Dominant Predator (2 page)

Our society had teetered on the edge of collapse at the loss of knowledge, propelling us thousands of years backwards with some technologies. Wiping out the old knowledge. The infochip supposedly contained everything that had been lost.

Who knew whether it actually existed or not. And it didn’t matter in the end. If Armise’s premiere was anything like my president, then we would be blindly chasing that chip until one or both of us—hell, all of us—were dead.

“You need this?” Armise asked, holding up his medkit and snapping my thoughts back to our current situation.

I eyed him warily, ventured a look at the slash across my thigh and shook my head. There was no way I was taking any help from him. He was already too close.

“I’m not asking about your leg,” he said as he stood. “How bad is your back?”

I didn’t move as he advanced on me. I tried to keep my body still and not react to his proximity. He was danger—deadly—but even more, he was unadulterated want. And that emotion didn’t even deserve to be explored.

“Let me check it, Merq,” Armise said, sounding more like a request than I expected.

“I don’t fucking think so,” I replied through clenched teeth.

“I’m not going to kill you, Merq.” Armise opened his arms in a gesture of welcoming, then appeared to be listening to the firefight still occurring elsewhere in the city as he cocked his head and said, “If you die today it won’t be by my hand.”

“Comforting,” I answered snidely and scooted closer to the wall behind me despite the pain that ripped through me from the press of the damaged flesh to the rough stone wall.

He made a delicate circular motion with his fingers—that looked completely ridiculous—for me to turn around. “Let me look at it.”

“Nope,” I replied without hesitation.

He frowned. “You don’t want me to touch you.”

“Why would I?”

“You don’t have to play games with me, Merq.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Who the fuck are you?”

Armise smiled at this. “Questions. Always with the questions.”

“It’s an effective tactic.”

“Only when the other party isn’t aware you’re using it as a deflection. I see you. I know you.”

I flexed my shoulders, the movement making me wince. “You are insane.”

“Perhaps. But no more than you. Turn around.”

A fresh round of sonicpops erupted, farther away this time. But it was all background noise now. I stretched my back, testing, trying to ascertain just how deep the cut was. I could feel the skin pulling, separating, sharp bursts of pain radiating down my spine and around my shoulder blades.

I took the sonicpistol off my hip and, without a word, trained it on him as I rotated around.

“Smart, I suppose. Just don’t let that trigger finger get jumpy,” he answered with all seriousness. He tapped his hand on my arm. “Take off your shirt.”

I grumbled, but complied, laying my pistol off to the side but still within reach. I restrained a wince as I lifted the shirt off my back, the dried blood sticking and peeling as I pulled the fabric away from the wound. When I’d discarded it I immediately gripped my gun, the barrel resting on my shoulder, inches away from his face. I could feel his hot breath against my skin. It was in direct contrast to the cold that seemed to be radiating off his frame and his fingertips as he moved in closer to study the gash.

I heard him drop the medkit to the floor and open it. He moved slowly, deliberately, and from watching him earlier I knew he was pulling out the needle, threading the thin synthetic fabric through the eye. He swiped a cold cloth across my back—cleaning it—then he pulled my skin taut and the needle pierced through. I stiffened. Whether my reaction was more from the pain or his proximity I wasn’t sure, and that thought left me uneasy.

“Watch that trigger finger,” he ordered as he set to work.

I relaxed and laid my finger against the barrel instead of on the trigger. If Armise noted the change in my grip he didn’t remark upon it.

The storefront was quieter now since the fighting had moved off, the only sounds the rasp of his breath as he worked. There was a tension that surrounded the lack of space between us.

I hadn’t been this close to him since Singapore. Since he’d first kissed me. I had one mad thought to ask him about it then stuffed the impulse down.

He worked quickly. I could feel the pull of the needle as he looped it through and over, sealing the wound. His hands were frigid, raising chill bumps where he laid his palm to steady himself. The sensation of his skin on mine, the intermingling contrasting temperatures of my fevered heat and his unnatural chill, put my nerves on edge.

I didn’t know why he affected me the way he did. And there was a part of me—growing stronger with every second that the battle retreated and he remained stoic beside me—that made me wonder what would happen if…

What the fuck was I thinking?

Any sexual desire I’d ever experienced had been about release. With Neveed when we were teenagers. Or Simion on the battlefield. But what I was feeling at this moment was different from that. I wanted to know what his lips would feel like on mine. What his body would feel like under me.

If he would fight me or give in.

I heard the swish of a knife being removed from its holster and put my finger back on the trigger.

“Just cutting the string,” Armise said with complete composure.

There was a tug then the sound of the knife being resheathed, but Armise didn’t remove his hand from my back. I breathed in deeply, but he still didn’t move away.

I wanted to ask him why. What it was that he wanted from me. The words began to bubble up, then his hand was moving from my shoulder, sliding down and gripping my waist. I froze but didn’t want to pull away.

My pistol was still aimed at his head, my back exposed to him. We could kill each other, here, now, without thought, without hesitation. But neither of us made the move.

His hand lay there for seconds, then minutes, neither of us retreating.

He repositioned himself behind me, his hand skipping against my skin as he slid his fingers around my waist and over my stomach, then down, just under the waist of my pants at the button.

I didn’t stop him, but I didn’t make it any easier for him. He had to mould himself to my back to reach all the way. He coiled his arms around my waist and popped the button. The first touch of his fingers on my cock was like ice. I shivered and dropped my chin against my chest.

The coldness of his firm grip centred me and cleared my mind. I knew exactly what we were doing, and just how wrong it was, but I didn’t fucking care.

There was an edge of pain to his grip. This wasn’t gentle or sensual. It was needy.

His breathing sped with the rough pulls of his hand on my cock. I fell back against him, giving him room to work. He rutted against my back, using my body just as readily as he drew the pleasure from mine.

I bit down hard on the piercing in my lip, resisting the urge to turn my head and capture his lips with mine.

But I didn’t have to be the one to break that barrier, because his mouth covered mine without hesitation. As if he could read what I was thinking. What I wanted. Desired.

Fuck, was this desire?

I’d never been more consumed and out of control.

My pistol skittered across the concrete floor as I threw it to the side and turned on him, covering his body with mine, thrusting our groins together harshly when I fell on him.

He recaptured my lips, biting down. I opened to him, let his tongue inside my mouth, exploring. Taking. Feeding off the groan that escaped my throat.

Armise grabbed my ass and arched into me, his moans filling the air. I couldn’t open my eyes, couldn’t look at him because I knew I was too unhinged. This was dangerous—he was dangerous—and I couldn’t find the will to stop. I had to come. To feel him let go, to shudder underneath me. I’d never wanted anything more in my life.

I gripped his hands, lifted them and pinned them above his head. He fought the restraint, but I knew he wasn’t putting all his strength into the effort. Armise was stronger than me, but he let me hold him down and fuck against him. My bare chest rasped on the fabric of his shirt and pulled it up to reveal his muscled torso. I dipped my head down and took his nipple between my teeth, biting down hard, then licking at the nub until his entire body was taut beneath me, straining for release.

I could feel the hardness of his cock through the layers separating us. I wanted to touch him skin to skin, to wrap my mouth around his dick and feel him come apart just from my touch. But I’d already flipped over a line that never should have been crossed. I told myself this was only one time. This wouldn’t happen again. Couldn’t happen again.

I chased the incongruous sensations of warmth, pain and the coldness of Armise, the heady mix drawing me closer to the edge. Armise wrapped his leg around my thigh and thrust against me, his body tensing as he cried out and came, spilling hot on my stomach. I had no choice but to do the same.

My vision blackened, my hands tightening around his wrists, as my release surged through me. I rolled off him as soon as the desire to capture his lips once more flitted through my consciousness. I sought out my pistol, dragging it into my grip by my fingertips, and held it against my chest, keeping the barrel decisively pointed in Armise’s direction.

I didn’t know what to expect from him.

My focus returned to our current situation, just how vulnerable both of us were, and I decided that it was in my best interest to get the fuck out of this storefront and away from Armise as quickly as possible. I zipped up my uniform and got to my feet, warily eyeing Armise where he still lay on the cold floor.

His eyes were closed, his breathing ragged, his chest and softening cock exposed.

I didn’t speak as I crossed the room, picked up my shirt and pulled it over my shoulders, feeling the stitches Armise had put there pulling angrily in protest. I started towards the door, scouting the windows as I walked to the door that was still partially open from when Armise and I had fled inside. Behind me I could hear the scrape of Armise’s boots on the floor.

“I’ll catch you the next time around,” Armise announced in a cocky tone. I could almost hear the smile on his lips.

I scoffed and barrelled through the door, before slamming it behind me.

Chapter One

Year 2558

The Continental States

Pain. Blinding, searing, blood-vaporising pain.

No matter how many times I went through a transport, the effect was always the same. Debilitating.

My body seized up, spasmed, and I could feel the moment my particles scattered. A vast emptiness fell upon me, one that I’d come to associate with agony, even though that exact moment was the most peaceful of the transition.

But what came next caught me unaware. Every single time.

The world—my existence—flashed out of being then slammed back. A coalescing of atoms and cells, blood thrumming, heart pumping. I sucked in a desperate breath that burned, my lungs fighting the sudden inhalation. I reached out for something—someone?—gritted my teeth, and found my awareness. Remembered.

My shot. The Premiere. The bunker.

Armise.

“Fuck,” a laboured voice behind me groaned. An arm gripped me tighter, drawing my twitching body into an iron embrace.

Too close. Too much. This—this intimacy—wasn’t what happened after a kill.

I let my head fall to the cool, smooth floor and tried to calm my racing heartbeat and spasming muscles as I yanked the hand off my stomach.

Armise let go of me without protest. I rolled away from him then to my feet, hesitating for only a fraction of a second as I stood. The nerves in my legs tingled. I could feel the rush of surge—that potent drug—thrumming through my veins—only remnants now—enough to dull the pain of the transport.

“Great shot,” a woman’s voice came from the other side of the room.

I shielded my eyes from the glare of the white ceramic floor and took in the petite frame of the woman leaning against the wall, her black skin in sharp relief to the sterile silver metal walls.

I grunted in response to Jegs and looked down at Armise.

He was on his back on the transport floor, eyes closed, the sinew of his neck and veins popping out with the effort it was taking for him to get the pain under control.

“I thought you only travelled via transport,” I said with disbelief and just a hint of a taunt.

Armise’s silver eyes snapped open, caught me in a clear, challenging glare. “Your transport technology is obviously inferior to Singapore’s,” he gritted out. “No wonder you never choose to travel this way. How do we know that each time we transport it’s not slowly killing us?”

“We don’t,” Jegs answered for me as she tipped her head in Armise’s direction. “So. You’re the traitor.”

Armise sat up, threw an arm over his knees and scratched at his beard. “I suppose so,” he answered without flinching. “I’m guessing from the slashes that you’re Jegs. You weren’t exactly conscious the first time we met.”

Jegs narrowed her eyes and didn’t answer him. From the brief blankness that overtook her eyes, I knew she was trying to access the memory of her captivity in Singapore. Trying to decide if Armise was the one who had nearly killed her.

“He wasn’t the one,” I reassured her.

She didn’t take her focus off Armise. “You sure about that?”

I shrugged. “Relatively. Where’s the President?”

She pushed off the wall and started to the door. “Should be here. He was set to transport in with the newly promoted General Neveed Niaz right after your shot. Simion is on that detail.”

“Just how many transport rooms do you have?” Armise asked as he stood.

“Enough—”

“Four—”

Jegs and I answered at the same time.

I pointed at her. “This ends here.”

She gave a clipped nod, restrained anger evident in her pursed lips and the flat black of her eyes.

“Order received,” she acknowledged. She approached me and held out her hand—two capsules of surge resting on her palm. “For the external damage this one did to you in the tunnels.”