks of snow, shifted by the moving metal, cracked away and slid to earth in a mini avalanche. Gun barrels revolved. Her military brain fired up with glee. This was something big and nasty, and it must be on her side. Understanding dawned. The automaton.

Oh no. The people.

Hide and tell them to duck.

Ohmigod. How accurate could this thing be?

Past the hulking machine, a line of black dots swept in from the horizon, skimming the ground at speed. Precision flying. Military gyros? Too late. Too damn late to help.

She spun. The live people—maybe even this boy’s mother—were among the zombies and about to be strafed by cannon. Her stomach churned. She heaved in a big breath.

“Get down! Duck, people!”

One or two threw themselves down. More zombies shuffled around to look at her. Jeez. Sometimes Sten was right. “You are about to be fired upon by a fucking huge fucking gun platform! Duck!” Her throat stung, she’d yelled so loudly.

Those who could, tore themselves free of their captors and dived to earth. With the loud toom toom toom of the cannons caroming off her eardrums, she too dived and ducked. She pulled the whimpering boy into her arms and prayed. The ground shook. The sound slammed into her ears until they hurt. Fragments of bodies and clothing, pieces of ice and snow spattered onto her.

After a last diminishing whine of spinning metal, everything stopped. Someone sobbed, then shrieked. She lifted her head. Slaughterhouse scenery. The field was clear of anything higher than a knee. Dismembered, smoldering zombies littered the landscape. In the background, the metal doors of Perihelion Station were dented and pocked with cannon holes. Smoke drifted. The bitter tang of blood and cordite clogged the air.

The golden man wobbled to his feet, brilliance spearing from every crevice. He took one step. Thunder spawned and shook the air as the cannons screamed back to life, the shells chewing into his arm, then his torso. The stream of napalm shells broke him apart like a papier-mâché doll and burned him to nothing. His complete obliteration seared everything with yellow-gold. Slowly, very slowly, colors returned, and the sky faded back to blue.

Another sound replaced the roar of the cannons—the purring thwop thwop of a battalion of gyrocopter blades. Kaysana wiped her eyes and whispered down into the little boy’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe. The bad men are gone.” Tears trailed down her face as she rocked and squeezed him in her arms. How old could the poor thing be? Eight? Seven? “We’re all safe.”

A single zombie climbed in wobbly stages back to its feet. Five or ten napalm rounds blasted into it at once. Flames whirled to life and splattered across the ground, tumbling into little piles of fire—all that was left of him. The gyros had good snipers.

The gyrocopters flew in close and flared to a stop on the snow outside the death zone. People waved their arms and called out their humanity. No one dared to rise to their feet until soldiers advanced in a line, inspecting the bodies and helping up the survivors.

Kaysana didn’t bother checking the insignia on the flying machines. Whatever nation they were, they were the good guys. The winds had died. The sun came out. She lay on her back, staring up at the blueness, soothing the child with small sounds and words while she combed her fingers through his hair.

A fair-haired lieutenant from the Brito-Gallic League jumped from the last ledge to the top of the rock—bob-cut hair, her white winter coat buttoned to the neck and showing only a hint of the red and gold uniform beneath. Sweat trailed down the side of her face, and a fat-bodied FREN pistol hung from her hand. She studied Kaysana before checking each and every body lying on the rock. Two female soldiers arrived on her heels, gauss rifles at the ready.

Kaysana sat up, shuffled her suddenly weak legs under her with the boy still in her arms, then managed to stand by using her shaking arm as a prop.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant. Captain Kaysana Onomi of the Art of War.” Her throat closed up a bit as she said her ship’s name. She swallowed, hoisted the child into a better position. “Nice day.”

The woman nodded. “I know of you…” Her mouth twitched. “A nice day? Is it?”

“Yes. It is now.” She let her gaze rest unfocused on what lay beyond the lieutenant. Memory clicked. “Uh. What am I thinking? There’s a wolf below the rock. Make sure he’s taken care of. He killed a lot of the zombs.” If he wasn’t alive, she couldn’t bear to see. If she touched his fur and found him lifeless… Damn, where’s my courage?

“Then there’s the airship Emshalley. There’s a young woman—”

“Done. Being boarded as we speak.”

And it had to be Sten in the machine.

“And there’s a man…a frankenstruct in the war engine. I’d like to know he’s okay.” While she thought up an excuse for her interest, she probed her teeth with her tongue. “Uh, he saved us all.”

“I saw that. Hard not to. A team’s rappelled onto the cockpit. Their signals said he’s in custody. Routine—we’re just being cautious. That thing’s got enough firepower to take out everything here. He’ll be okay. As to the wolf…we’ve got more docs than we do live people here.” The lieutenant snapped her fingers, and one soldier turned and sprinted away, yelling for a medic. She frowned, thumb rubbing the blue stippled stock of her pistol. “The boy?”

“Not mine.” She kissed his head. “I don’t know if his parents are…”

“Let me down, please,” the boy piped up while wriggling. He extended his hand, chubby finger pointing. “Tha’s my papi!”

“It is?” Kaysana followed the line of his finger. She lowered him to the ground.

Though he stumbled now and then, a weary brown-haired man strode toward the rock. Like all of them, his clothes were mottled with blood. He broke into a run.

“Papi!” The soldiers moved aside to let the boy through.

When his father swept the boy into his arms and whirled him around, kissing him and hugging him hard, something settled like mud into Kaysana’s chest. “Least he’s got someone.”

“Yes. And you?” The lieutenant gestured.

And me? “And me, what?” I don’t, do I? Not him…I sent him away. “No, I don’t have anyone—”

“I meant are you wounded anywhere? It’s hard to tell with all the blood. I’d better let the docs check you out.”

If she waited, Sten would arrive. He’d be climbing down right now if she knew him. Coming for her. She swayed, trying hard to think despite the deep fatigue leaching in. If she let him, right now when she could barely stand, she’d never get him out of her system. She needed her brain thinking at full capacity, not like it was, with syrup gluing up the works.

“Lieutenant.” She eyed her—efficiency fairly glowed off the woman’s uniform. “Can you get me back to my base ASAP? I need a gyro and pilot. I have to report.”

She barely hesitated. “You get on a stretcher for me, along with a doctor to check you over on the way, and I can get you up to the hospital airship a few miles back. Past that, you need to speak to the captain. Okay?”

Voices below the rock talked of Cadrach and his wounds. She caught snippets.

“He’s just concussed.”

Oh thank God.

“Needs sutures.”

“Muzzle?” a man asked.

She put her hand on her knee, leaned over, and yelled. “Don’t you dare muzzle him! His owner will be here soon. Big man called Sten. Get him to help you!”

Stunned silence ensued. Then the man called a quiet, “Sure, we’ll wait, ma’am.”

“Good,” she muttered. Done. “Right now, Lieutenant? Can you get me that stretcher right now?”

“Yes.”

She’d get to the hospital airship first, worry about how to get more transport once aboard.

After slowly descending the two ledges with her knees barely holding her up, she came face-to-face with the doctor who’d brought the stretcher. He was one of the few men in the rescue force. As matter-of-factly as a gardener inspecting a diseased plant, he examined her. His white gloves and parka were soon smudged red.

“Had some water yet?” He kinked a gray hairy eyebrow.

“No.” And suddenly her throat was parched.

“Here, then.” He unhooked a canteen and placed it in her hand, then muttered as he poked and felt. A nurse beside him took notes as he dictated. “Dehydrated…right ear has a portion torn away. Needs debriding and suturing. Scalp wound. That one may just need cleansing.” He looked up. “A lot of blood on you, but I’m guessing not yours? Anywhere else hurt? Other wounds?”

“No.” She shook her head. Already the water revived her, singing into her tissues like a swig of whiskey. “Tired is all. Get me up to the ship, please.”

“Right. They’ll check you more thoroughly up there.”

She sucked at her bottom lip. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

Then she went and did what she shouldn’t—trailed around the rock on unsteady feet to find Cadrach. The three medical staff surrounding him let her through. The wolf looked blearier than she felt, and though he hadn’t risen, his head wobbled and one eye was filled with blood. She laid her hand on his head, gently patting him. “Hey there. Don’t worry. You’ve got more docs than I have, you know? I’ve got to go, but he’ll be here soon.” Not saying his name seemed wise. It’d stick in her throat.

She pinned a young brunette with her gaze. Doctor? Nurse? The stethoscope said enough. “His eye going to be okay?”

“Well…” The stethoscope swung like a pendulum in her hand. “Pupil seems normal. Looks like it’s scleral bleeding only. With sutures in that wound and rest, he should be fine.”

“Thanks.”

The wolf flicked his ears forward and whined. He struggled to get upright. Heavy approaching footsteps made Kaysana shut her eyes. Mistake. Big mistake. He’s here. On the other hand, relief flooded her. Guess maybe I wanted to see him. Not like me to be a chicken anyway—going up to the ship without knowing he’s okay…bad move. I'd only have worried.

Seemed her subconscious knew more than she did.

When his hand landed softly on her shoulder, despite being so weary every piece of her felt flat as a snail beneath a tire, her body stirred, maybe her soul too. He leaned past her to comfort Cadrach. She so wanted to shift sideways and sink into his arms.

No. I’m tired, not thinking right.

Then the urge rushed on her so hard she could see herself falling into his arms. God, no. I can’t! Not here where everyone would notice. Not ever.

She glanced sideways. He wasn’t looking at her, just concentrating on talking to Cadrach while using her as a post to lean on. Except when she looked down at his hand, she spotted bandages. And he wasn’t really putting weight on her. More like he just wanted to touch.

“You okay too?” His words were soft enough that most wouldn’t hear.

He understands…that I want to keep this distant. That I can’t acknowledge, what…how I really feel? Oh, this is just so hard. Why does it have to be so difficult to walk away? She sighed. “Yeah, I’m okay. Your hands, though. What happened to them?”

“Frostbite. It’s nothing. Remember—we heal fast.”

“Just frostbite? That’s a lot of bandaging for just frostbite.”

“I’ll live. But thanks. Nice to see you're worried about me.”

“Huh.” Egotistical bastard. “Captain’s prerogative, I look after my men.”

“Oh? So I’m one of your ‘men,’ am I?”

The suggestive way he waggled his eyebrows made her scowl. If he wasn't so damn plain nice, I’d kick him somewhere painful.

“And don’t change the subject. I asked about you. There’s a bit of your ear missing. You sure you’re okay?”

And that almost made her laugh. In the middle of this craptacular disaster, she almost laughed. Who else but Sten would be so laid-back about his…about her missing a part of her ear? She’d nearly thought girlfriend there. As if that word could in any way describe what she and Sten were…had done… I am so mixed-up.

Then she looked at him properly, not like he was a tarantula she’d found under her chair. This big, shaggy caveman who wrung every bit of excitement out of life, hell, out of her when she let him. Oh, I do adore him. Tears pricked her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t be with you, Sten.”

Despite the whisper, the brunette looked sharply at her.

Damn, I don’t care right now. Look all you like, lady. If I’m saying good-bye, I’ll say it out loud. “Good-bye.” She cleared her throat. “Best if we keep away from each other from now on. Thank you for coming to help us all.”

But as she walked away, his voice hit her, thunderous as a distant avalanche on a bright sunny day. “Not so fast. I’ll see you on the ship. We have things to talk about.”

She faltered but kept going. Annoyance spiked. Didn’t the man know when to end things?

Not that she was much better. Even over the stench of smoke and gore, she could smell him, could feel where he’d pressed against her. He’s right. We have to talk.

Except she couldn’t bear to.

Chapter Twenty

The confusion on the hospital ship was an organized one. The Queen Margeurite was an old cruise liner the Brito-Gallic League had commandeered, and her gymnasium had been turned into a treatment area. Cuts and crushing injuries and bites were common among the survivors. Kaysana waited her turn on a neatly made-up, white-sheeted bed that was one of a row of twenty. With five columns of each row…two hundred beds, they’d definitely overestimated the casualties.

Last time I was in a gymnasium was on the Art of War. A distant memory but a poignant one. Ling had been alive back then.

Sitting still wasn’t her. She got up off the bed and prowled along the row, greeting each person—most, like the rescue force, were women.

The boy was bouncing on a bed with his exhausted father smiling weakly up at him from where he lay with his hands behind his head.

“Hi there.” She managed a grin.

“Ooops.” The boy covered his mouth and shrank down beside his father.

“Thank you, Capitan. We are both grateful. Without you and your friend, we would all be dead.” His dark complexion hinted at true Mexican heritage—not many of the purebloods left after the PME had expanded across a quarter of the world.

He heaved himself into a sitting position and stuck out his hand. Kaysana hesitated only a second before taking it. Red skin—crusted with blood. Seeing all the dried blood on the people against the stark white of their bedding lent a bizarre and macabre aura to the room. How will any of us ever forget this day?

“My pleasure, sir.” Her voice was cracked and rasping still. The smoke hadn’t left her nostrils, nor the smell of death. Her words were automatic, but she meant them. “Only too happy to have helped. Sten did much of it.”

“Yes.” He caressed his son’s head. “Please excuse Miguel. I guess when he saw you, he remembered…what happened. My wife—” Grief bled darkness into his eyes; then he shook his head as if dismissing his thoughts. “You may wish to know your partner is over there, being fixed by the doctors. Tell him from us all, please, when he is recovered, how much we are grateful.”

“I will.” Recovered? Sten was okay, wasn’t he?

At least here there were no screams or moans. People seemed to have decided that no matter their wounds, they would bear them in silence. Shock perhaps? Or dignity. With only the clinks of surgical instruments and the murmur of doctors and nurses making gentle inquiries, this room seemed a haven of serenity.

As she approached the surgical area, Kaysana braced herself.

From yards away, she recognized his boots and trousers. He lay on his back, not moving at all, surrounded by medical staff and equipment. Just anesthetic, nothing more, she knew it, knew it, knew it. But her stomach clamped down, and a headache pulsed at her temples all the way, until she saw his chest rise. She halted. Knew he was alive, it was just the way… Damn I can’t lie to myself. I care too much for him. Cutting myself off from him is going to be agony.

So why am I doing it? She couldn’t answer that. Not yet.

A monolith of tiered metal towered beside Sten’s upper body while a doctor wielded a probe that flashed a buzzing green…like some giant welding machine, as if Sten was a metal creation and not living flesh.

A metal mask was fastened over the lower half of his face. Two doctors and a nurse worked on his hands, and one doctor placed purple sutures with the tiniest of needles. The flesh of Sten’s palms and fingers seemed raw and bereft of skin. Blood collected in his palms, spilling drip drop to the floor.

More blood.

Cold flooded her. The room whited out and wavered. She latched on to the back of a chair, waiting for everything to settle. A hundred thousand gallons of blood has been spilled today, but seeing his makes me woozy? Oh wonderful. She chewed her lip. Sten’s eyes were closed, his face slack yet peaceful. Beneath the green drapes, his chest rose and fell as steadily as the waves of a vast ocean.

“Yes?” The doctor at the head of the operating table eyed her from above his white mask, raised an eyebrow. “Can we help you?”

“I’m”—she ran a finger around the neck of her opened jacket—“his friend. Is he going to be okay?”

“We’re replacing the skin that was torn away with cloned skin. Being a frankenstruct”—he seemed lost in thought for a moment—“I’d say within a week he should be on the mend and the sutures will be out.”

“Good. How did he lose the skin?” The needle in the second doctor’s hand went in and out like a clockwork fang.

“The report said he tore it away after freezing it to the, uh”—he adjusted something on the metal mask, dripped liquid from a pipette onto the mouth area—“aiming wheel of some cannon. Stupid. If he’d not just ripped free, the damage would have been less.”

The suturing doctor chuckled. “Guess he was eager to get to a sexy date, hey?” He glanced up. “Pardon me, Captain. I joke when I do surgery—steadies my hand and mind. He’s a brave man.”

“Yes, he is.”

“You might want to know, when he went under, he was talking about the three people who got chewed up by his gun along with the zombies. The ether brings such worries out. It might be best if you talk it over and reassure him later.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you for your concern.” Another reason to talk. This was a conspiracy, but…Sten was grieving over the civilians killed?

With Emily still unaccounted for, she questioned passing staff until one remembered seeing a blonde pigtailed woman come aboard. She smiled and thanked the nurse, then found a bed to park herself on. Watching the rest of Sten’s surgery was strangely calming. Least this way she knew what was happening.

“Hey, Captain.” Emily sank onto the bed and drew her feet up, pulled her ankles over so she sat cross-legged in a lotus.

“Hey, Emily. I gather you shot some zombies for me?”

Emily nodded. “That was me. So frickin’ glad I shot straight.”

“Thank you.” She squeezed Emily’s hand. “I didn’t fancy being their dinner.” Kaysana took her much chewed fingernail from between her teeth. Speaking so informally to a crew member would’ve been unbelievably lax a few days ago. Emily just grinned and tossed her pigtail back over her shoulder. Like Kaysana she still wore her PME furs, albeit with the front opened. The temperature in the airship was well above freezing.

“You got it bad, huh?” She nodded toward the surgeons and Sten.

“Got what bad, First Librarian, Ensign First Class, Emily Winterborne? And may I say what an appropriate name you have?”

“You don’t scare me.” Her grin widened. “Not anymore. How’s he doing?”

“Sten?” She couldn’t stop herself from checking. Still being stitched and welded. “He’s doing good. The doctors seem to know what they’re up to.” On the tables either side of Sten’s, a man had his fractured arm set and a woman’s leg was being operated on. “What in hell is that green zapping machine?”

“We-ell, Corey says it’s some new thing from the Hellene Nation—makes wounds heal faster.”

“Corey?” Was Emily blushing?

“He’s a nice guy I met today—a nurse. He’s rather dreamy.”

“Emily!” She tilted one eyebrow way up, putting on her skeptical look.

“What?”

How fast did Emily work? And looking for romance on today, of all days? But, she’d seen Emily under stress. The woman was bubbly yet also the embodiment of sweetness, with a backbone forged of steel. And perhaps this was how she coped? By just zoning it all out?

“I’m thinking of making him my beau…just like Sten is yours.”

Kaysana gaped. “He is not—”

“No?” She leaned in to whisper. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. You know that. Even if what you and Sten got up to on the roof was different…and damn hot. My.” She rolled her eyes upward for a second, then giggled. “Okay, I’ll admit it kinda turned me on too.”

That flattened Kaysana even more. This was the real world. What had happened wasn’t going away. Emily mightn’t tell, but she still knew.

“Oh, come on.” After looking around again, she continued. “You can’t tell me you don’t have a thing going on still? That wasn’t all just this lust plague?”

Something made her tell the truth. The three of them had shared disaster and tragedy together. She’d never forget them, ever. No matter what. “Yes. I have a thing for him, but I don’t see how it can ever be…how we…” Her face scrunched up, and she bowed her head as she struggled for the words. “Oh, Emily.” Kaysana reached over and hugged her.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Emily patted her shoulder. “It’s all good. Things will work out. I got your back and you got mine. And Sten, well, he’s good for covering both our asses.” She giggled again. “Ignore that! It came out kinda wrong.”

Could she ever be a military captain again? The ability to be there for people yet to also be aloof and make the hard decisions, to sacrifice the few so that the many might survive—that distancing ability seemed beyond her grasp.

The rest of that first day smudged into one gray mess. With doctors and nurses prodding her, having her ear sutured under ether anesthesia, then being debriefed, it all become too much for her memory. She crashed onto her bunk and slept like the dead. And the dead haunted her dreams. Snaggle-toothed, face-rotting zombies with glaring orange eyes and mouths that groaned and bit.

* * * *

When Kaysana awoke on the fourth morning, the ship was floating above a green patchwork of fields. The ship’s name, the Queen Margeurite, went well with the opulence that gleamed from every fitting. Even her little cabin was superb in every way, from the silver-framed mirrors to the carved headboard and the toothbrush glass with its gold interlocking QM.

Breakfast of sausages and eggs, fruit and cream arrived on a silver tray brought in by a steward in perfect white trousers, shirt, and coat. After depositing the tray on a little bedside table, he nodded and left. The crimson-uniformed guard saw him out the door—another Brito-Gallic soldier. Half those aboard seemed to be Brito-Gallic. She’d heard the Brito-Gallics had all been volunteers, and though the scientists had worked out a moderately safe way to pick those resistant to the plague, it hadn’t been foolproof. To risk becoming a zombie to help strangers seemed the bravest of acts.

“Thanks, Martin.” She’d asked the guard his name days ago. “I’m not a zombie today.”

“I can see that, ma’am.” He tapped two fingers to his cap and shut the door.

Grim but unobtrusive. A steady man. Unlike the other survivors, she had a room to herself. But she still had a guard. Everyone seemed to have a guard…except the guards themselves.

If I was going to turn into a zombie, I’d be one already. Being alone gave her time to think and to ponder things, like her wound. In the mirror, her ear looked frightful. Only a bit missing? With such words, the doctor had dismissed her vain fears. Quickly dismissed, but not effectively. I look like a chewed-up dog toy. The skin was puffy and red. She pulled a face. What man would find her pretty?

“Gah! Why am I bothering over prettiness? As if I’m trying to…” She frowned. As if I want to attract Sten.

Staring at the ceiling or at the porthole at the foot end of her bed had grown boring. Four days and they’d not talked. She got the feeling he waited for her to go to him.

I’m not a coward. Why am I hiding in here? When had facing him become so much harder to do than killing zombies?

No GAM uniform meant she had to wear the assortment she’d been given. She tugged down the Brito-Gallic infantry jacket she’d donned for warmth and frowned into the mirror. Teamed with the pair of cream hosepipe trousers and the white blouse, she looked neat if a little buxom—the blouse size wasn’t quite right. Still, the bright red jacket suited her complexion.

Four days and the Queen M., as the leftover staff called her affectionately, was no closer to returning across the border. Her report had been sent away by radiophony. They were picking up survivors, scouring for stray zombies, and rendering assistance, she’d been told by Captain Hilary Nordluck. Quarantine, said ship’s gossip. Likely that was correct. The luxury wasn’t hard on her, but avoiding Sten was. So today she would fix that little problem.

An hour after a monotonous yet first-class lunch, she set out for the sick bay with her guard in tow.

On the way, her boots sank into the red carpet like a spoon into cream. That and the frosted glass sconces still impressed her—such minor novelties, yet pure elegance compared with the timber floors and steel voltaic lights on the Art of War. As she came near the sick bay, the pop and slam of someone playing ball echoed in the hallway.

Two immaculate GAM guards on either side of the double doors stared over her head.

“Afternoon.” She smiled.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” they replied without moving anything except their mouths.

If I have to get sick, she thought, peeking in the door to the sick bay, this is where I’ll go. She wandered in past the timber and etched glass doors. The male survivors had ended up here where the aft lounge used to be. The women, all seven of them, had the forward lounge. No one here looked very sick anymore, apart from a few bandages, though a table was set up with stethoscopes, paperwork, bandages, and thermometers. A scream from a distant part of the ship made her wince—some had not retained their sanity.

Opposite the entranceway, French-style doors led to a narrow balcony where huge semicircular hopper windows could be opened out onto the sky they cruised through. Of all the things to find—windows, on an airship. But the Queen M. was full of such contradictions.

Bright sunlight cast curved blocks of yellow across carpet and walls. A small red ball whizzed past along the balcony, and Sten whooped in merriment. He was out there somewhere.

“Ten to two. You are never catching me, son!”

“Am too!” The high-pitched laughter could only be from the boy, Miguel. There were no other children aboard.

From behind her, the guards’ voices carried over the game. “Thinks he’s some big hero, doesn’t he? Frankenstructs! Who’d have thought anyone would call one a hero?”

Well, well. It was probably deliberate—they’d pitched their voices so she’d hear them. Wasn’t the first she’d heard of a rumbling discontent, but it was the most overt. The Brito-Gallics praised Sten, but some of the GAM and those few PME soldiers who were part of the rescue force seemed unhappy that a frankenstruct had saved the world.

Going back to chew them out was tempting but unlikely to do more than make them resent her interference.

She steered through the bunks to the French doors, where Cadrach lay sprawled on his belly, watching whatever was happening out there.

“Hey, boy.” She leaned down and ruffled the base of his ear.

The balcony stretched about ten yards along the side of the airship. At one end of it stood the boy while at the other end, Sten was poised with a red ball in his bandaged hand, ready to serve. He drew back his unbandaged hand, ready to hit the ball. The doctor’s words flitted through her head. A week to heal, he’d torn his skin away to full thickness, and he was playing handball.

She thrust her arm out into the passage.

“Stop! Now! Miguel, please go inside. Sten should be resting, not playing ball.” At the boy’s wobbling lip and wide stare, she flashed him a grin. “I’m not cross with you, just making sure Sten doesn’t hurt himself. Could you give me some time to talk with him?”

The boy nodded. “Sure. I’ll go find Papi.” He scampered into the room, then ran back out and came up to her, rising on tiptoes and whispering, “I got something to say.”

She went down on one knee. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” Then he kissed her cheek and ran away.

With one hand to her cheek, she rose, smiling to herself. Mingzhu would never be alive again, but somehow this helped.

“You look stunned.” Bouncing the ball off the floor as he went, Sten sauntered toward her. Tens of the little purple stitches showed on the palm of his right hand.

“I am.” The confident manner, the enticing way the V of his shirt opened…she clamped down on the thoughts he sent scampering through her head. “I’m so glad he said that. It…made everything worthwhile. And now you put that ball down and stop bouncing it. Your hands aren’t healed.”

“No? I think I can judge that. You’ve no idea how many wounds I’ve had over the years.” The under-the-brow stare he nailed her with made her want to back away and leave.

Nope, not going. Besides her feet seemed cemented to the spot.

“Tell you what.” He was close enough now that she could’ve sworn she could feel his body heat in the air. “You say my name and ask nicely”—he took her hand and turned it over, put the red ball on her palm, and closed her fingers over it—“and I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“Whatever?” Why did her voice have to shake? And now he was close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look up into those blue, blue sexy eyes. Damn.

“Whatever.”

Okay. “Sten, please stop…” She stared at him, breath lodged in her throat, teetering between teasing him and not. “Please stop fucking up your hands.”

The moment strung out, until crinkles appeared around his eyes. He laughed. “Good one. Now you can tell me what ‘whatever’ means.”

So there it was. She’d said Sten’s name out loud, several times, without fainting, and now he was only looking at her like she was some sort of unexpected birthday present. She sent him a scowl before going back into the room, tossing the ball onto a bed, and snaring two wicker chairs.

Not perfect for privacy, and maybe some people would think it a smear on her reputation to be out here with Sten, but the balcony would do. When she turned back from closing the French doors, she found Sten already slouched in one chair with his feet propped on the sill of one of the semicircular windows he’d shoved open.

“Afternoon, Kaysana.”

The seats were barely an inch apart. He’d shifted them closer. Sneaky, like always, but she didn’t try to change it.

“Afternoon.”

He’d barely moved an eyebrow, and yet here she was fighting to stop her heart from leaping from her chest.

“I hate you,” she muttered, trying not to look, again, at the way his biceps flexed when he flicked dust off his trousers. So nice to look at… The man was dangerous to women just by being.

“Oh?”

“And stop grinning at me. I’m not here to worship your feet.”

He took her hand in his right, unbandaged one, brought it to his lips, and kissed softly across her knuckles, one by one. “I know that.”

Thank goodness, because she hadn’t been sure herself. Up close to Sten, the rules of her world seemed to bend.

She pulled her hand from his and rested her arm on the side of the wicker chair. Where to start? Safer by far to settle against the cushion and watch clouds go past. Pots of climbing roses were spaced between the windows, and where Sten’s boot touched the sill, green tendrils curled out. The rush of turbulence from the airship’s passage ruffled the plant’s leaves. The red half-open buds bobbed to and fro. Perfume wafted in. Ridiculous, having pots of flowering roses on an airship, and yet also precisely right. They banished evil. No growling undead creeping up on her. No blood or screams. The roses exuded serenity.

Sten placed his hand over hers on the armrest, then let his finger and thumb slip over her wrist, subtly pinning her to the cane. The sutures tickled her skin, and a little shock trammeled through her. Did he know how this affected her? She wasn’t telling him. But she could just sit here and revel in how the weight of his hand on her flesh coaxed threads of coiling heat from between her legs and up her body.

Yes, it was nice, but she’d never ever say it to him.

At last she broke the silence.

“You wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes, I did.” Nothing more. He seemed far more absorbed in a flock of birds sweeping past than in her, but his index finger drew a tiny circle on the underside of her wrist. Was he waiting for her? Why? He’d never been shy in saying, or doing, anything before.

She wriggled her bottom sideways on the chair. “You know you could have a separate cabin. You don’t have to stay here with the men. Ask the captain. I’m sure she’ll oblige.”

“I like it here. The boy has nightmares. He dreams of zombies. So do half the men. By being here, I help the boy, and he helps them. Having him run about terrorizing us all, playing and all that, squealing—it makes them laugh. Some grumble, but even that’s better than being scared.”

“That’s…” She turned and met his eyes. Like his hand on hers, it bothered her, but nicely. “That’s very noble of you.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” Not only did she love the way he touched her, he was also noble…and next he’d be saving puppies from drowning. Horrible man. She sighed.

“You okay, Kaysana?”

“Tell me, do you have nightmares? I only ask because a doctor on the first day we arrived here said you were worried by the people you killed.”

He frowned. “It does worry me, but I can handle it. How about you? Nightmares?”

“God, yes.” Every night the shadows on the walls turned malevolent. “I sleep with the light on.”

“I could teach you how to use Zen to calm yourself, you know.” The curl of sandy hair swaying across his eye made her want to brush it aside, to caress his face.

“Private lessons? Hmm?” She shook her head. “You just want to drag me into bed.”

The grin splitting his face made him so youthful. “True, but I also like talking to you, helping you. I don’t like knowing you’re scared and not being able to do anything about it.”

Again with the nobility, the friendliness, and the damn concern. She closed her eyes, shutting everything out. Seeing him made it harder anyway. Why did he have to be so nice?

His hand lifted from her wrist.

The small shift of shadows, the creak of his chair, and the smell of rubber from handling the ball warned her and meant she didn’t flinch when he cupped her chin, then traced her bottom lip with his thumb. After a few seconds she succumbed and licked him. He put his thumb between her lips. Just that thrilled her—and with his nearness and scent, arousal unfurled, blossomed. She sucked gently, then released him. When he didn’t touch her again, she opened her eyes and found him watching her, his mouth tight, his gaze fierce with longing.

“Come here. Sit on my lap. Just for a while.”

“No,” she whispered, her throat thick. “Sten…I…” She swore quietly. What did she want to say? She thought of and rejected half a dozen phrases while once again he waited with that infernal patience. “You’re too much. We’re wrong for each other. I couldn’t stay with you. Besides, what we did before, together, was not me. I’m not a woman who wants to be under the thumb of a man, day and night.”

But those words weren’t quite right either, because really, the idea of Sten tying her up, dominating her sent feral signals into every part of her being. Right and wrong, and who she was, were tangled in a mess of knots.

“What makes you think I want you under my thumb day and night?”

“No?”

“No.” He rose and perched on the edge of the window, leaned on the side column, and got comfortable. The open window framed him like some gorgeous living painting.

“Um. Careful there. It’s a long way down if you fall. We’re at six hundred feet and clouds don’t slow you down much.”

“Would you catch me if I fell?”

“Of course!” Alarmed, every detail in front of her etched into her brain. Cold sent icy fingers into her chest. For a few long seconds, she didn’t dare close her eyes. What was he suggesting? Joking, surely? For a second there, she’d imagined just that—Sten falling backward.

Like a shifting sea, his expression changed from what seemed to be mild amusement to puzzlement to almost sadness. His eyes darkened; then he raked his hand through his hair. “Don’t you see? I like you as you are. There’s sex and there’s everything else. It’s the everything else I see in you that calls to me, here.” Sten thumped his fist over his heart. “Can you sit there and say truthfully you’ve not imagined us together?”

Oh. She eyed his hand where it still lay over his heart. The more she said, the deeper the hole she’d dig for herself. “Maybe, but then reality comes back.”

“Reality? Like your grandfather and honor, duty, all that? That’s all your world. I could fit you into mine in an eye blink. I’d take you up into the mountains, show where I go to get away from all the crap the world throws at you. My favorite time is sitting on my porch in the morning watching the sun come up over the valley before my little hut. Dew on the grass, a mug of coffee warming my hands.”

“It does sound nice.” Her voice rasped out low.

“Yeah. You get used to the hustle and bustle of the fish in the pond pretty quick.” He shifted his legs. “I’d like it even better if you were there on that porch seat with me. We could keep each other warm, trade kisses. You know?”

How had he done that? Felt like he’d just pulled a long, long thread from her heart. She could smell the coffee on the air, feel his body next to hers, thigh to thigh. “Yeah, I know. But it’s not me, Sten.”

“It’s not you? Dammit. Ask your grandfather about me. At least get a no or a yes from him. And the air fleet, surely there’s ways to keep an…a relationship going?”

This was going too deep. She didn’t want to think about this, at all. “Look, I know you wanted to talk some more, but I can’t do this. I have to go.”

She stood, pushing back the chair into the wall. “Good-bye.”

“You can’t? Sounds like a weak excuse to me, Kaysana. Wait.” He shoved his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out the silver wolf’s pendant. “I want you to have this. Might bring you luck. It guided Cadrach to you. At least this way, no matter what happens, I can feel like part of me is guarding you.” He dangled the chain across her upturned palm.

“Thank you.” It was still warm from his body. Careful not to drop it, she looked at it, recalling the wolf’s arrival in the midst of the zombie pack. And Sten saying that—about him guarding her—so nice. Her lip threatened to quiver. She placed the pendant in her inside coat pocket. “I really do appreciate this.”

“My pleasure.” He heaved in a breath. “You know, I never thought to see you run from fear.”

“Fear?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, don’t you think I saw how you reacted when I touched you?” She curled her lip, ready to deny his words. Better to dash his hopes. “It’s been days since the plague affected me, and you’re free of it too, Kaysana. Yet if I do this…”

Suddenly he swept away his chair as if it were made of feathers, and crowded her. He took her by the wrists and held them above her head, crossed together, against the wall.

“Hey!” She tried to pull loose, except this time he really wasn’t letting go, and he was the one to raise an eyebrow. He studied her from those few inches away and waited.

No. But everything of importance dwindled away until all she could feel was his hands about her wrists, keeping her where he wanted her. The fire of desire rekindled, surging up her body to her groin. She drew in one long, tremulous breath.

“Tell the truth,” he said, the burr of his voice like bumping softly over a well-worn path. “Do you want to get loose? Do you want me to let you go?” He nuzzled her at the angle of her jaw. “Mmm, you smell good…”

Her first try at speech came out as a gasp. She curled her fingers, composed herself. Then, like a color image in a world of grays, his hands centered again in her mind. Around her, holding her down.

She grasped at the first word she could. “Yes! I mean, no. Let me go.” She nodded curtly, ignoring the pulsing ache and, yes, her gathering wetness. “Release me, or I will call for help. I don’t want to be one of the many women you’ve conquered.”

He hesitated, a tiny line creasing his brow. Then he opened his hands and stepped away, fists clenching, then unclenching. “You need to ask yourself, why are you so afraid? And, Kaysana, I’ve never conquered any other women…only you.”

Ohhh. Go. Fast. That was a low blow. Like a punch to the guts just when she thought she’d regained a smidgen of control. She backed toward the door, felt blindly for the handle behind her. “One last thing. There are some on board who resent you because of what and not who you are.”

“Because I’m a frankenstruct?” His reply was so calm they might have merely been discussing gardening a moment before.

“Yes.”

“I know. Thank you, though.”

“Mmm.” With that last embarrassing, strangled sound still in her ears, she opened the door and made her somewhat disheveled escape.

I must never speak to that man again. He knows me too well. But…I am the only woman he’s conquered? Then she touched her poor ear, running her fingers along the sutured edge.

He didn’t say a word about this. As if he didn’t see it. As if it made no difference that I’m a little war torn and less than perfect. But then who is? Who is ever perfect?

“Did you give him hell, Kaysana?” One of the guards dared to say to her as she passed them.

She spun, shot him a menacing look. “You watch that mouth, soldier. It’s captain to you. You want to be scrubbing the outside of this airship with a toothbrush, keep being insubordinate!”

“Sorry, Captain!” His eyes were like little marbles, his expression rigid, and he snapped her a salute.

“Carry on.” She strode away, trying to figure out who she wanted to strangle more—Sten or the guard. “Why are you so afraid?” he’d said. I’m not, dear man. I’m angry. Can’t you tell?

So why is it I feel as if I’ve just made the biggest, stupidest mistake in my whole life? I can’t want to be with him, can I? Just because he’s big and cuddly and…and makes me quiver like a love-struck teenager whenever he does almost any damn thing to me. Or is it because he loves me?

She came to a stop, leaned her back on the nearest wall, and studied her boots. What if I love him back? What then? But I don’t, do I?

* * * *

Sten slumped into the chair and stared out into space. That’d gone real damn well. Romance and him didn’t get on. He had a feeling he’d totally screwed up. Pinning her against the wall had been a mistake, no matter how nice it had felt. Trying to get her to think about a relationship was like skewering a flea with a fork—impossible and potentially messy.

Maybe it was time to draw away and let her plain think. If she swung the wrong way, he’d just have to figure out another strategy. Giving up wasn’t in his nature. Course knowing her, she’d get snarky and try to shoot him or something. Romancing was way more dangerous than he’d thought.

Even he would have to call it quits eventually, though. And that would hurt so much. He sighed, feeling an unfamiliar ache inside, remembering Kaysana. Yep, that’d hurt for the rest of his fucking life.

Chapter Twenty-One

For two days she thought on what they’d said and what she’d felt. Sexual attraction was there, she couldn’t deny that, and more too. But why then did her guts turn into a nauseating labyrinth of knots whenever she thought of Sten? She wrote herself notes and stared at them. There were questions on her mind that couldn’t be answered on board. It wouldn’t hurt to make some inquiries. The radiophony operator received some unexpected business from her.

When her replies returned, Captain Nordland called Kaysana into her office. She slid the white sheets of paper across the desk. “Here, Captain Onomi, the questions you asked are answered. I had to be appraised of the contents, you realize? You’ll find additional replies appended from your GAM commanders.”

“Yes. I understand.” Apparently radiophony transmissions were closely monitored, and her private ones must have rung alarm bells in the ears of her superiors. Not surprising. This was the aftermath of a war.

“Then take my advice—and it is that of a friend and not as the officer of another nation—please think very, very carefully before acting on these answers.”

As a friend? But then she had made friends here. The day before, the captain had tried to teach her how to play poker and, before that even, had introduced her to most of the crew, including Emily’s live-wire beau, Corey—he of the head of dirt brown hair and many pigtails. A Scotsman. A man with more pigtails than Emily. The sight had struck her speechless until she’d broken down and chuckled. For once she’d been able to join in and talk to others without the burdening air of a superior officer.

Then the very calm, rational words of Captain Nordland sank in like delayed fuse bombs.

“I will. I will think very carefully.”

Fingers interlocked in a steeple on the desk, the captain nodded. “Good. It might be best for the continued harmony of this ship if you keep your decisions private until we dock. I’d like to keep this airship as peaceful as possible. In other words, do not rock the boat. The quarantine is lifted, and we are allowed to return home.”

“To London? To your home?”

“Yes. And, Captain, this is a cruise ship. Please make use of the facilities. It will keep some of the retained staff happy, get them occupied. Hmm?”

“Of course.”

Dutifully she tried out the badminton court, the library, and the gymnasium—though that had again reminded her of her last hours on the Art of War. The steward’s offer to give her a larger cabin, well, that seemed wrong, and she’d declined. Besides, staring out the porthole of a large, opulent room would surely be less satisfying to the wounded depths of her soul than her little room was? Though Emily joined her in some of the games, including her attempt at mah-jongg, Sten was absent. She’d not seen him in many days. On an airship, that meant he was deliberately avoiding her. But she could still feel the pressure of his words.

There was one person she trusted enough on board to discuss this with. She lured Emily into a game of mah-jongg—at which game the librarian excelled.

“I thought you’d not played this much before?” She raised an eyebrow and stared at the array of white tiles in front of Emily.

“Oh no, ma’am.” The woman grinned and wriggled on her chair. “I used to play all the time on the…Art of War.”

“Oh.” Sneaky girl. Must remember not to try out poker. Kaysana fiddled with the ivory tablecloth. She shoved away the bad memories. “I asked you here because I have a question.” A glance showed Emily waiting patiently, lip between teeth. “It’s about Sten.”

“Uh-huh. Go on.”

“Right. I’m not even sure what I’m asking. Damn.”

“Hell. I know that one. You want to be with him but want to know if it’s a good idea, right?” Then she rushed on. “And see, it’s like with me and Corey. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”

“There’s…ahh…reasons why it doesn’t mesh with the future I have planned. And…” She grimaced. “I don’t know him that well. Do I?”

“You what? Pardon me, ma’am, while I fall off my chair. If you don’t know him well enough to try being together, after all we’ve been through, I’m not sure you ever will.”

“Hmm.” She stacked several of the tiles into a tower, flicked them off, and watched them spin. “My family, my grandfather might disown me if I have a relationship with a frankenstruct. Does that make me shallow?”

Emily plonked herself back against her chair, blew out air through her lips. “Welll…if you listen to him, yes?”

That was it? Cao and fuck. “He said yes I could, but that he’d reserve his decision until he met him.”

“What! Then yep, you’re shallow.”

“God, Emily, blunt is your middle name, isn’t it?”

“Ma’am. I say what I see. But I also know you ain’t shallow. Here, I’ll go get us both a scotch. I figure we both need it for these in-depth conversations. Be back in a sec.” She shoved away from the table then set off for the bar in the games room.

She wasn’t getting anywhere trying to get Emily to help. Confusion still taunted her. No. That was wrong. Emily had helped. Now she knew it wasn’t her grandfather’s decision she was afraid of. It was something else she couldn’t put her finger on.

Damn. She put her hands to her head and wove her fingers into her hair, rested her elbows on the table while she did more thinking.

Whatever she decided, would it be the right decision? Could she go back if she chose wrong? A battle decision had never been this difficult. The papers burned a hole in her pocket.

Two nights before they reached London, a dinner was held in the magnificent dining room. VICTORY OVER ZOMBIE F DINNER the banner draped above the entrance proclaimed. She adjusted her red jacket. London, thank goodness, was reputed to have a thousand great tailors.

The doors were propped open, and the clatter of dishes and cutlery, the murmur of voices carried to her. She braced herself. People. And she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like some of them.

The Queen Margeurite’s dining area would have done an upmarket restaurant proud. Bright apricot walls up to a timber chair rail with, above that, a luscious cream. The staff wafted about with towels over their arms, taking orders of food and drink and bringing back trays of citrine bubbling champagne. From the kitchens at the back came the smell of roasting meats and vegetables. Three sparkling cut-glass chandeliers hovered above.

As she sat at the left-hand table at the top of the hall, she couldn’t stop eyeing the chandelier. Dangerous thing. On the Art of War, she’d have turned it into dome lights in a fraction of a second.

“Imagine that coming down on your head after a fast maneuver, Captain? Or while under enemy fire?”

"Yes, so true.” She turned to look at the speaker—a PME lieutenant colonel with a red mustache grandiloquent enough to be used as kindling, or a bird’s nest.

My goodness, I wonder if he twirls that thing daily?

“Exactly, sir. It would be a danger in combat.”

Her agreement thrilled him so much she wondered if he’d nod his head off. Why did her opinion matter to him so much?

“So glad to have met the hero of Perihelion.” He thrust out his hand for her to shake.

That roused the rest of the table, and she had to shake hands with fifteen men and women—all, she noted, were PME or GAM soldiers from the rescue force. Emily was at her left, but apart from her, she could see no true friends, and no one who’d bothered talking to her in the last few days.

“It wasn’t only me,” she told the man. At the other head table, Sten was in deep conversation with Captain Nordland. For a moment, annoyance surfaced.

Am I jealous? Surely not? I told him our relationship was over. Why shouldn’t he search for someone else, talk to other women? It would solve my interminable problem. “Don’t forget Emily and Sten were also there.”

Emily leaned forward and said loudly, “Yes, especially Sten and Kaysana. I mean I did nothing. I was barely in danger at all!”

Silence reigned for a while, with no one moving a fork or glass except a young sergeant down at the end of the table.

“Well.” Red Mustache wrinkled his lip, cleared his throat. “The frankenstruct may have been there, but I think it best if we concentrate on the achievements of those at our table. A toast to First Librarian Emily Winterborne and Captain Kaysana Onomi!”

So that was how it was to be?

The toasts grew merrier as the meal progressed. By the time dessert had been served, she was thoroughly tired of all the bombastic opinions of Mr. Red Mustache, whose name she refused to remember. And she wanted to throttle him. Emily was drunk enough that she had flung a forkful of pavlova into the air and hit Mr. Mustache smack in the eye. Though perhaps, knowing the little hellion librarian, it was deliberate.

“I’m going to dance with Corey after the awards ceremony,” Emily purred in her ear.

“What?” Award ceremony? Had she missed reading some memo? But she followed Emily’s wobbly pointing finger to the opposite table where the pigtailed medic was waving back. The grin on his face looked wide enough to drive a landship through. “Good for you, Emily.”

“Ladies and ladies, and gentlemen!” Seemed like Captain Nordland was tipsy too. “We have an inordinate number of ladies here tonight, and two of them are the surprisingly brave—Emily Winterborne and Captain Kaysana Onomi—so I thought I should double up on the ladies.”

Loud cheers and clapping broke out, much of it from those surrounding Kaysana.

“But first…but first.” She waited for the cheering to die away. “Please bear in mind these are awards from my heart and the hearts of all those who are grateful to you three for all you have done to defeat the Zombie F plague. These are not official awards from any country.

“So to begin, it is my pleasure to award to Sten a special medal, minted here on the Queen Margeurite.”

Murmurs of discontent rose from those around Kaysana and slowly grew louder.

“To the devil!” Mr. Mustache shot back his chair as he shouted. “To the devil with this award! At the very least, you must give this to our ladies here before that…” Thick disgust stewed in his voice. “Before that bloody frankenstruct.” He swayed and put his arms out in front to steady himself on the table.

“Hear, hear!” The table broke out in ragged cheers, and some began to stomp rhythmically. “Ladies first. Ladies first!”

Stunned, Kayasana looked around at all the red-faced people at her table and at the smug female GAM officer next to her who seemed a womanly version of Ling. Some seemed to be simply going along with what their friends or companions were doing, but many showed true disgust and rage. With a snort of fury, Emily slammed down her glass, lunged to her feet, and stalked to the other table. Corey gathered her onto his lap and hugged her, but the shouting continued. Captain Nordland did nothing.

This wasn’t what she wanted—especially not Sten sitting there by himself at the top of the table, stoic despite the goading of the crowd. She wondered if he was upset beneath his poised exterior. Captain Nordland waited, ramrod straight, arms folded across her chest, for a quiet that seemed never likely to arrive.

Being calm might let everything roll over you, might give you time to assess and react accordingly in battle, but here, now, it just made Sten look forlorn and alone. It wasn’t changing anything.

“Damn.” This was awful. Pain throbbed through her with every beat of her heart. She loudly scraped back her chair and got to her feet.

She hadn’t been sure what to do, despite the papers, despite her grandfather’s reply, but now she was. Seeing Sten hurt was like watching a piece of herself be torn apart. What are you afraid of? She was still afraid. But she wasn’t afraid of anything papers and facts could fix. I’m afraid of change, of doing something outside this box I’ve created over all these years. And now she knew exactly what to do about it.

Conscious that everyone in the room had slowly quieted, she stepped around her chair and walked across the space separating the tables. She shuffled the papers from her pocket as she went to stand before Sten. After studying her for a moment, he put out his large hand, palm upward, then put his head to one side, as if to say well?

Once upon a time he’d asked her to crawl if she wanted to come back to him. She wasn’t doing that, not here in public, but the need to show her commitment rode her hard. She put her hand in his, and when he curled his fingers over hers, she leaned in and kissed the back of one fingertip. His smile lit her up like a bonfire, sizzling down through her to her toes. Doubts burned away. Yes, this is right.

Thank you, she mouthed.

To her delight, he bowed his head and kissed her hand, then repeated her words out loud. “Thank you.”

She turned, with him slightly behind her, but their hands still clasped together where all could see.

To hell with not rocking the boat.

“Pipe! Down!” Totally inappropriate words for a captain and she grinned as the last buzz of conversation faded away. She swept a frozen glare over the obnoxious ones. “I know some of you hate frankenstructs. I also know that some of you will never change that opinion. And I know some of you may be like me and once the facts hit you over the head enough times, you will see people like Sten as what they are—people. Nothing more, nothing less.

“This is not the time for me to give a long speech about equality and rights and humanity. This a time for celebrating a victory and not a lecture. Besides, I have important things I must do. But before I go, bear this in mind before you say things you should not, or do things you should not.” She drew the deed from her pocket. “This is the deed of ownership for the Queen Margeurite made out equally to Sten and Emily and myself from the Brito-Gallic and GAM governments. He”—she inclined her head back at Sten—“has the power to throw you off this airship whenever he so chooses. So do I and Emily. We are not at war anymore. And I have a desire to see if we can find a good place for a brig or a whipping post on board. Take care.

“These awards are unofficial and as such, although grateful, I will leave you all to enjoy them without me.” She treated the table she’d come from to an especially potent stare before turning to Emily, who was squeaking and hiding her face in her hands with only her eyes peeking out of the gaps between her fingers.

“Happy with that, Emily?”

“Oh Lordy! Yes! Yes yes yes! I own part of an airship! Oh my gawd!”

“I’ll leave you to party then, Emily.” Kaysana slapped her on the shoulder and gave Corey a thumbs-up. “Take care of her, or else.”

“Oh aye. Not a problem. The lass is safe with me.”

The way Emily squeaked again, then nearly wrung Corey’s neck without him doing more than chuckling and holding her seemed to bode well.

“My resignation.” The second piece of paper went down on the table before Captain Nordland, who had subsided into a chair. “Please ensure that is finalized.”

“Sure.” Captain Nordland nodded. “Good luck, and thank you for that.” She gestured at the room beyond. “I took notes.”

“I always found it best to stay sober, Captain. Some of them are assholes, though, which never makes it easy. You take care too.”

Now, to face Sten. She swallowed.

He stood, rising to his full height and looking down at her. Desire simmered there. The room quivered. She pictured herself cuddling up to him, then sliding down his naked, muscular body, maybe counting his ribs with her tongue on the way, among other things. Pictured herself holding on to his leg with his molten blue eyes staring at her, possessing her like they were now. Why did I resist this for so long?

He smiled, one corner of his mouth tilting higher. “Where do you wish to go?”

“Wherever you lead me.”

“Ahh.” He drew a line with his knuckle along her jaw to her chin, which he tilted up. “Now that sounds like a great choice.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Outside in the corridor, when the doors closed with that luxurious soundproofing click, she found herself alone with Sten.

He took her hand, kissed it. “Hooyah! Do you have any idea how sexy that was watching you wrestle that roomful of people with just words and your sassy attitude?” He let loose his oversize grin, then squeezed her hand, maybe seeing the smidgen of doubt on her face. “Having second thoughts?”

“No.” She sighed, sucked in her lip, and thought. This wasn’t just her and Sten about to shoot some zombies—this was them together, planning a life with each other. Real stuff she’d never contemplated before with anyone. “More just…amazed thoughts.”

“Me too, and mine are mostly about what I can do to your body to make up for how long you made me wait.” Then he growled, pressed her to the wall with the full length of his body, undoing jacket buttons and kissing her until she needed the wall to stay upright.

“Now.” He levered himself away but left his palm over her breast and his thumb grazing across where her nipple pressed out the shirt. “Is there a room we can use?”

It took a whole lot of time for words to come out of her mouth since her brain was thoroughly occupied with what his thumb was doing. “The stateroom. It’s big and bold, and since we own it, I figure using it is good.”

With his hand entangled in hers, like he never wanted to let go of her again, he let her find the route along the passageways.

“Are the deeds of ownership finalized?” he asked.

“No. All of us need to sign. I wasn’t sure you wanted to own her, and left it open. I only said that to scare the idiots back there. Why? You have other ideas?” She peeked across, searching for clues on his face.

“I’d rather a smaller ship. Do you want this one?”

“Not really.” Here they were discussing the ownership of airships like they were mere trinkets. So like Sten to take it all in his stride. “I’m sure we can talk Emily into another deal. She may prefer the money. There’s no hurry. We have time to think once we reach London.”

“Good. So you’re happy with this too? And with giving up your air fleet career?”

This she had no doubts about at all. She squeezed his hand. “Yes, oh indeed, yes. I want to be with you.”

At that he only shot her an assessing look

They held hands all the way, until the honey-timbered, gold-handled door was before them.

“Do you know what’s in there?” He let go of her hand, gestured at the door.

“Yes. I got the steward to give me a tour. Everything is grand. Even for a luxury cruise airship, this room is ostentatious. Four-poster bed, gold-plated taps, there’s even a fish pond with koi. Believe me, it’s damn fine. Why?” She put her hands on her hips, almost bouncing on her toes, looking forward to impressing Sten. If he didn’t say fuck when he saw what lay inside, she’d be disappointed.

“I’m remembering what I once said—about you coming to me on your hands and knees.”

“You said that in anger, which means it doesn’t count.”

A little frisson tingled up and down her skin as she wondered if he would ask her to get down on all fours. What would I do? She half wanted him to say it, to order her about. Mmm. Obeying him, even the idea of it, imagining herself down there at his feet… She bit her lip, drew in a slow, controlled breath through her nose.

“You think?” His eyes softened, and he ran his fingers down the unbuttoned front edge of her red jacket. “You said you wanted to be with me but it’s best if we sort out how things will be early, so there’s no misunderstanding. I have rules.” He arched one sandy eyebrow, and for the first time in days, his blue eyes became the instruments of command she remembered from that glorious night on the rooftop.

Her self, her undaunted, rigid, never-say-die self drained away. The world tilted on its axis, and as she waited for his next words, she could only nod.

“Outside the bedroom, in the world where others see, you’re the woman I saw back there, commanding others, able to take a grown man to his knees with your words and looks.”

This was venturing into unknown territory. But she didn’t dare interrupt—and didn’t want to. This aspect of him enthralled her. It was part of what made him the man she wanted and respected. Part of what made their relationship sizzle.

“But in there, in our bedroom, or maybe at other times we agree on, you’re mine to do with as I please.” He paused, giving her time to comment. “Agreed? Please say that out loud, Kaysana. I want this clear, so when you go wrong, you know why I’m spanking your ass red.” He smiled a wicked smile.

The air suddenly throbbed with latent energy, with need and anticipation. What was he planning to do with her? Mesmerized, she had to dig her nails into her palms before she could find her answer. “Yes, I agree.” She shut her eyes a moment before meeting his again. “I want this with all my heart.”

“You give yourself to me, to do as I please?”

Being made to say this now, before they went through the door, bestowed the words with so much significance. The power she was willingly giving him…yet already it felt like she might float off the floor. He knew her so well. These rules nailed her needs to her soul.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. His mouth curved, and his eyes brightened in a way that said many things to her—desire, triumph, possession at the least. “I want you to undress. I want you stark naked before you go through that door, and I’m going to keep you that way until we dock. Now.”

Saying no occupied her thoughts for less than a second. Everyone was at the dinner. She just knew, and trusted, that he’d be listening for anyone approaching. This was a symbol of her acquiescence and not exhibitionism. And giving in to him, cao, she was so swollen and aching down there already.

While he watched with his arms folded like some benevolent deity or slave master, she stripped off her clothes. Each piece she removed, he would take from her and fold over his arm—the red jacket, the shirt, the uniform cream tights, and her underwear. She handed him the last piece—the black bandeau top she wore to bind her breasts in place in lieu of a corset.

“The hair stick too.”

She pulled it out, handed it to him. As she moved, her hair uncoiled from the bun, tumbling across her shoulders, then down her bare back.

Standing naked in the corridor of an airship was so foreign, so strange. Every inch of her skin seemed to flare up to the highest level of sensitivity.

“Beautiful,” Sten murmured. “You’re my every dream. My every dream in one woman.” Around his eyes creased. “You know parade rest position. I want to see that.” He unbuckled his belt, the black leather sliding through the belt loops like a snake. She licked her lips, hypnotized by the possibilities it represented. “Hands behind your back. Now.”

She assumed parade rest, her breasts automatically thrust out, feet shoulder width apart. Oh. The cool air touched her warmest, most intimate parts. So exposed.

“Good.” His belt was free and swinging in his hand. “It’s just you and me here.” He went around behind her, and there was a muffled thump as he dropped her clothes to the floor.

Something soft slipped over her eyes and he cinched it tight, blindfolding her. Not the belt—he must have used her tights. The ends dangled onto her neck.

“Your hands,” he said in a firm yet quiet tone beside her ear. She shivered as he tied her wrists with the hard leather of the belt. Then he slid his hands around and cupped her breasts tightly. He controlled her. Blindfolded, bound, and held.

“Now, Kaysana, I’m taking you through that door. And I’m spending the next two days making you mine.” Then he pulled her back into his body. As he talked, he played with her nipples. “I’m fucking you senseless. I’m beating your ass whenever I feel like it and then making you come until your legs won’t hold you up.”

Her clit swelled. His words sang through her, hitting all the right places in her imagination and on her body, stirring her in some powerful way. Yes. Even the thought of him beating her and spanking her heated her blood. She groaned, tensing, moving her bottom in tiny circles back into his groin. Sten chuckled.

“Ahh. Did that make you horny? Anticipation and imagination seem to work well. I think I should let you be a wall ornament for a while before I touch you. I want to make you writhe and wriggle and beg before I make you come the first time. You made me wait such a bloody long time. Now it’s your turn.”

He wound his hand in her unpinned hair and again cupped her breast, playing with her there. “Your nipple is so pink, and I love watching my thumb go round and round on it, making it harden. I’m going to suck on those later until they’re bright red. Until you squeal when I touch them, and with your hands and feet restrained, you won’t be able to stop me.” Just when she wondered if he could make her any hotter, he trailed his hand down her stomach, then slid his fingers along her slit, pushing three of them inside at once in a slow yet irrevocable way.

“Unhh.” That first exquisite sensation of penetration and the slow stretch of her pussy as his fingers tunneled farther and farther inside became the universe behind her eyelids. More.

“Very, very last chance, Kaysana. Say stop if you want to.”

Nooo. No stopping. She panted and squirmed on his hand where he’d speared her.

“Guess that’s a yes.” He slowly removed his hand, then tugged on her hair, and she couldn’t help but follow him with her head down. A metallic click and muted creak signaled the opening of the door. She walked forward, hands at the small of her back, mind buzzing, body on a sexual high, her moisture rubbing onto her thighs. A wall ornament? She was already dying for him to touch her or to touch herself. How long would he make her wait?

Something licked her arm. “Cadrach? What? Why is he here?”

Sten’s clothing rustled softly as he bent and kissed her ear. “No more talking unless I say. He’s here because me and the steward are friends. I knew about your plans. About the koi and the four-poster. I have an endless supply of rope here and other things to use on you. You have no idea what I have ready. No idea at all.”

Oh cao. Two whole days of Sten being inventive with her body. Bliss.

“One last thing. Remember the flowers on the balcony? The little half-open ones?”

Something brushed her nose, and she smelled the sweet perfume of a rose.

“You said you didn’t like flowers but seeing you haven’t any choice right now, I’m giving you this one. It’s beautiful like you, and such a pretty red. You know, I’ve taken a liking to this notion. Be prepared for more flowers in future. Lots more. Open your mouth.”

She was glad of the blindfold, for it concealed her tears. Maybe romance wasn’t that bad after all? She opened her mouth, felt the stem slide across her teeth, and gripped it between them.

“I love you,” he whispered, and then he kissed her cheek.

Despite his last command, she dared to whisper back, through the rose stem, “I love you too.”

* * * *

Four months later

“Sten!”

The cry from below made him pull his head from the innards of the electro-rocket pod and look down. Below, on the gray tarmac, Emily waved.

“Captain says to come ASAP!”

A few late passengers strolled up the Princess Kay’s ramp and a trolley loaded with suitcases trundled up pushed by their new steward. Seagulls flapped over the fence toward the beach and a cargo airship was lifting off. All seemed well.

He flicked Emily a mock salute, leaned back onto the timber seat, then descended by slowly playing out the ropes.

By the time his boots thumped onto the ground, Emily stood at the ramp near Kaysana. A big Asian man was there, neatly dressed in tan trousers and white shirt. The woman behind him with the black collar about her neck—Sten blinked—a slave. The flimsy see-through dress would never be worn by a lady in public.

A slave. Fuck. As he strode over, Sten roughly wiped oil from his hands with a rag. A tic started in his jaw muscle.

Kaysana turned to him. The little jerk of her head back at the couple made him close his mouth on the insults he’d lined up. “Meet two potential passengers, Sten—Dankyo and Sofia. I just wanted your opinion on our weight limit. Can we fit them?”

“Maybe.” He thrust his grimy hand at Dankyo. “Nice day.”

The man’s dark eyes assessed him. Then he gripped Sten’s hand and shook. His fingers were thick and bladelike, his grip strong and assured. “Greetings. We’re going to Byzantium. I’m willing to pay extra, considering our lateness. You have accepted our baggage already.”

Stick up his ass, or what? “And your lady?”

The answer came out smoothly. “My slave, sir, Sofia.”

“Slave. Uh-huh.” He resisted scowling.

The woman waited a foot behind Dankyo’s shoulder. No calluses or marks at the neck, none on wrists. Her eyes were bright and even mischievous, not cowed or fearful. He smelled a rat, maybe two.

“Shall we let them aboard?” Kaysana cocked an eyebrow at him, then smiled.

Sten grunted. “Sure. Might liven the Princess Kay up if we get them to walk the plank.”

Dankyo stiffened, his mouth opened, and then the woman, Sofia, tripped into his back, knocking him forward. “Excuse me.” He tucked a finger in Sofia’s collar. “Thank you for allowing us aboard. I must attend to my clumsy slave’s punishment.”

As they walked up the ramp, Sofia said some angry-sounding words. Hell. What slave ever dared that? Sten gathered Kaysana to him with an arm about her waist, molding her against him. “What’s going on?”

“They’re just interesting. Wanted to run it past you first. I saw her poke him earlier as they walked up.”

“Yeah?” Sten scratched his chin. “He looks military. Well, if he gets up my nose, I’ll toss him out over the ocean. Then she can be my slave girl.”

“Oh! Never!”

The wrestle with Kaysana left her breathless, but at the end of it, they ignored onlookers and exchanged a long, deep kiss. “Love you, lady,” he whispered. Both his hands cupped her ass.

“Me too, Sten. Me too.” Then she snuggled her head into his chest. “When I’m with you, every day is beautiful.”

“Gawd,” Emily blurted. “Get a cabin, you two! Hey, Cadrach!” She whistled. “Get your nose outa those seagull droppings!”

“Except this day.” Kaysana sighed.

He chuckled but kept his hands on her cute butt. Some things never got old.

The End

Loose Id Titles by Cari Silverwood

Three Days of Dominance

* * * *

The STEAMWORK CHRONICLES Series

Iron Dominance

Lust Plague

Cari Silverwood

Though I’d much rather stay invisible and spin you all tales with my words, here’s a little snippet of my world.

I have a lovely family here in Australia, with the prerequisite teenager who dwells in the dark bedroom catacombs, a husband who raises eyebrows when he catches glimpses of what I write, and a furry menagerie of animals barking, meowing, and swimming about the place.

Before writing Three Days of Dominance I had never dipped my little toes in the hot and lust-swirled sea of erotica. Now every time I turn around, there’s some new character making me write down their story in the most lurid way. My people are quite adamant about explaining creative new ways of making love, so I doubt I’ll run out of ideas anytime soon, though I may go cross-eyed.

And, dammit, I can’t seem to stop reading other erotica authors either. I have come over to the dark side. Someone please find me a candle...and some rope. ’Cause if Darth Vader’s here, I’m going to see if he’s up for some bondage and wax play.

Main Web site: http://www.carisilverwood.net

Blog: http://somewriteithot2.blogspot.com

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Loose Id Titles by Cari Silverwood

Cari Silverwood

Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Loose Id Titles by Cari Silverwood

Cari Silverwood