Kaitlyn O'Connor Book 3 Cyborg Nation

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

New Concepts Publishing

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Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Cyborg Nation

Kaitlyn O'Connor

© copyright March 2007, Kaitlyn O'Connor
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright March 2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places

are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with
fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely
coincidence.

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Chapter One

Bronte Nichols' thoughts were focused inwardly, as they so

often were, as the lift settled and the doors opened. There a
was man standing in the cubicle, which was so unexpected it
actually pierced Bronte's abstraction. She stared at him
blankly, partly because she was surprised to see anyone at all
so early in the morning and partly because, for some
unfathomable reason, she discovered he was not completely
in focus.

Prompted by the instinctive urge to keep from being left

behind, she leapt inside just as the doors began to close
again. Uneasiness washed over her even as she yielded to the
impulse, effectively trapping herself inside with the stranger.
It wasn't just that he was big—really big—a stranger, or even
the fact that she so rarely met up with anyone at all when she
arrived at work so early.

His stance seemed relaxed, unthreatening, and yet Bronte

sensed that he had tensed when he'd seen her just as she
had when she'd spotted him and there was something about
that that set off alarm bells in her head.

After staring at him owl eyed for a moment, she finally

remembered her manners, nodded politely in greeting, and
turned to stare at the doors instead, or rather the level
indicator. She didn't exactly see the screen displaying the
levels the lift was passing. In her mind's eye, she was shifting
through the vague impressions her eyes had recorded of the
stranger.

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

She was certain he was a stranger to her. In the first

place, she never spoke to anyone aside from her staff
members and the parents of her patients ... and of course her
patients. In the second, as distracted as she generally was
with her own thoughts, she still thought she would have
noticed a man as large as the one behind her if she'd run
across him in the medical center before. He wasn't just tall,
he was big, muscular if the form fitting, one piece suit he was
wearing was any indication, and she thought it probably was.
It looked like the uniform of the med center's security guards,
but there was something about him that, somehow, just
didn't seem to go with the uniform.

Not that she'd actually been able to make out much more

than that about him—big, very tall, and dark hair. His
features had seemed pleasingly regular—but blurred so she
wasn't so certain she could trust that impression. She was
certain he had dark hair though it seemed it had been slicked
tightly against his skull in a very odd sort of hair style—not
the way the security guards generally wore their hair at all. In
fact mostly they just shaved their heads so that there was
little more than stubble sprouting from their scalps and
sometimes not even that.

Which brought her mind back to the subject that had

engrossed her before the doors of the lift had opened. "My
glasses," she muttered under her breath. "Now what did I do
with them? I'm sure I had them when I left the apartment. I
distinctly recall that I had them."

"On your head."

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

The deep, resonant voice behind her startled her. Not only

had she not realized she'd been muttering aloud, but she'd
become so engrossed with her conversation with herself she'd
momentarily forgotten she was sharing the elevator. Her lips
parting with surprise, she whipped her head around at the
sound of his voice, lifting a hand absently to her head as she
did so. Her fingers connected with something in her hair,
dislodging whatever it was.

As it fell, she and the stranger both bent instinctively to

catch it ... and butted heads. The blow made Bronte's knees
buckle and she sat on the floor of the lift, one hand flying
upward to massage the throbbing knot where their heads had
connected. "Oh! I do beg your pardon! Are you alright?"

His face came into focus as he leaned down, wrapped the

fingers of one hand around her left upper arm, hauled her to
her feet, and then shoved the glasses he'd managed to rescue
onto her nose. Briefly, his face came into sharp focus before
blurring again when he moved too close for her eyes to focus
with the aid of the glasses. Bronte felt her face reddening as
she gaped up at him and it sank slowly into her mind that he
was quite the most handsome man she'd ever run in to,
either literally or figuratively.

Not that she made a habit of running into strange men!

She had had a few accidents, however, and she grew an even
brighter red until her skin was no doubt rivaling her dark
auburn hair as she recalled her last embarrassing encounter
with a man.

She'd rather liked Dr. Pool, too, or at least thought she

might be interested in the man on a purely feminine level, but

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

he'd been far more embarrassed by the collision than she
was. He had made it a point to give her a wide berth after
she'd mowed him down at the corner of the connecting
corridors where they had their respective offices and she was
fairly certain she'd blown yet another, rare, opportunity to
find a soul mate ... or at least a fuck buddy.

She became aware suddenly that the man, the stranger,

was still gripping her arm, his gaze wandering over her
speculatively. "Do I know you?" she asked politely, certain
that she couldn't possibly have met him before. But then, he
was being very familiar, really, for someone who didn't know
her.

"Dr. Nichols?"
Bronte blinked. Apparently he did know her. "Yes?"
His frown deepened instead of clearing. "B. A. Nichols?"
Understanding dawned. Bronte chuckled, but she felt her

blush rising again. "My father was Bryan Alexander Nichols.
I'm Dr. Bronte Alexandra Nichols." She hesitated
uncomfortably. The plan had been that she would join her
father in his practice once she'd completed her residency. She
had so been looking forward to it, too, getting to work beside
a man of his reputation, getting the chance to actually get to
know her father at last. She certainly hadn't had the
opportunity when she was growing up. After her mother had
died when she'd been little more than an infant, her father
had settled her with his sister and her brood, and she'd only
gotten a handful of visits from her godlike father over the
years. "Uh ... my father's dead," she added baldly. "But I've
taken over his practice. Were you looking for a pediatrician?"

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Her stomach seemed to drop at the realization that that

must, indeed, be why he was in the medical center, though it
seemed an odd time to be doing so. Her first appointment
wasn't for hours yet. Tamping her disappointment at the
discovery that he was a potential patient, or at least must
have one—a child—and therefore must be married, or at least
involved with someone, Bronte glanced down at the hand that
still gripped her arm and then noticed she'd attached her
badge upside down when she'd put it on that morning. No
wonder he'd had trouble reading it!

She tugged at her arm as she reached to adjust the name

badge. Almost reluctantly, it seemed to her, he released his
hold on her then reached past her and tapped the panel used
to select levels. The lift braked, stopped, and began to
descend as rapidly as it had been rising. The action reminded
Bronte belatedly that she'd forgotten to key in the level she
wanted. She discovered when she turned to look at the panel,
though, that the lift had already shot past her level.

Her lips flattened in irritation as she reached to press her

level. She hadn't just come early because she never slept well
and was too restless to remain in her apartment any longer.
She'd intended to catch up on some of her paperwork—which
was why she'd been so distracted to begin with. Dread always
filled her when she had to tackle the mounds of paperwork
she allowed to build up while she attended the part of her job
she actually enjoyed ... interacting with her patients. And
then, too, she'd been worried that she'd misplaced her
glasses ... again.

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

She really ought to have her eyes fixed, ought to have

done it already, but there never seemed to be time. And
actually, the prospect unnerved her, though she wouldn't
have admitted it under torture. She was a physician herself,
for god's sake! It didn't look good that she was such a coward
about facing medical procedures herself!

The lift settled and the doors opened.
A man, dressed much as the one behind her, stepped into

the lift.

Bronte tried not to stare, but he was much like the man

behind her—very tall, built like a tank, and dressed in the skin
tight uniform that left very little to the imagination and made
it impossible for her not to notice as her gaze flickered over
the broad chest and shoulders, bulging arms and well
developed legs ... and the almost obscene bulge at the apex
of his thighs. She shuffled over to give him room and then
looked up as the sense of being loomed over swamped her,
discovering that both men were looming over her because she
was sandwiched between them and they were looking down
at her.

"This is Dr. Nichols," the first man said to the second,

drawing Bronte's gaze for a moment before she glanced at
the man he was speaking to.

After trying to adjust her glasses and discovering that both

men were too close to bring into focus, Bronte shoved her
glasses onto the top of her head. She was a bit stunned to
discover when she had that the second man was as unusually
attractive as the first, though they looked nothing alike
beyond the fact that both were dark. The new arrival, though,

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

was not quite as dark. Whereas the first man's hair was as
black as night, his eyebrows a thick, straight line above eyes
a steel, almost eerie blue, the second man had hair of a
slightly warmer shade, though still very nearly black. She
might have thought it black if not compared to the first man's
hair. His brows were also dark and thick, but arched. At the
moment, one was lifted upward while the other had
descended in a look she could only think was displeasure,
even if not for the cool assessment in his emerald green eyes.

"B. A. Nichols?" the second man asked, obviously no more

pleased than the first man had been.

Bronte tried not to feel slighted, but she couldn't prevent

the resentment that swelled in her chest. It was completely
unfair to compare her unfavorably to her father. He had had
many years to build his reputation, after all! Given time, she
fully intended to live up to his name ... but there was the rub.
It was a hard act to follow, and she'd been viewed under a
microscope and compared unfavorably almost from the time
she'd arrived in medical school. "I am imminently qualified, I
assure you!" she responded somewhat defensively. "Although
I have not had the years to build my reputation as my father
did, I graduated at the top of my class and I have been
practicing for several years now." She couldn't help but notice
they looked unconvinced. "And, of course, I have the added
advantage of having worked with a man of vast experience in
the field."

She felt a little uncomfortable about that claim, but it

wasn't exactly a lie ... just a slight prevarication. She had
worked along side experienced physicians while she was

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

doing her residency and she had her father's case studies,
after all.

The two men exchanged a long, speaking look above her

head and seemed to come to a decision. After a moment,
they shifted slightly away from her, still crowding her
personal space uncomfortably, but not quite as uncomfortably
as before.

She dragged in a shaky breath, not realizing until that

moment just how unnerved she'd been.

Not that she wasn't still more than a little unnerved.
She felt overly warm, too.
Actually, now that she thought about it, she felt almost ...

dizzy, definitely jittery. Distracted by that realization, she fell
to analyzing her reaction. It dawned on her after a very few
moments that her chaotic response was on a purely feminine
level and had very little, if anything, to do with any primal
sense of threat. Pheromones, she realized dimly as she
inhaled and felt her body react to the chemical even though
she wasn't actually aware of the scent. The combined
testosterone of the two overpoweringly male strangers was
enough to bring any self-respecting, red blooded female
instantly into heat.

Rather pleased by the discovery that, despite her

preoccupation with the sciences, she could indeed react like
any other woman, Bronte flicked a tentative smile at the
newcomer, who glanced down at her as the lift, at last,
stopped at her level and the doors began to open. She'd
already tensed to step off when the opening doors revealed
yet another man, dressed as the first two.

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

This one, however, was fair ... and carrying a rather large

piece of equipment that was heavy enough it made every
considerable muscle in his upper body and arms bulge with
effort. Bronte was so mesmerized by the powerful display that
she wasn't aware that the man had crowded her into the back
corner as he stepped into the lift with his load until she
stepped on the feet of the man behind her and fell against
him. An arm came around her waist, molding her to every
deliciously hard, sculpted inch of his body. Embarrassed at
her clumsiness but grateful that he hadn't allowed her to fall
when she'd lost her balance and fell against him, Bronte
tipped her head back to smile at him apologetically. "I am so
sorry! Excuse me!"

He met her gaze, his arm tightening around her. A shiver

chased down her spine, but she wasn't certain if it was
because the icy color of his eyes made him appear so cool
and detached, or if there really was no warmth in his gaze.
Something long and hard rose against her buttocks, however,
that completely disordered her mind. "No problem," he
responded after a long moment of hesitation, his voice as cool
and as lacking in inflection as his gaze.

He didn't let go of her at once. In fact, he didn't let go of

her at all. Bronte looked down at the arm clamped around her
waist and then toward the doors of the lift just as they closed.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "This was my floor!"

The blond man, she discovered, was looking her over with

the same detached interest the other two men had. Groping
for the glasses she'd shoved on top of her head, she winced
as strands of her hair, tangled in the piece, parted company

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

with her scalp as she dragged the glasses down to help her
see him more clearly. The face that came into view sent a jolt
through her.

It was hard and angular, purely masculine and yet so

classically formed and appealing 'beautiful' was the first
thought that popped in her mind. Framed by long, beautiful
blond hair that hung loosely well past his shoulders, ending
just past the hard male breasts that still bulged from the
thing he held, she was dimly aware that hair that luxuriant
should have looked completely out of place on a man who
looked so very, very ... male, and yet it didn't. The glossy,
wavy hair only seemed to emphasize his masculinity, to set
off his god-like perfection to greatest advantage.

What were the odds, she thought distractedly, of finding

herself in a lift with three such exceptional specimens?
Astronomical, she decided, even though she couldn't seem to
focus her mind on running the calculations, because she
hadn't seen a single man in all her years that came close to
even one of them.

"This is Dr. Nichols," said the man behind her at just about

the time Bronte managed to free her gaze from the sapphire-
eyed blond god before her and glanced down at what he held.

She frowned as she stared at the filing unit he held and a

flicker of recognition dawned. Instantly diverted, she looked
the piece over more carefully. It didn't just look familiar. It
was familiar! It was hers!

Doubt instantly swept over her, though, as it occurred to

her to wonder why in the world anyone would take her files
from her office—the whole filing unit! She frowned, wondering

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

if she'd forgotten to pay her office rent and was being evicted
... or if they'd simply decided to move her. Indignation filled
her at that thought.

"This is B. A. Nichols?" the blond man questioned, tilting

his head to study her curiously. "The data banks listed a
male."

"Obviously not current," the black haired man holding her

commented. He almost seemed to shrug. "They are ...
inefficient."

Bronte craned her neck to look up at the man. "They?" she

echoed, feeling the sting as a personal insult even though she
had nothing to do with updating the data bank herself.

He caught her face in the crook between his thumb and

forefinger before she could look away, studying her face with
that same unnerving intensity of before. "She is obviously
qualified, however, in her field else she would not be
practicing medicine."

Bronte stared up at him, fighting the mesmerizing effect

he had upon her, realizing dimly that although his words
seemed no more than a dispassionate appraisal of her skills
as a physician, the look in his eyes, to say nothing of the
brick hard erection digging into her backside, seemed to
indicate his thoughts were not entirely on her credentials.

"What's going on here?" she managed to ask as it finally

dawned on her that there were undercurrents besides those
heated waves eddying through her at the nearness and rapt
attention she held of all three men.

Instead of answering her question, the man released his

hold on her. She stared up at him a moment longer and

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

turned to look at the other two men. She hadn't imagined she
held center stage. The other two men were studying her with
the same intensity. Without any indication of discomfort at all,
they held her gaze for several moments and then the three
men exchanged a look very like the one the first two had
exchanged before when the second man had gotten on the
lift.

"She is young. Should we look for someone with more

experience?"

Bronte frowned indignantly at the man with the dark,

brown hair, torn between a feminine desire to maintain her
youth and a professional desire to defend her experience. "I
am young," she snapped. "I was not only at the top of my
class. I was the youngest in my graduating class! And I took
over my father's practice nearly a year ago ... besides my
years in residence! I am fully qualified!"

None of them looked as impressed as she felt like they

should have, but then again it struck her that, of the three,
she'd never seen anyone any better at hiding their thoughts
behind such expressionless masks. Aside from the faint
frowns that flickered across their faces, that looked like a
mixture of speculation and puzzlement, they gave nothing
else away.

They seemed to come to some sort of tacit agreement,

though, as the lift halted once more and the doors opened.
Bronte's gaze was drawn by the movement. Surprise filled her
when she discovered they were on the roof. In the distance,
the sky was just beginning to lighten with the promise that
the sun would soon crest the horizon.

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Closer to hand, though, blocking most of the view, sat a

sleek black star cruiser, its hatch open and gangway extended
like a tongue. She'd barely registered the ship, which had no
business at all on the roof of the med center since it was
clearly not an ambulance, when a blast of light erupted,
slamming into the roof inches from the lift opening. The
concussion of the blast stunned her, seemed to knock the
breath from her lungs.

It didn't have the same effect, or even nearly that effect,

on the three men. The man still holding her yanked her off
her feet and charged off the lift directly behind the other two.
Contrary to what she might have expected if she'd had her
wits about her, the blond did not toss his burden aside.
Instead, he ran full tilt toward the gangway as if the thing
weighed no more than a feather. The brunette dragged a
laser pistol from the holster strapped to his leg and returned
fire as the man holding her charged past, also firing with his
free hand as he raced toward the cruiser with her under one
arm as if she was no more than a feather. He wasn't even
winded when he'd raced up the gangway and deposited her
none too gently into a seat.

Stunned, expecting any moment to feel her body

disintegrate along with the ship around her, Bronte's gaze
followed instinctively as the man raced to the control console,
working the controls so quickly his hands were little more
than a blur of movement even before he dropped into the
seat beside the blond. An explosion rocked the ship,
effectively diverting Bronte. Gripping the arms of the chair
she'd been dropped into, her head swiveled of its own accord

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

toward the deafening sound and the metallic pinging of flying
metal. She was just in time to see the brunette land
flatfooted on the deck, slamming a hand against the control
that lifted the gangway and sealed the hatch.

Without comprehension, she stared at the now ragged

uniform he wore, taking in the gashes along his arm and leg
and the blackened, gaping flesh where lasers had torn into
him. There was little blood. Lasers tended to seal the flesh
and veins even as they burned through them. What caught
her attention and held it, though, was the gleaming metal,
not bone, exposed by the wounds.

She was still staring at the metal, trying to wrap her mind

around everything that had happened and the implications of
seeing metal rather than charred bone, when the man stalked
up to her, grasped the restraints she hadn't had the wit to
fasten and quickly fastened her in. He'd barely done so when
the craft shot from the roof like a launched missile, plastering
her to the back of her seat.

The man grabbed her seat back to keep from being pitched

toward the rear of the ship. The metal groaned, as if it was
about to be ripped loose from its mooring, but, thankfully,
held as he launched himself across the aisle and managed to
land in the seat apparently reserved for him.

That feat shocked her almost as much as everything that

had gone before. She couldn't begin to guess how many G's
the ship was pulling in its almost vertical climb, but she knew
it would take superhuman strength to combat it.

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Any man, no matter if he was built like a tank, as this one

was, would have been plastered against the bulkhead at the
rear of the cockpit.

The truth, despite the implications, was slow in coming

simply because of the shock and her absolute unwillingness to
accept what her senses told her.

No wonder, she thought, feeling faint and cold with sudden

terror, these men were such marvels of perfection, so
perfectly wonderful and beautiful if every way. They weren't
men at all! They were rogue cyborgs ... and she'd just spent
the last fifteen minutes convincing them that they should
kidnap her instead of looking for a doctor that was more
experienced!

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Chapter Two

Two concussions rocked the ship in rapid succession.

Bronte squeezed her eyes closed, praying the shields would
hold, bartering with fate for all she worth. Abruptly, the pull
against her ceased. For a handful of seconds, she felt
weightless and then the artificial gravity kicked in sluggishly,
either because the two men ... cyborgs ... manning the
controls were too preoccupied with trying to outmaneuver the
ship or ships trailing them and trying their best to blast them
out of the sky, or because one of the military cruisers had
managed to damage some of the controls.

She knew that had to be who was firing on them ... the

military ... or maybe the police ... someone who was actually
supposed to be on her side. She couldn't bring herself to root
for them, however, not when she was going to be a piece of
the debris if they succeeded in bringing down the cyborg
craft.

The stars visible in the forward facing screens above the

pilots blurred. Freed from the pull of the Earth's gravity,
Bronte groped for the glasses she habitually perched on top
of her head when she wasn't using them. She found them
dangling by one arm on the side of her head, tangled in her
hair, which was the only reason, she realized, that she still
had them. She discovered, though, when she'd managed to
disentangle the glasses from her hair and perch them on her
nose that the stars were still blurred. She couldn't feel the
pull she would have felt if she'd still been caught in the pull of

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Earth's gravity, but she realized they'd jumped into hyper-
drive.

It boggled her mind. It probably boggled the minds of

those trailing them, as well. This craft shouldn't have had that
capability.

No human craft would have.
She wasn't on a craft designed and built by humans,

though. If she hadn't already guessed as much, the
technology was enough to clinch the matter.

And it still stunned her. How, she wondered, could

manmade machines develop technology beyond the
capabilities of their creators?

But it had to have been them, unless they'd discovered

alien technology.

The blurring of the stars lessened after a short time, the

streaks shortening and finally disappearing altogether. When
it did, though, she saw that the millions of bright lights had
dwindled to no more than a sprinkling of pinpoints of light and
a vast amount of velvety darkness.

The black haired giant tossed off his harness and stood. As

he turned in her direction she saw that he, too, had been
wounded in the attempt. A foot long gash crossed his chest
from the upper slope of one pec almost to the point near his
opposite hip where her head had been when he'd dashed to
the ship with her. Her belly clenched when she realized how
closely she'd come to having her brains splattered all over
him. Then, too, despite her certainty that he had to be a
machine, the wound looked so painful she couldn't help but
feel a twinge of empathetic pain in her belly.

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

His face, she saw when she looked up at him as he

approached her, was taut—not creased with pain, but the
very fact that it was rigid seemed to indicate an inner struggle
with pain.

He didn't look at her. Instead, he looked the man beside

her over and nodded toward the back of the ship. The wounds
were really beyond her experience—she was no surgeon and
besides that knew nothing about cyborgs beyond the fact that
they were machines 'clothed' in human tissue. Beyond that,
they had kidnapped her and she had no idea what their
intentions were toward her. Still, her healer's instincts rose to
the forefront. "I should attend your wounds," she said a little
shakily.

Both men turned to look at her and she found herself

pinned by a pair of piercing, pale blue eyes and an equally
penetrating pair of emerald green eyes.

In fact, she sensed the blond, still at the control of the

vessel, had also turned at the sound of her voice.

The one with black hair tilted his head at her, almost

curiously, though she could not see it in his expression. After
a moment, he slid a look at the man still seated. "It should be
obvious to you now that our experience with the 'tender
mercies' of humans have given us no reason to trust them."

Bronte flinched inwardly. As caught up as she was in her

own life, as little as she noticed about the world outside her
personal sphere, she knew very well that the cyborgs had
gone rogue and the company that had manufactured them
had recalled them for destruction ... or at least attempted to.
It wasn't general knowledge, though, because it was

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something the company had tried very hard to keep from the
public. The only reason she knew anything at all about it was
because she had a colleague, a former classmate that she
had maintained some friendly relations with, that had
inadvertently let just enough classified information slip that
she'd pieced the story together from the occasional news vids
she managed to catch.

She was, in fact, distressed that he had so blatantly

pointed out that he was a cyborg. She would have far
preferred it if he'd maintained the illusion, or tried to, that
she had been kidnapped by humans. If he wasn't worried
about her having the knowledge it did not bode well for her.

She felt the blood flee from her face in a rush that made

her dizzy. Swallowing with an effort against the knot of
uneasiness that formed in her throat, she struggled to find
her voice. "You must have some use for me," she managed to
say, "if you risked ... capture to take me."

His gaze flickered over her face. "But then, again, we are

only machines, incapable of fear, pain ... anxiety.... "He
paused for a long, long moment. "Desire."

A tide of warmth flooded through her at the single word,

made significant both by the pause that went before and the
deep, almost husky inflection of his voice. Dismayed by her
body's instinctive reaction, Bronte said no more as he moved
past her at last and the other cyborg removed his harnesses,
rose, and followed him.

When Bronte glanced toward the man at the controls of

the ship, she saw that he was still studying her. He met her
gaze for a long moment and finally turned away.

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Released, Bronte drew a shuddering breath into her

burning lungs, unconscious of the fact, until that moment,
that she'd been holding her breath. She'd been dismissed,
very coolly at that. She sat staring at the view beyond the
ship for some time, trying to marshal her scattered wits. Why,
she wondered, had they taken her when they appeared not
only to have no use of her services, but no trust or liking for
humans in general?

She frowned at that. Liking, or disliking, were emotions.

He'd pointed out the obvious, that they were machines and
had no ability to feel as their creators did. And yet she wasn't
entirely comfortable with that conclusion. Maybe it was just
that they seemed so human-like that she expected them to
behave like humans? Then again, they had been designed to
blend with humanity, to interact with them, because humans
weren't comfortable being around great, hulking, powerful
machines that utilized artificial intelligence.

Some of the older models, which had merely been

humanoid in design, had been just plain scary. The
manufactures had discovered they were never going to fill
every household with two or three if they looked so
'threatening', which was why they'd really gone overboard
changing the whole look of the robot, not only making them
appear so human-like that they blended seamlessly with the
population, but making them feel human, as well, so that
they'd found a whole new market for them as sex toys.

As that thought congealed in her mind, Bronte wondered

abruptly if these had been designed specifically as human
sexual companions. She couldn't prevent either the blush or

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the heat that rose inside of her as it dawned on her that she
was already well aware that they were anatomically correct ...
which seemed to support that theory. And yet, if that was the
case, why had they been built like ... soldiers? Maybe they—
the company—had merely figured one design would do, at
least in the sense of making them multi-purpose so that the
model worked equally well for either job?

That seemed likely. Why go to the expense of building a

dozen different models for different jobs when they could
build one to do any job the customer might want?

Could they all be the same model, though, when they

looked as distinctly different as three different, unrelated
humans would look?

Why did that matter, she thought abruptly?
It didn't because it had no bearing on her situation that

she could see.

They had a use for her. They must. There was no reason in

the world for them to seek her out, and they obviously had,
unless they did have some use for her. She could understand
a drive in them to destroy the people they knew were hell
bent on destroying them. They didn't actually need anything
more than a will to exist—and obviously they did have that—
and a firm grasp on logic to realize that they must eliminate
the threat to their existence in order to continue. But she was
no threat to them. She was a doctor. She had never worked
for the company in any way, shape, or form.

Besides, it would have been easy to kill her if that had

been the objective. They'd caught her completely by surprise.

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One of them could have snapped her like a twig before she
could have even gotten out a cry for help.

Without consciously coming to a decision, Bronte

unfastened her safety harness and rose a little unsteadily.
The blond cyborg turned to look at her, but he neither said
anything nor made any attempt to stop her as she headed
from the cockpit in search of the injured cyborgs. It wasn't
hard to find them. The ship was designed as a short range
'hopper', or at least in the vein of those crafts that had no
need for a good deal of space. Beyond the main cabin/cockpit
area, there was a small food preparation/eating area, a
bathroom, or 'head', and beyond that only a single cabin.
Bronte froze in the doorway once the hatch/door had opened.

Both men were stark naked and she'd never in her life

seen that much naked male flesh. Prod her mind though she
would to accept 'cyborg', her brain refused to give the lie to
what her eyes saw. The one with black hair turned to stare at
her. The other one glanced at her, but he was intent on
cutting the charred flesh from the other man's wound. Blood
dripped from his hands, effectively distracting Bronte. Her
belly clenched.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, surging forward.
"The laser cauterizes as it cuts," the patient, or 'victim'

said through clenched teeth. "The flesh can not mend
together as is."

Bronte didn't realize she'd grabbed the hand of the cyborg

cutting until his hand stilled beneath hers. "You can't just ...
filet his entire chest and torso! He'll lose too much blood ...
especially at the rate you're going. To say nothing of the fact

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that it'll leave a horrible scar! What did you use to deaden it?
What do you have to close the wound with?

"You," she said to the brunette, "move. You," she added,

grasping the other man's hand, "sit down before you fall
down and break something."

Neither man moved and Bronte quickly discovered she

couldn't budge either one so much as a hair. Finally, the dark
man nodded. He sank heavily onto the bunk when the
brunette moved away, placing the scalpel he held in Bronte's
outstretched, demanding, hand. "I need antiseptic, something
to deaden the area, something to close the wound, and sterile
gauze," she said absently.

The brunette got up. Her conscience smote her. He was

wounded, too, but then she didn't know where anything was
and she needed to close the chest wound as quickly as
possible to stop the bleeding. The brunette returned after a
few moments, settling her bag of medical instruments—her
bag—on the bunk beside them. Her files and now her bag,
too? Had they taken everything from her office? She flicked a
censorious glance at him, but she was relieved, too. She
knew she would find everything she needed inside.

"You need only to cut the dead flesh and close the wound,"

the man she was working on said, his voice harsh. She didn't
doubt pain had a lot to do with the roughness. She flicked a
glance at him as she moved between his thighs and bent over
to examine the upper area of the wound. "Maybe you actually
like pain, but I don't like inflicting it. I'll feel better if I deaden
the area, and I'll certainly feel better making sure it isn't

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likely to get infected," she added as she disinfected her hands
with the solution she unearthed from her bag.

To her surprise, his lips curled in the faintest of smiles.

Amusement gleamed in his eyes. It disappeared so quickly,
though, she wondered if she'd only imagined it. "I am a
machine," he growled.

"Meaning you feel no pain?"
He neither denied it nor admitted it.
"Liar," she said softly and then felt a chilling rush at her

unthinking remark, wondering if it would anger him. "What's
your name?" she added quickly to change the direction of his
thoughts.

"Why would you think a machine would have a name ...

beyond its function ... cyborg?"

Bronte sucked her lower lip into her mouth uneasily, but

she felt a pang of empathy, too. She had gone into medicine
as much because she felt a need to soothe the hurt and heal
the sick as to impress the father she had admired so much,
but there were times when she thought it was a mistake, that
she was not cut out for this business of trying to heal. She
felt the pain of others too deeply, and her instincts told her,
whatever he had begun life as, he hurt, deeply, because his
existence as a living, breathing, thinking being had been
denied by his creators.

Her hand was shaking as she finished trimming and

cleansing the wound along his breast. Lifting a hand, she
brushed the beads of sweat from her brow and the hair that
had clung to the dampness. After trying unsuccessfully to
hold the wound closed and use the instrument to seal the

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flesh together, she reached down to catch his hands and had
him press the wound closed. "I'm not your enemy," she said
quietly.

"You are human," he pointed out.
She paused, staring at him in dismay. "So I can not be

anything else?"

His gaze flickered over her as she stood between his

thighs, leaning over him. His gaze lingered on her breasts for
a long moment. The faint smile curled his lips again. "I am a
superior model ... designed to kill quickly and efficiently. But I
was programmed to be a pleasure bot, as well. If you have a
need...?"

Hot color flashed in Bronte's cheeks. A chaotic flood of

anger, fear, and—loath though she was to admit it—desire
went through her.

She dragged her gaze from his. Her back had begun to

burn from bending over to reach his wound. Pointedly
ignoring the evidence that he had certainly not lied about
being well equipped to function as a sex droid, she dropped to
her knees and focused on the wound slashing across his
torso. It was a shame to see such perfection marred by such
a vicious wound. It was bound to make a terrible scar no
matter how carefully she closed it.

"It will not make an unsightly scar. The nanos will mend it

well enough."

Bronte bit her lip, realizing she'd spoken her thoughts

aloud. It was a very bad habit she'd developed—talking to
herself.

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"I am called Gabriel," he murmured as she finished

trimming the last of the scorched flesh away and used the
gauze to carefully wipe as much of the blood from his belly as
she could, trying not to notice the warmth of his skin beneath
her fingers or the way he tensed infinitesimally at her touch.
She glanced up at him in surprise. A faint frown drew her
brows together as she pondered the familiarity of the name.
Finally, she smiled. "From the ancient mythology of demons
and angels. They were ... heavenly beings of such beauty
mankind was stuck with awe to look upon them. It suits you."

He did something then that stunned her. He blushed.
He rose so abruptly when she'd finished sealing the wound

he nearly bowled her over. She caught herself, watching as
he strode across the room and touched a panel. A door slid
open and she glimpsed the fixtures of a bathroom before the
door closed behind him. Dragging her gaze back to the man
who still needed attending, she rose to her feet, pressing her
hand to the small of her back to relieve the strain. "If you
could just lie down?"

He complied, stretching out full length on the bunk. Oddly

enough, he looked bigger lying down than he had before, far
more imposing, possibly because he seemed to take up the
entire bunk? Suppressing the quiver that went through her
without examining it too closely, she settled the bag of
instruments beside the bunk and took his injured arm,
struggling to lift it. He lifted it for her. Perching her buttocks
on the edge of the mattress, she caught his arm and settled it
across her lap. It was less of a strain on her shoulders and
back to work seated, but she found she was almost more

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conscious of the man than she had been when she'd knelt in
front of Gabriel.

Even thinking the name sent an unwelcome tingle of

warmth through her. Added to her keen awareness of the
man on the bunk, the warmth of his hip seeping through her
clothing and into her buttocks, the warmth and weight of his
arm across her lap, she discovered she had to force herself to
concentrate on her task. When she'd cleaned the angry red
flesh that surrounded his wound and coated it liberally with a
topical anesthetic, she glanced at his face to discover he was
studying her. "I suppose it would be too much to ask why you
took me?" she asked hesitantly.

His dark brows drew together thoughtfully. "We were not

ordered not to do so."

Bronte waited. When he didn't seem inclined to say more,

she lifted her brows questioningly. "Well, why?"

"That should be obvious."
Bronte's lips flattened with a touch of irritation. "To you,

maybe," she responded tartly. "It isn't at all obvious to me.
You didn't even want me to attend your wounds!"

"We did not ask."
Bronte stared at him with more than a little irritation. He

didn't appear to be deliberately baiting her, but he was
nonetheless. Getting answers out of him was like pulling
teeth. It occurred to her after a moment, though, that what
he'd left unsaid seemed to imply that they had wanted her to.
They just hadn't asked. "You wanted to, but you were afra ...
didn't want to ask?"

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His dark brows rose. "It did not occur to us to ask because

it did not occur to us that you would be willing ... and you are
not trained as a surgeon, in any case."

Bronte pursed her lips as she glanced down at his arm. "I

am trained as a surgeon," she disputed, "minor surgery,
anyway. You were looking at my father's records, if you
recall, not mine. At least ... you suggested as much."

"I say ... or do not."
Confused, Bronte's brows knitted as she focused on closing

the wound. She looked up at him questioningly when she had
finished. "I'm not sure what you mean by that."

"I have not the facility for tact or subtlety or diplomacy. I

was sold as a soldier and had no need for that. I do not
suggest. I say, or do not."

It still took Bronte several moments to understand

because, she realized wryly, she was too distracted by his
nearness to think straight. "So ... you were not ... uh ... you
didn't.... "She broke off abruptly, horrified that she'd felt the
impulse to know if he had been programmed for sex as
Gabriel had. She cleared her throat as she bent his arm and
settled it across his chest. "You didn't tell me your name," she
said to change the subject as she shifted down the bunk to
examine the wound on his thigh.

"You did not ask."
Bronte let out an irritated huff of breath, deciding she

didn't care what his damned name was. She didn't think for a
moment that he was so literal minded that he could not grasp
the subtle meanings of any conversation. He was being
deliberately provoking. She just didn't know why.

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It was a good deal more awkward, she discovered, to

attend his thigh from a sitting position. She had to twist
sideways to cleanse the area with the antiseptic. Before she
could rise, however, he lifted the leg as he had his arm,
dropping his thigh across her lap. Blood instantly flooded her
cheeks as she found herself between his splayed thighs. Even
as she opened her mouth to object, however, he hooked his
leg around her, dragging her closer until there was no
ignoring his anatomy whether she looked directly at it or not.
His testicles were nestled snuggly against her hip.

His penis shifted with his repositioning of his body, landing

against the thigh she needed to attend. She stared at the soft
lump of flesh that settled against his leg when he shifted,
completely unaware that she was staring, that she'd gone as
perfectly still as if she'd been frozen in place.

"A little higher and I would have lost more flesh than I

liked."

The comment brought Bronte out of her trance, dragging

her gaze upward to his face automatically. He stared back at
her, his handsome face completely devoid of expression, and
yet she had the sense that he was amusing himself at her
expense, waiting for her reaction. Unconsciously moistening
her dry lips, she dragged her gaze from his and looked down.
With as much professional unconcern as she could manage,
she moved his penis to lie across his testicles. The moment
she let go of it, it flopped on his thigh again. This time,
however, it was not soft ... not fully erect either, but certainly
noticeably firmer and fuller than before ... and longer.

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Resisting the urge to either touch it again or glance at his

face, she decided to ignore it and focused on her task,
desperate to finish as quickly as possible.

Gabriel emerged from the bathroom as she finished

bathing the man's flesh with the anesthetic. He was wet.
Water dripped from his hair and trickled down across his bare
chest. With a will of its own, her gaze encompassed his
glistening body from the black hair slicked along his shoulders
and upper chest to his bare feet. It took an effort to pry her
gaze from him and even more of a struggle to tamp the
shivery awareness that made her feel overly warm at the
weight of his gaze on her.

She was a physician, she mentally berated herself! Nudity,

no matter how fine the specimens, no matter how blatantly
male, should not have the effect of completely addling her
wits!

He crossed the cabin after a moment, pressing a panel on

the wall opposite the bath that opened to reveal a locker.
Relieved to see he was dressing, Bronte turned her attention
to the wound and carefully clipped the burned flesh away
from healthy flesh. As with Gabriel's chest wound, she
discovered she couldn't hold the flesh together and
manipulate her instrument at the same time. Apparently
seeing her dilemma, Gabriel approached, knelt beside the
bunk, and held the wound closed while she sealed it.

Releasing a sigh of relief when she'd finished, she glanced

at Gabriel as she brushed her hair from her forehead with the
back of one hand.

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He was still bare-chested, she discovered with a start. He

rose even as she glanced at him, turned on his heel, and
departed, giving her a good view of his tight buttocks, which
the thing he was wearing left completely exposed. She didn't
know what it was, but it was certainly not under-shorts!

Her patient caught her attention as he sat up. Still trapped

by his leg, Bronte's eyes widened as the movement brought
his chest directly into her line of vision. She tipped her head
back to look up at him just as his hands settled on either side
of her head, entrapping her thoroughly for his perusal, which
he took his time with.

"It is a very great shame that you are human," he said

finally.

"Why?" Bronte asked, her voice little more than a breathy

whisper.

Something flickered in the depths of his deep, jewel green

eyes. Instead of answering, he released his hold on her.
Dropping his hands to her hips, he lifted her up and set her
away from him and then rose and went into the facilities.

Bronte stared at the closed door for several moments after

he'd disappeared and finally got up shakily. With the
mindlessness of long practice, she gathered the things she'd
used and returned them to her bag, more shaken than she
could ever recall being in her life.

They'd taken her and she still had no clue why. She should

have been shaking with terror, she mused, not thoroughly
rattled by an inopportune surge of raging hormones and
animal lust.

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She was afraid, deep down scared, but that had certainly

not prevented a physical response and her body clearly had
no discrimination. They were cyborgs! Not even real flesh and
blood men!

She glanced at her hands at that, staring at the blood that

belied that thought.

They bled. They felt pain. Whatever they'd tried to make

her believe, despite the fact that they'd managed to control it
and move and behave as if they were completely unhurt, she
knew better.

They hadn't simply interacted with her, responded stiltedly

in a facsimile of human behavior. They'd been toying with
her, verbally sparring, provoking her to see how she would
react.

They were not simply machines. She didn't know what

they were. She didn't know how it had come about, but they
had evolved well beyond machines with AI and clever
programming. They were thinking beings! Sentient life forms!

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Chapter Three

Escape was the single thought running through Bronte's

mind as she left the cabin. Even as she stepped out, however,
she could see the other two cyborgs at the helm of the small
craft.

There was no escape!
There wasn't even a place where she could be alone to fall

apart where they couldn't witness her weakness and analyze
it, and probably record it for the others.

There were others, she knew. She had no idea how many

others. The company certainly hadn't published the figures
and even if they had, they would very likely have lied.

She stopped, surveying the mid-section of the vessel. If

she only had a little space, a little time to herself to come to
grips with the hopelessness of her situation....

Her gaze lit on the door of the facilities in mid-ship. She

made a bee line for it before she had even fully registered
that she had found a temporary haven. She needed to wash
up after attending them anyway.

There was another bath ... room, fully equipped, assuming

they had need for it and she supposed they must if they had
two bathrooms ... or maybe not. They might have stolen the
ship and refitted it. Should she assume they were fully
functional pseudo-biological entities?

Why the hell not! They were functioning completely on

their own as far as she could tell. They had obviously planned
and executed the mission to grab her ... in the teeth of

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opposition, which they had expected and been prepared for.
They had risked their lives to grab her ... or rather her father,
but the very fact that they had simply adjusted the original
plan without missing a beat was proof positive of evolved,
more human-like thinking. AI certainly allowed for
adjustments in the face of error or miscalculation. That was
what it had been designed for, but even with it the bots had
never been able to function with this level of efficiency.

More accurately, they had required a considerable amount

of time to adjust. Depending upon what they had to adjust
for, it could take a minute or hours. Unlike human decision
making, which involved almost as much 'hopefulness' as
facts, the computer with the AI unit could not be satisfied
with 'almost' or 'close' or 'best three out of five'. They could
not function without absolutes, would stop for however long it
took for them to carefully and methodically reevaluate the
situation.

Gabriel had come to a decision as soon as he had fully

grasped that she was a doctor, just as her father had been,
same specialty, same training and education, just not as
much experience. From what she could tell, the other two had
arrived at the same conclusion in roughly the same amount of
time. Dr. Bryan Alexander Nichols was no longer among the
living and not an option, so they had taken her instead.

Why did they want her? Actually, she didn't suppose they

did. They had not seemed particularly happy about having to
take her instead of her father.

But why would they have any need for a pediatrician?

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There was only one reason they would, of course, but it

was nonsensical. Even if she did accept that they had
somehow evolved into sentient beings—and she still hadn't
completely accepted that notion—they had begun 'life' as
machines. Reproduction was beyond them, beyond any of
them. The simplest organisms could reproduce. The most
complex could, but nature was the determining factor in
procreation. Mankind, as advanced as they were, could not
start with nothing and make something.

The company certainly wouldn't have any rhyme or reason

to give the cyborgs reproductive organs, artificial or
otherwise. Functioning sex organs in the sense of recreation
certainly—that had been a huge boon to the industry—but
nothing beyond that.

She didn't think they had made a mistake and taken a

pediatrician when they had needed some other specialist.

For that matter, it seemed odd that they would think they

would need any kind of doctor. As Gabriel had pointed out,
they had nanos for repair, and the nanos were programmed
to repair whatever the problem might be, mechanical or
biological in nature. Sure, she supposed there would be
instances like the one she had helped with, but she thought
they would've managed well enough without her.

She just hadn't been able to resist sticking her nose in

because she suffered from a conviction that she had to help if
anyone was hurt or sick.

Trying to reason through it when she had nothing to go on

made her head hurt. It seemed evident anyway that they

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meant her no harm ... beyond taking her against her will, that
is.

She realized, though, that she was struggling with it

because she needed the reassurance. If she could convince
herself they had a purpose for her that didn't involve ending
her life, she would feel better, less frightened even though
she was in a situation she could neither control or escape
from.

She wasn't going to be able to do that, though, unless they

decided to tell her something. After washing her face and
hands for a good five minutes, she finally realized it wasn't
helping to soothe her and shut off the tap. Turning, she
stared at the bathing unit speculatively for several moments
and finally dragged her clothing off.

Water spouted from the thing, startling the hell out of her.

She stood gaping at it for several moments before she finally
nerved herself to get in. It was so cold it knocked the breath
out of her. She grabbed frantically at the knobs, trying to turn
the thing off, and discovered hot water. She scalded herself
before she finally managed to figure out how to adjust the
knobs to get both cold and hot at the same time.

"God," she muttered. "This ship must be a real dinosaur!"
No one except colonists on more primitive worlds used

water to bathe in anymore!

It felt good, though, she decided once she finally had the

water adjusted. In fact, it felt better than just good. The hot
water seemed to reach right down inside of her and warm the
deep chill that had engulfed her. She stayed far longer than

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she should have, but it took all she could do to turn off the
water.

She stood dripping for a while, trying to find a button that

would activate the drying cycle. She was shivering by the
time she finally gave up and got out of the bathing unit.
Noticing a locker built into the wall, she decided to check for
the possibility of clean clothing. Instead, she found large
sheets of some sort of fluffy material. Shivering, she wrapped
it around herself and, after surveying the options, settled on
the toilet.

She thought she might have been happier if they had

thrown her into a small cell and locked the door. Maybe she
would have felt confined, at least after a while, but she would
also feel safe locked away from them.

She had been sitting with her face in her hands long

enough her feet and legs and buttocks had become numb
from sitting when there was a rap on the door that startled
the hell out of her.

"There is food," said a disembodied voice from the other

side of the door.

"Thank you!" Bronte responded automatically and then felt

embarrassed and silly.

She wasn't hungry. Her stomach was tied into knots. Even

if she had been, she didn't think she could face sitting down
to a meal with the three giant cyborgs.

Assuming, of course, they ate.
Maybe they had only prepared food for her?
She didn't care. She wasn't hungry and she wasn't coming

out until she was good and ready. Realizing she was dry, she

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put her clothes back on, wondering if she was going to have
to wear her uniform for the rest of her life and how much
time that might translate into. When she was dressed, she
wrapped the damp cloth around herself again. Damp or not, it
gave her some added warmth, made her feel more shielded
somehow.

After looking around, she finally decided to sit on the floor

awhile and when she grew tired of that, she lay down on her
side and curled up into a tight little ball. She lay listening to
the sounds outside at first, a little surprised that they seemed
to actually carry on conversations—not that she could make
out what they were saying, but it sounded like it must be a
conversation. She could hear first one voice and then
another. She heard them passing back and forth by the room
where she was holed up. A few times, she heard footsteps
approach the door, pause for a few moments and then go
away again.

She dozed off. She had no idea how long she'd been

locked in the bathroom, but after a while the shaking stopped
and she grew warm and relaxed.

The noise that woke her made her shoot to her feet in

alarm, but it was only a deep seated, instinctual reaction to
threat. It didn't do anything for her equilibrium or even
awaken her mind enough to really function. Opening wide,
burning eyes, she stared at the hole where the door had been
as the blond haired cyborg casually set the door he'd just
ripped from the hinges to one side, stepped inside with her
and caught hold of her before she could even consider trying
to elude him. She staggered drunkenly as he hauled her out

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of the bathroom. He caught her against his chest and then
bent and scooped her into his arms.

"Wha...?" she managed as he added dizziness to her

already teetering world when he swiveled around with her
and strode purposefully ... she didn't know where he was
going. Only that he seemed in a great hurry to get there.
"Whas gon...? Where...?"

"To bed."
Bronte's eyes nearly bugged out of her head at that.

"Bed?"

He settled her on the bunk where she'd treated the others'

injuries earlier. She fought a short round with him over her
cloth, but it was a losing battle from the start even if she
hadn't still been too disoriented to be able to defend herself.
When he'd taken it from her, though, he rolled her across the
bed, dragged the tucked blanket from beneath her, and then
rearranged her on the bed and tossed the blanket over her.
She caught hold of it with both hands, snatching it up to her
nose and peering at him over it. He settled his hands on
either side of her, leaning his weight on them as he stared
down at her. "You will sleep here when you need to rest."

Bronte blinked at him, more because her eyes were still

stinging from being so abruptly wakened than because she
didn't understand the order. It wasn't precisely delivered as
an order, but his tone didn't encourage argument. He studied
her a moment longer and finally settled a hip on the bed
beside her. Grasping the edge of the blanket, he pried it from
her fingers and settled it across her shoulders.

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"You are in no danger," he said quietly. "You do not need

to hide in the facilities ... and, as you see, it would make no
difference if any one of us wished to go after you."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Bronte

demanded shakily.

He tilted his head at her. "Yes."
"Well, it doesn't!" she said forthrightly.
He frowned faintly. "What would make you feel better?"
"Going home."
He stared at her for a long moment. Finally, his lips curled

up in amusement. "Besides that."

Bronte thought it over. "What are you going to do with

me?"

"Nothing."
She frowned at him. "Then why did you take me?"
"Orders."
"Orders? Like ... military, you mean?"
"Yes."
Bronte studied him with some irritation. "Can you, maybe,

string a few words together so that we could exchange
information a little more efficiently?"

This time his lips merely twitched, but she could see a

distinct gleam of amusement in his eyes. "I will try."

"Do you have a name?"
One corner of his mouth tipped up this time. "Yes."
She waited for a long moment. When he said nothing else,

she let out an irritated huff and turned on her side, presenting
him with her back. She felt the bed shift as he rose. A

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moment later, she felt warmth as he leaned over her.
"Gideon," he said in little more than a whisper near her ear.

She whirled her head to see what he was up to as she felt

him lean over her. She met him almost nose to nose as spoke
next to her ear. For several heartbeats, they merely stared at
one another. He seemed as disconcerted as she was, but he
made no attempt to draw back. Instead, his gaze wandered
over her face. Finally, he straightened. "You do not need to
be afraid, Bronte. No harm is intended toward you, and none
will come to you ... not at our hands."

Bronte sent him a scared look. "Whose?"
He shook his head. "I can not speak for your own people.

Only mine."

She thought that over. "You're talking about the militia

trying to blow up the ship?"

"It is unlikely we will run afoul of more this far out, but,

yes. If they spot us they will try to blow us up."

He'd nearly reached the door before she thought of

another question. "Where are we going?"

"The Cyborg Nation."
Bronte sat up in the bed and stared at him in horror.

Nation? "Why are you taking me there?"

He tilted his head curiously. "That should be obvious—to

attend our young."

Bronte was certain that she was thoroughly awake by the

time Gideon left, but, although her mind was busy going back
over what he had told her for a good while after his
departure, she drifted to sleep again eventually. She had just
reached deep sleep when she was jostled awake first by the

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feel of two arms shoved beneath her and then, when she'd
been deposited nearer the bulkhead, the coldness of the
sheets above and below her. Shivering, she tried to move
back to the spot she'd already warmed. Even as she rolled
toward it however, the outside of the bed dipped. The dipping
gave her roll more momentum than she'd calculated on.
Instead of landing on the floor, however, she came up against
something as big and solid as the wall ... except a lot warmer.

Disoriented, she sat up and looked around groggily. The

man who'd just climbed into bed beside her pushed her down
on the pillows again. "Go back to sleep."

"Ok," Bronte mumbled and rolled onto her side, planting

her butt next to the warmth in the bed. The little space left
for her, however, was the patch of ice next to the wall, for he
took up most of the bunk.

He stiffened when she wiggled her ass up next to his

warmth, but after a moment he rolled onto his side facing
her. "You are cold?"

Bronte nodded instead of answering, but he apparently

took that as a yes. Shifting closer, he draped an arm over her
waist and dragged her toward him until she was nestled
snugly against him. His warmth immediately began to filter
through her entire back. Dimly, she realized she shouldn't be
snuggling so cozily, but she was cold and he was warm and
that was all that mattered to her at the moment.

Her front side stayed cold despite the furnace at her back,

though, and after a few moments, she struggled until she
managed to roll over and burrowed as close to the source of
heat as she could get with her arms pinned tightly to her

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chest. He stiffened all over again when she nuzzled her cold
face against his warmth. After a few moments, though, he
merely leaned away long enough to pry her arms away from
her so that her elbows weren't digging into him, arranged her
to suit his own comfort and curled around her again. As hard
as the surface was that she found herself flattened against, it
radiated heat, and the moment she thawed enough for her
muscles to relax, she went under again.

Her last thoughts and impressions before she had gone to

sleep stirred her awake some time later, wandering randomly
through her mind at first and spawning bizarre dreams and
then not so strange but a good deal more disturbing dreams.
The faces of the cyborgs swam in and out of these half-
waking dreams, first one and then another. She jolted awake
just as Gideon's face zoomed in to her mind's eye in an
extreme close up.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she opened her eyes, and then

blinked to try to focus the blurry image looming over her.

Gideon, his face propped on one hand, was staring down

at her intently, his long, blond hair tousled from sleep, his
deep, dark blue eyes narrowed. Bronte stared back at him
blankly while her mind wrestled with the dream she'd just
had, trying to disentangle dream from reality.

His hand, the one not supporting his cheek, which she

discovered had been resting on her hip, settled on her cheek.
The pad of his thumb stroked along her lower lip, making it
tingle and itch.

And then he stuck his thumb in her mouth.

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Quicker than thought, she chomped down on the digit with

her teeth.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he snatched his abused

member from her mouth, scraping it on the sharp edge of her
teeth still digging into it.

Horror at her insane impulse to bite him washed through

Bronte even before the pain she'd inflicted translated into a
furious frown on his face. Instinctively expecting retaliation,
Bronte threw her arms up to shelter herself.

He caught her wrists, pried her arms away from her face

and shoved her arms over her head. She resisted every inch
of the way for all the good it did. When he'd crossed her
wrists over her head, he locked them in place with one hand,
the tight curl of his thumb and forefinger almost completely
encircling both wrists. She stared up at him warily when he
shifted the weight of his chest over her to pin her body in
place, staring down at her through narrowed eyes.

"I'm sorry!" she said on a choked breath, choked because

the weight of his chest pressed down on her belly and lower
chest too heavily for her to drag in more than a shallow
breath.

He didn't look appeased. She saw why when he brought

his injured thumb into her view as he examined it. She'd
drawn blood. His eyes were glittering when he shifted his
attention from his thumb to her face again.

A twinge of rebelliousness had sparked to life, along with

guilt, as she had studied his thumb. She hadn't invited him to
stick his damned thumb in her mouth after all! But the spark
winked out at the look of intent on his face.

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It dawned on her as she stared up at him in wide eyed

wariness that he was contemplating retribution. "It was an
accident," she added quickly as his gaze moved from her face
to the neck of her uniform.

The comment brought his gaze back to hers. "You

accidentally bit me?"

She reddened at his tone of disbelief. "Miscalculated?" she

tried. "It was a muscle spasm."

He caught at the neck of her uniform and yanked at the

meshed closure, opening the thing from neck to waist. She
sucked in a shocked breath. With deliberation, he caught the
edge of her stretchy undergarment and yanked that down,
too. Her breast popped free of restraint, the dark aureole
instantly puckering at the cool air and making her nipple
stand erect. Her eyes widened as his head descended.
Gritting her teeth, she yanked at her arms and rocked, trying
to elude the mouth descending purposefully toward her
breast.

Squeezing her breast with his hand, he extended his

tongue and licked the skin all the way around her distended
nipple. It knocked the breath out of her as if he'd punched
her in the stomach. She tensed all over with distrust, still
expecting pain for pain, unable to manage a clear train of
thought, but certain he was only trying to lull her into a false
sense of security. Puckering his lips, he closed them over the
tip, plucking at her nipple with no more than his lips until it
became so engorged with blood that it began to throb.

She was shaking all over when he lifted his head, but she

almost sighed with relief.

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It was short lived. Releasing his grip on her breast, he

settled his hand on her face again, used his thumb to pry her
jaws apart and slipped his thumb inside her mouth. She
stared at him, wondering what he expected, or wanted, her to
do. She wasn't stupid enough to even try to bite him again,
however.

She hadn't actually meant to bite him to start with. It had

just been one of those insane impulses that sometimes hit
her out of the blue, a brain malfunction that inevitably led to
disaster when the random impulses hit her.

After staring at her a long moment, as if daring her to bite

him, he lowered his head again. Bronte bucked against him
uselessly when she saw his intent, but it only helped him,
lifting her breast to his mouth as he opened it. She flinched
as his mouth opened over the nearly painfully sensitive bud,
cutting her gaze down at him in horrified fascination as he
started sucking on her. Her belly clenched and then
everything else inside of her. Needing to swallow, she closed
her mouth around his thumb and did.

A wave of heat flowed through her. The epicenter seemed

to be her sex. It tightened again as he flicked the tip of his
tongue across the surface of her nipple, this time producing
both warmth and moisture.

Her eyelids slipped shut of their own accord. The moment

they did, her entire being seemed to focus on the heat of his
mouth and the gentle, steady tugging that spread tingles of
awareness throughout her body, raising her temperature. And
each time he sucked, her sex seemed to echo the pleasurable
tug, tightening with the same rhythm.

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She swallowed around his thumb again. Again the

sensation echoed in her sex. The walls of her channel wept
moisture, clenched tightly around the nothing it had to hold
on to but seemed to want. The slow seduction of his mouth
and tongue as he alternately suckled and then teased her
sensitive nipple with the tip of his tongue enthralled her. After
a few moments, Bronte completely lost touch with any reality
except the building heat inside of her. She had no idea when
she began to suck enthusiastically on his thumb in counter to
the wildly seductive pull of his mouth on her breast, but
disappointment filled her when he withdrew it and then
compounded the insult by lifting his mouth from her breast.

It took an effort of will to lift her eyelids and look at him as

she felt his gaze on her face. His eyes, she saw, were so dark
she could see no more than a thin ring of deep blue around
his pupils. His breath was almost as ragged as hers. "Do not
bite me again," he said after a long moment. "You may think
I feel no pain. I do."

Her brain had ceased to function. He'd released her,

pushed himself off of her, and rolled off the bunk, getting to
his feet before the meaning sank in. She was still staring
blankly at his back, though, wondering what had happened,
as he strode across the cabin and disappeared into the
facilities.

A chill went through her. She shivered, looked down at her

bare breast and finally adjusted the undergarment and
snatched her uniform together. Shivering as the heat
dissipated from her skin, she pushed herself upright and
fumbled at the closure of her uniform. Her hands were

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shaking so badly, though, that she had to realign the edges
twice before she managed to smooth the closure.

She looked at Gideon sharply when he left the bathroom,

but he turned and left the cabin without glancing in her
direction. He'd bathed and changed, she saw. His blond hair,
combed neatly now, was slicked to his head, darkened almost
to black by the water.

Cyborg Nation

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Chapter Four

Bronte's legs were so shaky when she got up and headed

for the bathroom it felt almost as if she was trying to walk on
rubberized appendages. Having relieved herself and washed
her mouth, she got into the shower to bathe and had just
lathered her hair when she heard the door open. Whirling at
the sound, her hands suspended in her hair, she gaped at the
man standing on the other side of the clear bathing panel.

She'd expected Gideon, although she had no idea why.
Maybe she'd just hoped he had come back to finish what

he'd started?

Instead, she discovered it was Gabriel who had stopped to

survey her without any pretense of disinterest. Belatedly
remembering she was stark naked as his gaze settled on her
mound, she snatched her hands from her hair and covered
herself. Her hair, laden with soap, promptly landed across her
face, blinding her. She squinted at him with the one eye not
covered by her hair, blinking to try to get the stinging soap
out of it.

Seeing her predicament, he tilted his head, his pale blue

eyes gleaming, his lips curling upward slowly until they finally
parted in a grin as he waited to see just how long she could
stand it before she moved one of her hands to rescue her
eyes. After debating for a moment whether she least wanted
to expose her breasts or her sex, she finally tilted her head
and tried to sling the hair out of her eyes.

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He chuckled. Lifting one hand, he showed her the folded

clothing he held, glanced around for a place to put them and
finally dropped them onto the narrow counter that ran the
length of one wall between the bathing cubicle and the toilet,
encompassing the lavatory. He paused in the door before he
left, however, turning to look at her again. The amusement,
she saw, had vanished. "There is food when you are done.
This time, you will eat."

Bronte had never thought she was particularly shy, but

then again she had never found herself in a situation anything
like her current predicament. And she certainly wasn't
accustomed to being naked around strange men.

Cyborgs.
She let out a huff of irritation. Men, she decided. They

walked, talked, looked, and behaved like men—not like any
she'd ever been around, granted. But then again, she hadn't
been around that many at all, not in close quarters. To all
intents and purposes, they were men.

The garment he'd brought her, she discovered, was a

uniform like the ones they'd been wearing when they'd taken
her. She supposed it did belong to one of them, though they'd
promptly discarded the uniforms once they were on the ship
again in favor of the loincloth-like garments that didn't cover
much of anything besides their genitals. Not surprisingly, it
didn't fit her. Although it fit the men almost like a second
skin, it hung on her—only coming close to a fit over her
breasts, and both the sleeves and the legs were way too long.

It brought home how woefully undersized she was next to

them more than anything else had. God! What had their

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designers been thinking to make them so huge! They could
have been half the size they were and they would still have
been four times as strong as their human counterparts.

After studying it over for a moment, she knelt and rolled

the legs up until the fabric wasn't dragging the floor to trip
her up and then did the same with the sleeve ends until she'd
uncovered her hands.

Combing her hair, she left it loose to dry. She didn't

especially want to leave the cabin, particularly after what had
happened between her and Gideon, but she was starving and
besides that Gabriel had made it clear that he would come
and get her if she didn't present herself.

They were talking, she discovered when she reached the

cabin door, and obviously she was the subject under
discussion ... or at least part of the discussion. She froze,
listening intently with her ear to the panel.

"...I am almost tempted to forget she is a human," Gideon

murmured thoughtfully.

"How could you forget that when she is afraid of her

shadow?"

"She has reason enough to be frightened. I would think

her witless if she were not," Gabriel responded coolly. "And I
would have no interest in her if she were, even though she is
beautiful."

Bronte felt her face heat. He thought she was beautiful?
My god, she thought, firmly tamping the pleasure the

comment had given her. Whatever women he was comparing
her to must be a pathetic bunch! She wasn't even close to
beautiful! Pretty might have been stretching it, though she

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supposed she had had enough appreciative glances from men
to support the possibility that men, at least, seemed to find
her passably attractive—though women had certainly never
viewed her with any envy at all that she could discern.

She'd always figured the masculine appreciation was

because of her hair, though. It was dark, very dark, but also
definitely red and there seemed to be something about red
hair, even as dark as hers, that fascinated men.

It was hardly surprising that cyborgs, designed and

programmed predominately by men, and also utilizing
biological materials donated by men, would be a lot like the
human males who'd created them.

"Your desire to find a mate has fried your brain receptors.

Rose is far more beautiful, and she is cyborg."

One of the others uttered a laugh that lacked humor. "Tell

that to someone who has not seen the way you look at
Bronte! In any case, Rose has already chosen three. She will
not take you as her fourth. The women are far more
interested in the Hunters than those like us. We are too 'cold
and emotionless' for their tastes ... when we are not being
'uncontrolled barbarians' because we are more used to killing
than trying to figure out how to woo a female. She bit me,"
he added after a moment, cluing her in to the fact that it was
Gideon speaking.

"What did you do to provoke it?" Gabriel growled, his voice

almost menacing.

"Nothing!" Gideon snarled back at him. "I was only ...

curious. She did not seem to be either afraid or repulsed by
me when I slept beside her."

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"What did you do when she bit you for doing something I

know damned well you had no business doing?"

That voice was the other male, the one whose name she

still didn't know, and he sounded almost as angry as Gabriel
had.

"I taught her not to bite me! How are 'brutes' like us to

learn how to woo a female when we can not get within a
hundred yards of a female of any description?"

She heard a noise that sounded like one, or more, getting

abruptly to their feet. She was so intent on listening to hear
what would happen next that she accidentally placed her
hand on the door control, depressed the button, and stumbled
through the doorway since she was leaning against door
panel as it flew open.

All three cyborgs were on their feet. At the sound of her

scrambling to catch her balance, all three whirled to stare at
her. She stared back at them in wide eyed dismay, feeling
guilty color creep up her neck and into her cheeks, wondering
if they would realize she'd nearly fallen out the door because
she'd been leaning against it eavesdropping.

The three men exchanged looks that promised to continue

the discussion later and returned to their seats. Bronte really
wanted to sink into the floor when they turned to look her
over, Gideon as if he was looking for signs of damage ... or
maybe just anger about what he'd done to her, and the other
two as if they were wondering what he'd done to her.

She sure as hell wasn't going to enlighten them! And she

was going to bite Gideon a lot harder if he told them!

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None of them looked the least bit disconcerted or

uncomfortable. She couldn't decide whether it was because it
hadn't occurred to them that she'd been listening to their
discussion or if it was because they didn't care whether she'd
heard it or not.

It wasn't as if they'd made any attempt to talk quietly.
On the other hand, she was embarrassed even if they

weren't. She was also burning to know what they'd meant.
She'd heard them clearly enough. She just didn't understand
the implications ... beyond the fact that all three of them had
more interest in her as female than she'd thought they did.

That was an unnerving thought, particularly when she had

no idea how long she was going to be trapped in space with
them before they reached their destination. It was certain to
be a long time, but it was bound to seem even longer if she
was going to have to be trying to fend them off.

She perched uneasily at the table where they were

finishing their meals, jumping nervously at the sudden
scraping sound as Gabriel slid a plate in front of her. She
stared down at her plate. It looked like the typical pre-
processed food one would find on any outbound vessel—not
terribly appetizing. She realized all three men were staring at
her, however, and picked up her eating utensil.

As if they had only been waiting to see if she would eat,

they returned their attention to their own food. She was
relieved and at the same time unnerved by speculation as to
what they would've done if she'd turned her nose up at it.

Uncomfortable with the tense silence, she searched her

mind a little frantically for something to say. The food seemed

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to want to stick in her throat. She swallowed convulsively
several times and managed to dislodge it. Gideon slid a glass
toward her. She flicked a glance at him, murmured her
thanks, and drank a sip of the water sloshing over the top.

She miscalculated the volume her mouth could hold and

rivulets of water streamed out of each side of her mouth. Her
depth perception wasn't worth a damn since her sight had
gone haywire on her. Or maybe it was just that her hand-eye
coordination had never been quite what it should have been?

Or maybe she was just nervous as hell?
Mopping the water off with the back of her hand, she

brushed at the front of the suit she was wearing. The gesture
gave her something to say although it was hardly the
sparkling conversational gambit she'd been looking for.
"Thank you for the change of clothes," she said, throwing a
quick glance and a polite smile in Gabriel's direction.

"It does not fit you," he responded.
She saw when she glanced at him that he was studying the

rolled sleeves—she hoped that was what he was staring at, at
any rate. He could have been staring at her breasts. He'd
certainly examined them thoroughly when he'd walked in on
her in the bath. "It's better than being na.... "Breaking off the
moment she realized her conversation had followed her
thoughts, Bronte cleared her throat. "Than nothing." She
blushed the moment she realized how rude that sounded. "No
change of clothes," she added uncomfortably.

"We had not anticipated our target would be a woman."
Bronte glanced up and found herself staring into

penetrating green eyes. Her mind leapt from his comment to

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the fact that the vessel had only one sleeping cabin and that
had only one bed ... a large one, true, but still, just one. "But
... there's only one bed!"

Inwardly, she cringed. She had almost managed to forget

her tendency to say whatever crossed her mind, mostly
because she had gotten so wrapped up in her medical
practice that she rarely engaged in 'social' conversations
anymore.

And her patients, those old enough to talk, were just as

bad about saying whatever popped into their minds as she
was.

"Two are on duty while the third sleeps. Speed was more

important than comfort."

"In any case, we are cyborgs," Gabriel said coldly. "We

were sold to the military as soldiers ... and therefore
unworthy of even the comfort a common human soldier might
expect. We are still soldiers, though now in the service of the
Cyborg Nation."

Bronte glanced automatically at Gideon when he spoke.

She wouldn't have if she'd taken a moment to consider it, but
she tended to react before she thought. The moment she
looked at him, her gaze dropped to his moving lips and
steamy images of what he'd done to her flooded her mind.
She knew when she met his gaze that he'd correctly
interpreted the train of her thoughts, that he was thinking
about it, too.

It would have made her extremely uncomfortable except

that Gabriel's comments snagged her attention, diverting her
completely. It seemed obvious from the way he spoke even if

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not for the comments themselves that if they had learned no
other human emotions, they had learned hate, resentment,
brutality. Comparatively speaking, they had been downright
gentle with her considering their programming.

Was that only because their orders were contrary to their

'natural' behavior? Or were they still learning, evolving? She
had overheard Gideon mention 'hunters' before, indicating
that they behaved more like 'humans'. She was on the point
of asking him about the hunters when it, fortunately, dawned
on her that she'd been eavesdropping at the time. She
couldn't ask without giving herself away.

She was still tempted.
Instead, she returned her attention to her food, trying to

eat enough to avoid censure although it was nearly cold by
now and even less appealing than it had been to begin with.
"If you hate humans so much, why did you take me?" she
mumbled to no one in particular.

"Unlike humans, Cyborgs are incapable of hate ... or any

emotion for that matter."

She glanced up at Gabriel when he spoke, staring at him

for a long moment. "You are very good at imitating then," she
said quietly. "There is just the right note of contempt and
venom in your voice each time you say 'human' to make me
feel as if you hate them and everything about them."

His black, nearly straight brows drew together over the

bridge of his nose, his finely etched lips compressing into a
thin line. "We did not need social graces to kill. You will have
to try to overlook our lack of skills in civilized conversation ...

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or behavior. You need not concern yourself in any case. We
are under orders to bring you back unharmed."

Nothing he had said had eased her fears at all, in fact,

quite the opposite because she was absolutely convinced that
they had attained self-awareness and with it the ability to feel
the full range of emotions ... without having been given the
opportunity to experience the gentler emotions that kept the
baser ones in balance. They had never known love at all.
They'd emerged full grown and infinitely dangerous from the
sterile environment of a laboratory and been sent out to kill
and maim and destroy. That was all they had experienced, all
they had had to learn from, and that was why they were very
familiar with hate and anger. If all of the cyborgs that had
managed to evade attempts to destroy them were as these
were, and she saw no reason to doubt that they were since
the soldiers were certainly better equipped to defend
themselves from their creators, then she had a lot to fear.
Strong emotions had a tendency to outweigh logic so she
didn't feel that the fact that they seemed to believe they
needed her was going to be the protection they seemed to
think it was ... or at least wanted her to believe it was.

Empathy smote her. It was awful to think that they had

come into awareness under such circumstances, that they
had not known anything 'good' at all, did not even have
happy childhood memories to sustain them. As difficult as she
had thought her own childhood was, she had had some
affection. She had had friends. She had had fun. There were
good memories to draw upon as well as bad ones.

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Depression settled over her, as well, because she realized

her life was never going to get any better than this. From this
point onward, she had nothing to look forward to with hope.
The vague, never completely abandoned dream that she
would one day meet a man she could love, or at least respect
and like a great deal, and have a family of her own was never
going to materialize. Even the barely acknowledged hope that
the men who'd taken her might form at least a friendly bond
with her vanished like smoke. She looked away from him,
stirring the remains of her meal on her plate. "To live among
others just like you three ... who also don't hate humans?
That is certainly something for me to look forward to! It is
such a great relief to know that as long as I'm considered
useful I get to live."

She got up and moved to the work area to clean the

remains of her food into the incinerator unit and clean her
plate and utensil. It was something to do, at least, to occupy
her hands and mind. Hearing the dull clank of the others'
plates and the stirring of movement, she wasn't startled when
she felt a presence beside her. She turned to discover it was
the one with green eyes and he was holding a stack of plates.
She reached to take them from him.

"It is my turn to clean up."
She didn't look at him. "I might as well have a turn, too.

God knows I don't want to be thought useless!"

"You are a doctor and much needed. Your place in our

society is assured, as are your comfort and well being."

They could tell her that forever and it wasn't going to

make her feel any less threatened! They were cyborgs, for

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fuck's sake! They already had an unfair advantage! Even
supposing these mythical children that needed her care
appeared—and she couldn't figure out how they thought that
was going to happen in this little community they were
working so hard to build—it wasn't as if she could guard
either her knowledge or her experience from them. They
would learn—a lot faster than she had—and then they
wouldn't need her!

She wasn't really surprised to discover when she looked up

at him that tears blurred her vision. She was deep down
scared and depressed besides. "Oh!" she snapped
sarcastically. "Well now I feel all better!"

As she looked at him angrily, the tears overflowed and ran

down her cheeks.

A frown drew his dark brows together as his gaze followed

the path. When he met her gaze again, his face had darkened
and grown taut with fury. She had just enough time to feel
faint when he whirled abruptly on his heel and stalked across
the main cabin. Grabbing Gabriel by the shoulder, he
snatched him around to meet the fist he slung at him.

Bronte's jaw dropped as the loud, meaty sound hit her

ears like an explosion. Gabriel flew backwards, skidding
across the table they'd been eating at moments before and
sending the glasses filled with water flying in every direction.

"Jerico!" Gideon bellowed, launching himself from the

pilot's seat and barreling toward the two men just as Jerico
launched himself on top of the fallen man ... or tried to ...
with his hands extended toward Gabriel's throat. Quicker than
thought, Gabriel brought his knees to his chest, caught Jerico

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with his feet and catapulted him across the small room. He
slammed into the cabinets only inches from Bronte. Uttering a
squeak of fright, Bronte dropped the dish she'd been holding
and whirled to run.

Leaving complete mayhem behind her, she dashed into the

rear cabin and looked around frantically for a place to hide.
She'd already dashed toward the bathroom when she skidded
to a halt at the realization that it was very likely the first
place they would look for her. Besides, it didn't have a lock.

She whirled, whipping her head from side to side in a

frantic search for possibilities, dimly aware that the sounds of
a fight were escalating not diminishing, as if all three men
were now in the midst of battle. The space under the bunk
was small, but she thought she could get under it. The
problem was, under the bed would probably be their second
guess if it wasn't the first.

Racing to the clothing locker, she popped the door open,

gauged the size of the shelves and decided she could just
squeeze into the bottom area. Grabbing the clothing from it,
she had already tossed them over her shoulder before it
dawned on her the scattered clothes would be a dead
giveaway. Snatching them up again, she looked around a
little wildly and finally threw them under the bunk. She
scraped the hide off of her arms and shins climbing into the
cubby hole at the bottom of the clothing locker, and it was a
miserably tight fit besides, but she managed to get in to it.

Closing the door behind her was even harder. Persistence

paid off, though. Cramped as she was, she had no difficulty
retaining body heat. Despite the shock and fright that had her

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shivering, she began to grow warm fairly quickly. She couldn't
hear the fracas from inside the locker—not nearly as well
anyway—but she counted that as a good thing, covering her
ears with her hands for good measure. The moment she did
that, it completely drowned out everything except her heart
beat, which was pounding like tribal war drums.

She was too scared at first to even consider what had

happened with anything approaching cognitive thought. She
couldn't get the violent images out of her mind, though. Over
and over, like a damaged vid that kept hitting a bad spot and
replaying everything before, her mind vividly recreated
Jerico's fist slamming into Gabriel's face, Gabriel flying
backwards across the dining table, Jerico flying backwards
across the room and the expression on Gideon's face that
promised even more fist slinging. Closing her eyes only
seemed to make it worse, though how that could be the case
when she was trapped in the dark already she couldn't
imagine.

She'd thought for certain she'd enraged Jerico by being so

snippy and sarcastic. Well, she supposed she had. She
shuddered. She wasn't sure if it was the violence itself or the
horror she felt that men that big were strong enough to sling
each other around that had her shaking like a leaf. Both, she
decided.

It wasn't as if she had never seen violence. She'd seen the

end results of it many times when she'd interned. She'd seen
a lot of actual violence, but as a spectator staring at news
clips or entertainment vids, not real life right on top of her
violence.

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The door of the locker opened abruptly. Bronte squeezed

her eyes more tightly shut. After a moment though, when the
door didn't close again, she opened one eye a crack to see
what was going on.

Gideon was crouched on the floor, studying her. Bronte

stared back at him with a mixture of embarrassment,
distrust, and fear. Jerico and Gabriel joined him, peering at
her with expressions she found impossible to interpret.

All three men were breathing deeply from exertion, their

hair wild and their faces battered and bleeding. After staring
at her for several moments, the three exchanged accusing
glares.

"Do not even think about it," Gideon said in a low, warning

growl when Jerico and Gabriel bristled at one another. The
two men turned to glare at him, but they subsided.

"Soldiers get rowdy when they have been too long from

action," Gideon offered.

Bronte stared at him. Apparently he recalled that they had

seen 'action' only the day before when both Jerico and Gabriel
had been shot escaping with her. "It was a long flight to
Earth," he added uncomfortably.

He blew out a breath of irritation and turned to glare at the

two in question. "Go and clean up the mess and repair the
damage to the mid-section."

Neither man looked terribly pleased by the order, but they

shot to their feet, saluted, and left. "Are you hurt?"

Bronte thought that over, but the only injuries she could

claim were self-inflicted when she was trying to get away
from the fight. When he asked, she felt twinges, bruising from

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slamming into everything in her path in her mad dash to
reach safety. "No," she said finally instead of pointing out that
that was because she'd had enough sense of self-preservation
to get as far away from the battle as fast as she could. If
she'd been caught in the crossfire they could've knocked her
head clean off her shoulders, or landed on her and crushed
her.

"Can you get out?"
She couldn't prevent a blush as his gaze assessed the

space she'd crammed herself into. The question, though, was
did she want to? And could he make her get out if she didn't
want to?

He took the locker apart shelve by shelf. She wasn't

certain if the shelves had been designed to be removable, but
he removed them anyway. When he'd removed the shelves,
he reached in, grabbed her by her upper arms and hauled her
out.

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Chapter Five

Bronte had to lock her knees to keep from falling when he

set her on her feet. She winced as she straightened, every
muscle and joint in her body protesting from being cramped
up so long.

Apparently he saw the wince. He moved his hands over

her, carefully checking bones and joints for breakage, she
supposed. Just as she was lulled by the gentleness of his
touch, he grabbed the front of the suit and ripped it open
from neck to crotch. Bronte sucked in a sharp breath of
surprise, too stunned even to protest as he casually stripped
the suit off of her. By the time she'd caught her breath, she
discovered that he was still examining her, her flesh now
instead of the bones, though why he thought he needed to
when he could see at a glance that she wasn't bleeding was
beyond her. A frown drew his brows together as he examined
the long bruises on her forearms and those on her shins from
her dive into her hiding place.

"Get dressed," he said finally and moved away.
Relieved, Bronte bent to grab the suit puddled around her

ankles and pulled it up, shoving her arms into the sleeves.
She was still trying to align the mesh on the front closure
when his hand closed around her wrist. Without a word, he
dragged her toward the bunk. She tripped over the pant legs
as they reached the bunk, sprawling across his lap as he sat
down and tugged her toward him.

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She nearly impaled herself on the scalpel he held in his

hand. Fortunately, he could move fast. He dropped it before
she could fall on it. He gave her a reproving look as he
righted her—as if she'd dove toward the thing on purpose!

Pushing her back so that she plopped down on his knee,

which was behind her, he caught one wrist and straightened
her arm. "Hold still," he said, a thread of irritation in his voice
as he picked up the scalpel he'd dropped.

Bronte shot to her feet, or rather tried. He hooked his

other arm around her waist and held her, giving her a look
that dared her to move. She would've jumped to her feet
again anyway except that the second time, he grabbed the
sleeve and slit the excess fabric before she had time to try to
snatch her arm back or jump to her feet.

"Oh," she said weakly when she realized he was only

trying to cut the suit down to size.

He sent her a dry look as he caught her other arm and cut

the end off of that sleeve. Feeling more than a little sheepish,
she lifted her leg and placed it across his opposite knee when
he'd finished trimming the sleeves. He sent her a look, but
instead of pointing out that she could trim the pants legs as
easily as he could—which she belatedly realized—he merely
pinched the fabric up and trimmed the material off just above
her ankle.

"I can do that," she said uncomfortably as he reached for

her other leg.

He ignored her, grasping her ankle and lifting her leg. The

move overbalanced her. She made a grab for him as she felt
herself tipping backwards and clawed three furrows across his

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chest before she managed to hook her hand around his upper
arm and catch herself. Fortunately, it wasn't deep enough to
draw blood, only to raise welts. Feeling a little nauseated, she
checked under her nails for skin anyway.

He was glaring at her when she looked up from examining

her nails. The look made her uneasy, especially after what
had happened the last time she'd hurt him. Reaching over,
she rubbed her fingers over the welts soothingly and leaned
down to blow on them for good measure. "Better?" she asked
hopefully when she straightened again.

He rolled his eyes heavenward. Shaking his head, more as

if from disgust than in answer to her question, he caught her
waist, as if he meant to set her away from him. Instead, he
paused once his hands had settled on her hips. He seemed to
wrestle with himself.

"We are not accustomed to being around women ... only

other soldiers like ourselves," he said haltingly and then
frowned. "Disputes are often settled with fists, especially
when there is no officer around—and no danger of ending up
in the brig as disciplinary action. Not one of us would harm
you—not intentionally. Beyond the fact that we are under
orders to bring you back safely—and it would mean our lives
if we failed—we do not make war on women." His gaze
flickered over her. "But you are human...."

Frowning, she looked away from him.
He caught her face and made her meet his gaze. "Frail

compared to us—even our women. In the heat of battle....
"He broke off and shrugged. "You were wise to get as far
away as possible, as quickly as possible, but you do not need

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to hide. No one will come after you. No one will turn their
anger on you. The next time, just return to the cabin and wait
for the argument to resolve itself."

She gave him a look of disbelief. "But you...."
Something gleamed in his eyes at the reminder, but she

didn't think it was amusement. "I did not say you did not
have to concern yourself that there would be no
consequences for your actions, only that you need not be
afraid that we will hurt you."

He almost seemed to shrug. "You are in no less danger

aboard this ship in that respect than you would be in any
other if you were to find yourself among men—human men—
who have not touched a woman in a very long time.

"Men, I might add, who have no mate waiting for our

return and little prospect of finding one."

Bronte stared at him in disbelief. "Well! If you think the

prospect of being gang raped by three men is any less of a
threat than being beat up, you certainly don't know a damned
thing about women!"

He closed his eyes, as if seeking patience.
Or maybe not. His eyes were blazing when he opened

them again, and not with anger. "I never said anything about
rape, Bronte. Believe me when I say you would be more than
willing. I know exactly how to touch you and where to touch
you. There is nothing about human sexuality that I do not
know. I could give you more pleasure than you ever imagined
possible and when I took you, you would be begging me to."

Bronte opened her mouth to dispute that despite the fact

that his words, in and of themselves, without a single touch,

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had made everything inside of her go warm and liquid and
quivery. His lips curled, as if he was waiting for her to issue
the challenge trembling on the tip of her tongue. It gave her
pause.

She still had to fight the urge to issue the challenge, not

because she doubted for a moment that a denial would be a
challenge to him but because she had an insane urge to see if
he could do what he claimed.

And she was suddenly absolutely convinced that he could.
He lifted a dark blond brow when she said nothing. "You do

not want to test it?" he asked pensively.

Bronte shook her head. Looking mildly disappointed, he set

her away from him and rose. "I felt honor bound to warn
you," he said as he paused at the door, "that I can not
guarantee you will arrive at our destination untouched. In
fact, I am as certain as I can be that you will not."

She glared at the door after he'd left, trying to ignore the

anticipation fluttering in her belly at his threat/promise.

She would've liked to have been able to convince herself

that it was fear, not excitement, but she knew it wasn't. She
wished that she could dismiss everything he'd said as pure
egotistical, male arrogance, but she knew better. She'd
suspected right off, the moment she got a look at everything
when she'd dressed Gabriel and Jerico's wounds, that they
were fully functional pleasure bots, even if they had ended up
being sold to the military instead as soldiers.

And if only half of the things she'd heard about them was

true he was neither lying nor exaggerating.

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How bright was it that the men who'd created them had

gathered together the combined wisdom and techniques of
the best lovers, added data compiled from god only knew how
many sexual research studies, and then designed the perfect
body to deliver that sexual atom bomb, she thought
indignantly? But then again, scientists had always been prone
to view their work as an extension of themselves and suffered
besides from a combination of egotism over their brains and a
lack of common sense or imagination. And it still seemed
utterly stupid to her that they'd marketed pleasure bots that
were ten times better than any human lover could hope to be.

And she was trapped on a ship with three of them!
Shivering, she looked around and finally sat down on the

bunk.

She was no prude—far from it, despite the fact that she

had not really had a lot of opportunities for sexual
experimentation. She might have had more if she hadn't felt
so driven to make her father proud of her, to live up to him
and his reputation, that she'd not allowed herself to be
distracted by her hormones. She'd been tempted a few times
but the timing had never seemed right and nothing had ever
come of it. She had actually gotten fairly deeply involved with
a fellow medical student when she had been in college—been
involved with Howard throughout most of their last two years
of study, but then he had been as driven to succeed as she
was ... which meant that neither of them had had much time
for an actual relationship. The truth was, she supposed, they
hadn't really been a lot more than a convenience to each
other, a reliable fuck when they needed it, and they'd stopped

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being even that 'close' when the heat had gone out of the
relationship—which was when they'd discovered they were
interning at different hospitals.

She'd barely had a half dozen dates since and less than

half of them had interested her enough to have sex.

She thought that probably explained, to a large extent,

why she found her captors so attractive—aside from the fact
that they were. No doubt it also explained why she was
tempted even though she knew they hated her just because
she human.

It was one thing to set out to have casual sex, though, and

another matter entirely to set out to have sex with someone
you knew held you in contempt, but was willing to fuck you
anyway. She could have lived with indifferent. She had
settled for indifferent. Except for Howard, who had at least
seemed to like her when they'd begun their relationship, it
had only been a matter of physical attraction with anyone
else she'd been with—not extreme physical attraction, just
interested enough that, given the right timing and
circumstances, she'd had sex with them. And she thought
that probably went both ways because afterward she hadn't
really cared whether she saw them again and they hadn't
seemed to be too put out when she wasn't interested in round
two.

Would it be any better when they finally got where ever it

was they were going, she wondered? She doubted it. Except
for the fact that she would not be trapped in a little space
ship with three cyborgs that hadn't had a piece of ass in a

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while and thought hers would do just fine, she couldn't see
that the future looked bright.

She would just have to keep to herself as much as

possible, she decided. The clothing they'd given her to wear
was pretty shapeless on her since it hardly touched her
anywhere. That wasn't going to tempt them.

It was going to be pretty damned hard to play least in

sight, though, considering how small the ship was—to say
nothing of the fact that there was only one bed and four
people on board.

She had a bad feeling they hadn't changed their sleep

rotation on her account. She supposed she could ask them to,
but that didn't mean they would.

She just wouldn't sleep on the bed, she decided. They

couldn't accuse her of trying to tempt them if she didn't use
the bed!

And she could claim the forward bathroom as hers, she

decided. They all used the one off the sleeping quarters
because this was where they kept their clothing.

It would probably be best, she decided, just to steer clear

of the sleeping quarters altogether, though she hated giving it
up because it was pretty much the only private area. If she
spent all of her time in the cabin, though, they might begin to
get the idea that she was just waiting for one of them, or all
of them, to take her on. Of course, she ran much the same
risk if she loitered within their view.

She wasn't just going to lay down and take it, literally,

though, not when every other word out of their mouths made
it patently clear that they didn't see her any differently than

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they viewed every other human, and that was with contempt
and hate. It wasn't that she didn't agree with a good bit of it.
Unfortunately, they were right about being superior, damn
them! Their creators, stupid things that they were regardless
of how brilliant they were as scientists, had gone out of their
way to make their 'creation' a masterpiece and superior in
just about every way to humans. And if it was true that the
cyborgs had evolved into awareness, and she had a hard time
disputing that, then everything that had been done to them,
up to and including putting a price on their heads because
they had 'gotten out of hand', created a mountain of reasons
for them to hate humans.

By rights, that should have been directed at their

tormenters, not the entire human race, but she knew they
were all being tarred with the same brush because, whether
they'd actually had a hand in it or not, most of them would
feel the same way and react the same way. The cyborgs had
become a threat, and humans, by their nature, dealt with
threats by trying to wipe it out.

* * * *

Gideon hadn't made it halfway across mid-ship where

Gabriel and Jerico were working on putting the galley area
back together when Gabriel happened to glance in his
direction and stiffened. Distracted as he was by his exchange
with Bronte, Gideon knew instantly what had caught his
attention—the scratches across his chest. Anger surged
through him. He was the senior officer on board. He did not

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answer to either Gabriel or Jerico and even if not for his rank,
he would not.

He stopped, meeting Gabriel's challenging glare with a

challenge of his own.

"She scratched you," Gabriel ground out.
"She did," Gideon responded coldly.
Jerico came upright and turned to stare at him, as well.

"Why?" he demanded, anger threading his voice.

Gideon slid an annoyed glance in Jerico's direction.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned almost casually
against the wall. "If it concerned you I might consider
answering—despite the fact that I am senior officer here and
do not consider it any part of my duty to answer to my
subordinates."

"This has nothing to do with rank, military matters—or

orders—and you damned well know it."

Gideon glanced at Gabriel. "It was not I who displayed a

complete lack of self-discipline and sent her into hiding," he
said pointedly. He examined his fingernails with apparent
interest. "If the point you were trying to get across to her was
that you were warriors capable of protecting her, you failed
lamentably. If, however, you thought it wise to make it
abundantly clear that you are little better than undisciplined
savages, then you should applaud yourselves. That display
was very convincing."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed. He slid a fulminating glare at

Jerico. "It was not I, either," he snarled.

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Jerico reddened. "You frightened her and you made her

cry. How you can figure that you did not start it is beyond
me!"

An expression of discomfort crossed Gabriel's features. "I

am supposed to know these things will upset her before I
open my mouth?" he growled. "I have not seen that telling
her nothing at all reassures her. Nor, might I add, did your
pretty speech seem to make her feel less threatened! And I
would like to know how it is that you have come to see
yourself as her champion! You claimed no interest in her
yourself. You claimed that you were courting Rose!"

"I do not have a mate," Jerico snarled. "It makes no

difference if I was courting Rose before we left. She will have
decided in this time to take another!"

"She is human—not cyborg."
Effectively silenced, Jerico and Gabriel both turned to stare

at Gideon at that.

"Even if you could get offspring on her, and you do not

know that you can, then it would most likely be human, not
cyborg."

"You do not know that," Gabriel said finally.
Gideon shrugged. "You will have to consider it, however.

We are part human ourselves. A human and a half-human will
likely produce a human ... assuming, as I said, you were able
to produce at all."

Jerico frowned, but thoughtfully. "We do not know, either

way, that we will have off-spring of our own. I want a woman
... even if I can not have a family."

"A woman?"

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Jerico reddened at Gideon's question. "Bronte."
"You are more clumsy even than I at this courting

business. You have already cut your throat with your tongue.
You might as well slash your wrists, as well—You and
Gabriel."

Gabriel gave him an indignant look. "How do you figure

that?"

Gideon favored him with a satisfied smile. "If you had not

had your mind on your cock, you would have noticed the
same as I that Bronte's reaction was not because of what you
said when we were dining together. She heard what you said
earlier."

Jerico stared at him a long moment and looked a little ill.

"When we were talking before?"

Gideon nodded, pushing away from the wall.
"She told you that?" Gabriel demanded.
"She did not have to. I knew she was listening at the

door."

Gabriel glared him resentfully, but he was trying to recall

exactly what it was that he had said.

"How?" Jerico demanded.
"Because I would have—we are her enemies the same as

she is ours. She is probably listening now."

Gabriel and Jerico both turned to stare at the closed door

of the cabin as Gideon strode past them to the bridge. After a
moment, they exchanged a speaking glance and followed
him.

"That was a damned low down trick!" Gabriel snarled.

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"I thought it was clever myself," Gideon responded

goadingly.

Gabriel's hands balled into fists.
Gideon eyed them with raised brows. "You will have to

learn to control your brutal tendencies if you expect to have
any chance of courting Bronte. I admit I do not have the
finesse the Hunters can claim, but I am very good at
observing, and I did not get the sense that Bronte was
favorably impressed with your display earlier."

Grinding his teeth, Gabriel unclenched his fists with an

effort. "You are plotting something," he said finally.

Gideon shrugged. "I was only thinking that, if I must share

her—and I do not mind telling you that I would rather not—
you and I and Jerico have been comrades in arms through
many battles on many worlds. There is no one I would rather
have at my back in any battle—including this one.

"And I was thinking we have a tactical advantage, for

once, and we would be fools not to utilize it when we are
already agreed that Bronte suits us."

Jerico and Gabriel exchanged a look. Slowly, they began to

smile. "We have her," Jerico murmured.

"Exactly," Gideon agreed. "For months. If we can not

figure out in that space of time how to win her...."

"We can manufacture a problem with the ship and squeeze

in a few more weeks, at least," Gabriel said thoughtfully.

Gideon frowned, turning his head to stare at the door of

the sleeping quarters thoughtfully. "God help us! We will kill
each other if it takes half that long. I am ready to tear her
clothes off and try to convince her another way already!"

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Jerico frowned. "Mayhap that is not such a bad idea," he

murmured thoughtfully. "We were fully programmed in that,
at least."

"Tearing her clothes off is a good idea?" Gabriel asked, his

eyes glazed and vaguely unfocused.

"I told you his mind was on his cock," Gideon said dryly.
"And yours is not?" Gabriel growled.
"Not that part of the idea," Jerico snapped. "If we

pleasured her she would not have as much time to consider
that we are not skilled at flirtation and have no idea how to
converse in a courtship, or what sort of things please a
woman outside the bedroom ... or any of those things."

An expression of annoyance crossed Gideon's features. "I

tried that," he said irritably. "She bit me. And I had not even
gotten started."

"Maybe it was the way you went about it?" Jerico asked

uneasily, obviously reluctant to give up his idea.

"She was asleep ... or just wakened, rather. If she had not

... rooted all over me as we slept I would not have considered
trying it," Gideon said crossly. "I will certainly not object if
either of you want to give it a try, but I have to tell you I do
not believe that method of guerrilla warfare will work on
Bronte. If she knees you in the balls, do not come to me to
complain."

Gabriel was frowning doubtfully. "It is hardly an ideal

situation since we were sent to capture her. She is bound to
hold a grudge over that."

"I never said it was ideal," Gideon said irritably. "Ideal

would be a woman for every man—or two. Not one woman to

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five or six and having to share a mate or do without. Ideal
would be if she was cyborg, as we are, and not an enemy."

"The council is expecting the man," Jerico pointed out.
"They expect a qualified pediatrician capable of also

teaching parenting skills," Gideon said testily. "And she is
qualified."

Jerico shook his head. "I mean—they expect a man. They

will not have considered the laws pertaining to a woman who
is human. The council may not allow us to contract with her
even if we do manage to persuade her."

Gideon and Gabriel exchanged a worried glance. "Then we

will demand that they consider it. If she is to be a citizen,
then she would have the same rights, and obligations, as
every other. The laws governing the family units would have
to pertain to her, as well—no less that two, no more than
four."

"I do not like that we do not have a fourth," Gabriel put in.

"As sure as hell, a damned Hunter will come wooing her once
we land and then we will be made to look more brutish and
uncouth by comparison!"

Gideon frowned, obviously no more pleased by that

prospect that Gabriel, but seemed to dismiss it after a
moment. "I do not see that we can do anything about that
now. We will have to 'discourage' any that get the notion," he
said decisively. "But there is no sense in concerning ourselves
about problems we do not have to face at the moment. If we
do not convince her before we reach home, you may be
certain the council will immediately be considering her as a

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potential mate, for there will be a great demand, and then
she may decide that she wants nothing to do with any of us."

Gabriel's expression darkened. "I would feel better if we

could contract with her before we land. Even if we could
convince her to agree to contract, then there is always the
chance that she might change her mind after we are home
and she sees that she may choose from many more than just
us three."

"That is what the courting is for," Gideon said irritably.

"Theoretically, the female develops an affection and then she
does not want to chose another."

Gabriel glared at him. "I know that much, damn it! It is the

way of getting them to feel the affection I do not
understand."

"I uploaded the data," Jerico said helpfully.
Both Gabriel and Gideon turned to glare at him. "I also

uploaded," they said almost in unison.

"And it is little more than a list of generalities—no help at

all that I can see. It is not the same as behavioral
programming," Gideon added, "which is not available to us.
And it is certainly not the same as the 'experience'
programming the Hunters have had since they were
programmed to believe themselves human and have
'memories' to draw from, even childhood memories—which
help them to understand human emotions far better than I do
... or either of you."

"They like gifts," Jerico said stubbornly.
Gabriel surveyed the small ship. "I do not see flowers or

chocolates," he growled.

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"We can give her the things we took from her office—there

were books. She might find pleasure in having those to read."

Gideon gave him a look. "She will no doubt be delighted

when we give her what we stole from her in the first place!"

Jerico reddened. "At least she will not be bored!"
Gideon and Gabriel exchanged a look. Gabriel shrugged.

"There is that."

Gideon drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of his

chair. "She is more likely to curse us or throw them at us ...
or perhaps both. But I suppose it is worth a try. You get them
for her. If she does not begin to scream and cry, then Gabriel
and I will try to find something else in the hold that she might
like."

"Why should I do it?" Jerico demanded indignantly.
"Because it was your idea," Gideon reminded him

reasonably. "And you were the one who took the books."

"You were the one who told me to get the books!"
Gideon shrugged. "That is beside the point. You got them."
Gabriel let out an irritated huff. "I will get them. It is my

rest period anyway, and she is already convinced I am a
soulless bastard. She can not hold me in less esteem than she
does already."

Gideon and Jerico turned to watch with interest when

Gabriel returned from the hold with a container filled with
books and headed toward the cabin. He was frowning when
he left the room again a few minutes later.

"I did not hear a scream," Jerico observed. "That is a good

sign."

"She is sleeping under the bunk," Gabriel announced.

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

A vague look of discomfort skittered across Gideon's

features. It occurred to him belatedly that mayhap it had not
been the wisest course to point out the obvious to her. But he
thought she could not have failed to notice that they desired
her and he had thought it might be best for her to begin to
adjust to the idea that they had no intention of depriving
themselves of the opportunity of bedding her. "I believe there
may be a trust issue."

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

Chapter Six

"We were told to bring anything you might need to work."
Bronte glanced up from the books she had been studying

and saw that Gabriel was watching her with a mixture of
wariness and defensiveness. The expression disappeared as
she met his gaze, wiped clean as if it had never been there at
all.

He looked refreshed, she thought with annoyance as she

allowed her gaze to flicker over him where he sat on the edge
of the bunk. She, on the other hand, had not slept well at all.
He had dragged her from beneath the bunk, where she had
retreated in hope of enjoying her solitude when she'd grown
too tired to maintain enough anxiety to keep her awake, and
settled her on the mattress, and then climbed in beside her as
if he'd been invited.

She wasn't certain if it was just that they didn't seem to

grasp subtle snubs; if they were grimly determined not to
allow her even to get away with passive resistance; or if it
was because she had helped herself to the only blanket. He
hadn't made any attempt to take advantage of her vulnerable
state, though, and she hadn't known what to make of his
behavior when she'd woken with him sleeping beside her as if
he belonged there.

"I don't suppose it occurred to any of you to drop by my

apartment and clean that out, as well?" she asked mildly.

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

He looked disconcerted and then angry/defensive again.

"The mission was to extract a doctor and the things he would
need to do his job."

"My father, I know," she said, releasing an audible sigh

that was equal parts frustration and resignation as she
returned her gaze to the books.

He had 'angry' eyebrows, she thought distractedly as she

stared at the volumes without really seeing them. Straight,
thick, and black, when he lowered that thunderous line over
his eerily pale eyes it made him look infinitely dangerous and
sent an involuntary shiver along her spine. Oddly enough,
those same two black slashes were very disarming when he
drew them together to form an upside down v above the
bridge of his nose anytime he was disconcerted, giving him a
vulnerable look that made her chest tighten uncomfortably.

It also had the undesirable effect of evoking the impulse to

smooth that 'worried puppy' look from his face.

It was a seriously dangerous, and potent, combination of

polar opposites to find in one man, who also happened to be
more handsome than he had any right to be and was built like
an anti-missile tank besides. How stupid was it to find that
expression so charming and disarming when it was attached
to a giant of a man that could go through a steel door like it
was made out of paper?

"Thank you," she said finally as he pushed himself off the

bunk and headed toward the facilities.

He came to a halt, swiveling to look at her with a mixture

of surprise and hopefulness. "You are welcome," he said

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finally, hesitantly, his voice gruff, as if he wasn't sure whether
she actually meant it or was being sarcastic.

She smiled at him when she saw his black brows twitch

upwards above the bridge of his nose, because she couldn't
seem to help herself. He stiffened, looked for a handful of
heartbeats as if he was battling the urge to move closer and
finally continued on his way.

Bronte let her breath out in a rush, not realizing until he'd

disappeared that she'd been holding her breath, braced for
assault.

The books were welcome. She'd felt a twinge of

resentment when she recognized them and realized they'd
been filched from her office, but then it had dawned on her
that she was probably several light-years from her office
already and unlikely ever to see anything that had been left
behind again. And she realized it was comforting to have
familiar things around her, even though it also made her feel
a pang of homesickness.

Besides, the books gave her something to occupy herself

with other than the dark, unnerving thoughts that had been
her constant companion since they'd snatched her away from
the life she'd had. She'd read most of them already, but there
were a few that she'd been meaning to get around to reading
and hadn't been able to find the time. Those on the list of 'to
be read' were primarily novels she'd bought purely for
entertainment. They were the 'rewards' she'd never gotten
around to giving herself for studying the dry texts she needed
to read to keep abreast of developments in her field.

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

After a short mental debate, she studied the titles of the

novels and finally chose one. A quick search of the room
revealed the unsurprising information that the bunk was the
only comfortable furnishing she could retreat to to read.
Climbing on the mattress, she settled with her back against
the wall, drew her knees up, and depressed the button that
opened the book. When she'd drawn the film from the
cylindrical case, she brushed her fingers across the film until
she reached the opening chapter, sighed blissfully, and
settled to reading.

She was an old fashioned sort of a gal, she supposed. She

still preferred to actually hold a book in her hands, feel the
crispness of film beneath her fingers, smell the faint odors of
plasti-metal and warming circuits. The holo-books that read
to her just weren't the same. She preferred her own voice in
her head as she read to the mechanical voice of the holo-
books.

Discovering she was squinting to try to focus, she worked

on zooming in and out on the text for several moments before
it dawned on her that she didn't have her glasses. She
frowned, trying to remember what she'd done with them, and
finally recalled she'd placed them on the floor near her when
she'd crawled under the bunk. Setting her book aside, she
climbed off of the bunk, got down on her hands and knees,
and peered under the bed for the glasses. She heard Gabriel
leave the facilities, but she didn't think much of it even when
she heard him head toward her ... until she felt a hand glide
over the curve of her ass and fingers wedged between her
legs, curling into her cleft. Letting out a yelp of surprise, she

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surged forward, scraping her lower back against the bottom
edge of the bed and then pan-caking against the hard floor.

Gabriel, now on all fours, was peering at her as she

whirled around to glare indignantly in his direction. Glaring
back at her, he grabbed her by one thigh and dragged her
from beneath the bed. She made a grab for her glasses and
managed to snag them on her way out.

"You do not need to hide," he said irritably.
"I wasn't trying to hide!" Bronte said testily, feeling her

face heat at the reminder that she'd already established a
habit of crawling into tight, dark spaces to elude them. "I was
trying to get my glasses."

He eyed the glasses she was shaking in his face, studied

her expression for a moment and abruptly caught her face
between two big hands, dragging her—by her head—toward
him. More surprised than anything else, she merely gaped at
the face zooming in on hers. The moment his lips closed over
hers, though, and his tongue speared between her parted lips
to delve inside her mouth, she reacted instinctively by
clamping down on it with her teeth. He retreated, releasing
her as abruptly as he'd caught her as if he'd just discovered
he'd grabbed a hot coal. They stared at one another—Bronte
with dismay that she'd yielded, again, to an impulse it
would've been far wiser to ignore, and Gabriel with
indignation.

Abruptly remembering what had happened the last time

she'd given in to the impulse to bite, Bronte crossed her arms
over her chest. She wasn't even wearing under clothes
anymore because she didn't have a change of under clothes.

Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, as if searching

for damage.

She hadn't bitten him that hard, she thought uneasily.
He caught her wrists with the same lightening, mind

numbing speed he'd caught her before, too quickly for her
mind to actually grasp what had happened for several
moments. Instead of trying to pry her arms from across her
chest, however, he surged to his feet, taking her with him.
She wasn't certain if it was surprise that slackened her
resistance, or if she had been lulled by the false conclusion
that he was only helping her to her feet. Either way, he
caught her off guard again when he jerked her arms straight
and then shoved them behind her back. The pressure arched
her back, bringing her up on her toes and plastering her chest
against his. After staring down at her upturned face for a long
moment, as if he was trying to decide what he wanted to do
in the form of retribution, he transferred her wrists to one
hand, lifted the other to close it tightly around the back of her
skull and dipped his head toward her again.

This time, instead of trying to kiss her, however, he

lowered his mouth to her exposed throat. Her breath caught
in her chest as she felt the tip of his nose brush the delicate
skin and then his lips. In an almost leisurely manner, he
explored the entire area and finally sank his teeth into the
side of her neck, just hard enough to sting and cause an
explosion of pebbly flesh as the fine hairs all over her body
came erect with anticipation. Blood rushed to flood both her
nipples and her sex, bringing them to pulsing life as he
sucked the sting away. Spearing her with his intense gaze as

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

he lifted his head to look at her again, he released her wrists
and cupped her buttocks, trapping them as he curled his hips
into hers, tilting her hips just enough to press his erection
against her engorged clit.

She should have felt threatened, horrified, disgusted. She

was certain she should have. Instead, she felt weak all over,
felt liquid desire heat her blood and send it surging through
her in a hot tide.

Releasing her unhurriedly, he turned and strode toward

the door.

Anger flooded Bronte as she watched his departure. She

didn't know if it was because he'd aroused every nerve ending
inside of her with keen anticipation and then left, because she
realized she'd come out the loser in their battle of wills and
sensed he knew it, too, or if it was a belated defensiveness
and outrage that he'd had the audacity to take what he
wanted regardless of her tactic refusal to yield. Whatever it
was, it was compounded when she discovered that,
somewhere in the rounds of being thoroughly aroused when
she didn't want to feel anything toward him at all, she'd
snapped the nose piece of her glasses.

Yielding to yet another stupid impulse, she threw them at

him as he reached the door. Fortunately, she had never been
terribly good at aiming. The broken glasses hit the wall a
good three feet from him and fell to the floor. He stopped
abruptly, looked down at the object she'd thrown at him and
then threw a glance back at her.

Gaping at him in seriously belated fear of retribution,

Bronte backed up and sprawled across the bed, bumping her

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

head on the wall. His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on her
splayed legs, or more specifically the point between her legs
where they met. For several unnerving moments she was
caught between the hope/fear he was going to turn around
and finish what he'd started. He merely bent and scooped the
glasses from the floor, however, and went out.

Dragging in a shuddering breath of relief when he'd left,

Bronte pushed herself up and examined her throbbing head
with her hand. Discovering there was no blood when it was
damned well pounding hard enough to have produced some
evidence she'd nearly cracked her skull in her hasty retreat,
she rubbed at it until the pounding eased and then pushed
herself off the bed and went to perform her waking routine.

When she came out, Gideon was sprawled on the bunk on

his back, his eyes closed, his arms folded beneath his head in
a way that made the muscles in his upper arms form a hard,
round bulge that made her belly dance in trembling
excitement. She halted abruptly, studying him warily and
trying to decide whether she wanted her book badly enough
to try to retrieve it from the other side of the bed. She
glanced at the container of books, but she'd already set her
heart on reading the thriller she'd picked out.

Tiptoeing across the room, she studied him and finally

decided he was asleep. The book was near the wall, midway
up the bed. Crawl up the end and grab it? Or lean over him?

She wasn't crawling into bed with him, she decided.
An arm caught her around the waist as she leaned over

him to grab the book. She landed on the bed and Gideon
landed on top of her so fast it took her head several moments

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to stop swimming. About the time it did, she discovered her
ass had landed on top of the hard, tubular casing of her book.
"Ow!" she complained, trying to lift her hips off of it.

Obligingly, he cupped his hips and rocked against her,

digging his erection against her mound. She tried reaching for
the hard plasti-metal wedged beneath her butt and the
mattress and discovered he'd manacled her wrists above her
head with his hands. His face against her neck, he nibbled
kisses down her throat and tried to use his chin to part the
front edges of her suit. The conflicting sensations of pain from
the book digging into her and pleasure from the feel of his
lips along her throat collided. Uttering little, breathless grunts
of pain and pleasure, she wiggled her hips, trying to move the
book from beneath her or move her hips off of the book.

"My book!" she managed to gasp out just about the time

he succeeded in parting the mesh closure at her neck.

He released his grip on one of her wrists, slid his hand

down and dragged the book from under her, shoving it to one
side. The moment he let go of her wrist, Bronte grabbed a
handful of his hair and pulled. Ignoring her tug at his scalp,
Gideon hooked his fingers in the front of the uniform and
parted the closure to her waist. Squeezing one breast
between his thumb and fingers, he opened his mouth over
the tip and sucked until her eyeballs nearly rolled back in her
head as fire spread through her in dizzying waves. She
thrashed beneath him, struggling half-heartedly to fight him
off, but Gabriel had already revved her engines and left her
wide open to the needs simmering just below the surface of
her consciousness. She was fighting a losing battle the

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moment Gideon reawakened the only semi-dormant pleasure
receptors in her brain. Her brain instantly began churning out
serotonin in debilitating, will decimating volumes.

By the time Gideon ceased to tug at her nipple with his

mouth and tease the aching nub with the flick of his tongue,
she felt like one giant, raw nerve ending, as if her whole body
pulsed in concert with the frantic rhythm of her heart,
threatening to explode each time the organ contracted and
sent another surge of blood boiling through her veins. Weak,
completely disoriented by the intoxicating drug pumping
through her system, it was more her instinct for self-
preservation than her rapidly dwindling willpower that made
her grab at his arms as Gideon speared his hands beneath the
shoulders of her suit and peeled it down, binding her arms to
her sides with the fabric.

He shoved his arms beneath her shoulders, lifting them to

meet his lips. Her neck too weak to hold up her head, her
head tipped back against the mattress, arching her throat to
his assault. He anointed the tender flesh there with open
mouthed kisses, traced the frantic pulse along the side of her
neck with his tongue, and moved lower to familiarize himself
with the flesh he'd exposed to the mind drugging assault of
his mouth. Feeding the blaze he'd already kindled, he moved
from her throat, across her collar bone from shoulder to
shoulder, blazed a path along the upper slope of her breasts
and then climbed the column of her throat to nip at her chin
and the line of her jaw.

She lost her breath when his mouth clamped over hers in

hungry possession, sucked his into her lungs sharply as he

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

filled her mouth with his essence—the taste and feel and
ruthless domination of all her faculties. His chest settled
heavily against hers, flattening her breasts, confining her
lungs so that she struggled even harder to catch her breath
as he tugged at her clothing, dragging it lower.

She sucked in a sharp breath to fight the darkness closing

in on her as he released her mouth, levered his upper body
away from hers slightly and shoved himself downward.
Catching the breast in his hand that he hadn't teased
unmercifully yet, he fastened his mouth over it and suckled,
effectively depriving her of the breath she'd just hauled into
her lungs. It emerged in a half choked moan of sound as jolts
of exquisite sensation went through her with every tug of his
mouth on the sensitive bud. She realized dimly that she was
running her hands over his shoulders and back, curling and
uncurling her fingers like a cat's pleasurable kneading,
making faint, mewling sounds in concert as her breath
hitched in her chest and then released.

The sounds, her touch, or his own exploration, or the three

combined seemed to chip away at his control. The leisurely,
almost calculated caresses he'd begun with became more
hurried and graceless as he moved from one breast to the
other and back again, climbed the upper slopes to her throat,
explored her face, her mouth, and then moved to her ear as if
he could not decide what part of her to sample next, as if he
wanted to lay claim to every inch of her at once. His
breathing rapidly became more ragged than her own.
Tremors moved through his great body, becoming more and
more pronounced.

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by Kaitlyn O'Connor

His growing need fed hers, built the fire inside her until she

was writhing restlessly beneath him, the splendid friction of
her body brushing all along his making her even more frantic.

Abruptly, he shoved himself upward onto his knees. The

cool air striking her bared body lifted the pall of heat burning
feverishly in her mind briefly. With an effort, she lifted her
heavy lids as he grasped her uniform and peeled it down her
hips and legs, tugging it from her ankles and tossing it aside.

He was staring down her, his face taut and flushed, his

chest heaving, his eyes blazing and tumultuous with need. As
he grasped his loincloth and tore free of it, Bronte's gaze
dropped to his engorged cock and her body reverted to the
instinct to flee. He caught her thighs as she rolled onto her
belly, dragging her knees from under her before she'd
managed to do more than rise to all fours. She reared upward
as she felt his teeth graze one buttock, sending a shockwave
of heat through her and a rush of goose flesh up her back. A
sharp gasp escaped her as he moved his head to nip at the
other cheek and then higher, nipping and sucking love bites
up her back as he moved over her.

Her eyes widened with a touch of panic when the head of

his cock parted the cheeks of her ass as his hips descended,
bumped along her cleft, and finally settled against her clit as
he pinned her with the weight of his hips. His chest settled
lightly against her back, his upper weight supported on his
elbows as he nuzzled her hair aside and gnawed lightly along
her shoulder and the back of her neck. The heated, creamy
moisture already gathered in her sex, flowed, saturating her
channel and the lips of her sex even as he lifted his hips and

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the curvature of his cock faithfully followed her cleft until it
found her opening.

She grunted, gasped sharply as the head of his cock

parted the mouth of her sex. He bit down on her shoulder as
he cupped his body over hers, curled his hips to thrust
upward, stretching her until she was gasping for breath.
Easing the pressure, he delved shallowly until he had coated
the end of his cock with her welcoming moisture and then
thrust again, driving deeper. She bucked against him as he
strained to battle her clinging flesh to claim her fully.

Releasing his hold on her shoulder abruptly, he uttered a

groan, shifted upward to disengage their bodies and then
rolled her almost roughly onto her back. Grabbing her tangled
legs, he shoved them out of his way and leaned/fell over her,
catching himself with one arm as he grasped his cock with his
other hand and engaged their bodies again with a shaking
haste than defied any semblance of finesse. She arched her
back as he plunged deeply, bearing down on her with teeth
grinding determination until her flesh yielded to him. The arm
supporting him, shaking, buckled as he drove home, as if the
claiming sapped the strength from him. Gasping harshly, he
managed to catch his weight with his other arm as he fell.
Slipping both arms beneath her, he tightened them around
her as he began to pump his hips in a rhythmic thrust and
retreat along her channel that left Bronte gasping for breath,
feeling scoured by the fire that gathered in her belly like
molten lead, making her feel heavy, weak, faint and at the
same time so breathlessly close to exploding with rapture that

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a sharp gasp was forced from her with each pounding thrust
of his cock deeply inside of her.

She caught his rhythm, curling her hips to meet his

plunging assault. A low, almost animalistic groan left her as
the shift in position offered her g-spot for his stroking caress
and her body quickened. He echoed her groan with a deeper
one, shuddering, thrusting faster. As if they were racing,
fighting to see who could reach the pinnacle first, Bronte dug
her nails into his shoulders and lifted faster. Gideon fought for
breath, fought the tremors wracking him all over and drove
into her in short, deep strokes. A sharp cry left her as she
abruptly reached climax. Shuddering, gasping to catch her
breath, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the waves of
bliss wracked her. Uttering a long, growling groan that was
part relief part ecstasy, Gideon grunted and shook as his body
pumped his seed deeply inside of her.

Bronte's arms and legs dropped weakly to the bed as the

last of the tension left her. Gideon dragged a long, shuddering
breath into his lungs that nearly caved her chest in and then
rolled off of her, trapping one of her arms beneath his
shoulders. She was too blissful to care at first, too sated, too
weak. As her fingers began to tingle and sting from lack of
circulation, however, she roused herself enough to start
tugging at her arm to dislodge it. Uttering a sound that
sounded a lot like a complaint, he grunted and heaved and
finally managed to roll onto his side and off of her arm so she
could reclaim it. As soon as she snatched it to her, he rolled
onto his back again and went perfectly still.

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100

Mildly irritated, Bronte groped around for something to

cover herself with as her body slowly cooled and a shiver
skated through her. Coming up empty handed, she lay still for
a few moments, trying to decide whether she wanted
something to cover herself with badly enough to actually sit
up and hunt it. The pleasure and heat of passion had
completely deserted her, however, and finally, still feeling
sluggish, she pushed herself upright and looked around.

Gideon, she discovered when she glanced at him, was

sound asleep, a half-smile curling his lips.

She had no idea why that satisfied smile instantly brought

an upsurge of anger and made her long for the nerve to
clobber him but it did. Narrowing her eyes, she studied his
face, fighting the urge and finally mastered it. A sticky
residue between her thighs caught her attention as she eased
toward the end of the bunk. When she'd reached the foot of
the bed, she parted her legs and stared down at it—mostly
with surprise, until it slowly sank in that it was semen—not
her own bodily fluids, but a mixture of hers and his.

Semen!
No pleasure bot she'd ever heard of produced semen. Their

cocks were self-lubricating, but it was lubrication, not semen!
This was definitely semen.

She whirled to look at him with mounting outrage, battling

a sense of absolute disbelief. He was feeling around the bed
blindly, she saw, either searching for her or for the covers
bunched at the foot of the bed. She didn't know or care
which. Shoving herself to her feet, she stalked toward the
bathroom, snatching her uniform up off the floor on the way.

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101

By the time she'd bathed, she'd managed to slough off the

last of her surprise and confusion and work herself up into a
real rage. She had been defenseless with the surprise attack
and he'd taken full advantage of that moment and his
prowess as a pleasure bot to inundate her senses with so
much pleasure that she'd had no sense at all inside of five
seconds! He'd known she didn't want anything to do with him,
the sneaking, low down, conniving.... Cyborg! That was why it
was a sneak attack! Premeditation! He'd just been waiting to
catch her off guard so he could fuck her senseless and then
just ... ignore her when he got done with her like she was
another machine, instead of a human being who had every
right to expect at least a 'thank you ma'am, nice hole' and a
pat on the head when a man was done with her!

And what had he done? Rolled over and gone to sleep with

that self-satisfied smirk on his face that still made her want to
clobber him!

She halted to glare at him in seething resentment when

she left the bathroom. As she raked him with contempt,
however, her eyes settled on her book, wedged between his
knee and the wall. She was going to have that damned book!

Stalking over to the bed, she leaned over to snatch it. Just

as her fingers closed around the cylinder, she felt his hands
close around her. Uttering a growl of outrage as she was
flipped over him to land on the bed on her back again, she
glared at him ferociously as she landed. "Don't even think
about it, buster!" she snarled.

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102

The look of intent on Gideon's face vanished abruptly.

Confusion and then anger flickered across his features. "Who
the hell is Buster?" he growled.

Having gained her release with surprising ease, Bronte had

already sat up, grabbed her book, and scooted toward the
end of the bed when he asked that question. It caught her off
guard, jerking her gaze toward his.

"I am Gideon," he emphasized as she met his angry gaze.

"Who is Buster?"

Bronte looked away quickly before the urge to smile could

get the best of her. She cleared her throat. "Oh, sorry. That
was the last jerk that fucked me," she said sarcastically as
she climbed off the bed with her book and stalked toward the
door.

"We will get your eyes fixed when we get home," he said

tightly as she reached the door.

She shrugged, but she didn't look back. "I had my eyes

closed ... but if you think that will help clear up the
confusion...."

Hah! Take that, asshole! She thought as she left the cabin.

Let's see how you feel about being used as a convenient pole
and then tossed aside like an empty cock wrapper!

Discovering that Jerico and Gabriel were watching her with

almost identical expressions of hopeful expectancy, Bronte
sent them both drop dead looks, stalked over to the bench
beside the dining table, and sat down. Fuming with the
realization that they had both been well aware of what was
going on in the cabin and hopeful they were next in line, it

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103

took all she could do to focus on her book enough to at least
appear to be reading it.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the two exchange a

questioning look before they turned and focused on their
instrument panels. No! she thought angrily. Bronte is not on
the menu tonight!

Assholes! Horny brutes! Cyborgs! She thought furiously.
How dare they just expect her to spread her legs to

accommodate them! As if she gave a damn if they had blue
balls! "Go fuck yourselves," she muttered under her breath as
she resolutely turned to the beginning of her book, ignoring
the startled glances Jerico and Gabriel threw at her over their
shoulders.

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104

Chapter Seven

Gideon glared at the door as it closed behind Bronte,

outraged that she had implied she had had no idea it was him
pleasuring her. "Who the hell is Buster?" he muttered,
punching his pillow hard enough with his fist that it ruptured
and stuffing whooshed out the hole in a small, snowflake-like
cloud. Waving the particles away, he flopped back down on
the bed and dropped the pillow over his face.

She could not confuse the prowess and superior dexterity

of a pleasure bot with a mere human! He did not believe that
for one moment!

Was Buster her pleasure bot then, he wondered?
Contempt curled his lips. The superior models like himself

had evolved. Anything she might have would be little more
than a bumping, grinding toy!

She had said that just to insult him, he decided.
What he did not understand was why she had wanted to

insult him. He had pleasured her, thoroughly. He might not
have utilized that particular programming before, but he had
only to access his internal CPU to know that it was functioning
correctly. His cock had certainly performed correctly.

Frowning, he tried replay. That was not functioning,

however, because the growing, biological brain cells within his
skull were beginning to interfere with some of the functions of
his CPU. Giving up after a moment, he tried to access the
memory cells and discovered that they produced only random
recorded images. He remembered everything fairly clearly up

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until the moment he had begun to finesse her nipple, per
protocol, with his mouth and tongue, and then he
remembered what she had tasted like, the way the tight little
bud had felt against his tongue, the way she had moved
against him, and the little sounds of pleasure she had made
in her throat. Beyond that, he discovered he could not recall a
single thing except the way he had felt.

Prod his malfunctioning memory though he would, he

could not recall that he had carefully sought out and located
each nerve bundle and properly stimulated it. He could not
recall her shaking with need as the pleasure built inside of
her, although he could recall that he had been. He could not
recall her begging him either, which made him wonder what
had prompted him to proceed with penetration. Per protocol,
he was not to invade her body until he either readily identified
the signs that the female body was nearing its peak, or until
the female identified imminent crisis by demanding he
penetrate so that she could achieve orgasm.

The only thing clear in his mind at the point of penetration

was the sense that he was about to explode and a sense of
desperation in him to feel her body close around his flesh and
pump inside of her. His balls had felt as if they were on fire
and at the same time as if they were lodged in his throat,
choking him.

His cock hardened and stood up as that memory washed

over him, and with it the memory of the convulsions that had
gripped him as his cock expelled the fiery fluids from his body
into hers. He had felt totally drained afterward, weak as he
could never recall feeling in his memory.

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Trying to ignore the fresh ache in his cock and painful

tightening of his balls, he groaned and rolled onto his belly,
grinding his teeth and reaching down to adjust himself when
the movement brought him excruciating pain.

It did have the desired effect, however, of making the

swelling in his cock go down.

His programming, he realized, had blitzed, short circuited,

malfunctioned.... Something had happened, for he had failed
to perform ... somehow. Otherwise, she would not have given
him that look of loathing when he had made sexual overtures
the second time.

She would not have insulted him!
She would not have stalked from the room.
She would have welcomed him to fuck her again!
"Damn it to hell!" he ground out as it dawned on him that

her notable lack of enthusiasm at his performance meant she
would not welcome him the next time he tried either.

Sleep eluded him for the first time in his memory.

Ordinarily all he had to do was to compose himself
comfortably and he dropped instantly from awareness into
rest mode. Either because he could not seem to dismiss the
thoughts rambling about in his mind, or because his ego was
still stinging, or because his body—undisciplined confusion of
biology and mechanics that it was—wanted more of what it
had already had, he could not achieve the composure he
needed to sleep. Stubbornly refusing to acknowledge defeat,
he continued to struggle for rest until about three quarters of
the way through his rest period, when he finally slipped
under.

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Everything else might have been malfunctioning, but his

internal clock worked fine. When his time was up, his eyes
popped open. Feeling as if he had been run over by a tank, he
got up to shower and change.

Bronte was seated in the dining area he discovered as he

emerged from the cabin. Deciding to ignore her when she did
not even look up, he strode past her, cutting a glance in her
direction when he neared her.

It was as well his resolve failed him, he decided angrily.

Otherwise he would have missed the evil glare she focused on
him as he strode past.

Gabriel took one look at his face and bolted out of the

command chair. Dropping heavily into his seat, Gideon glared
at the panel before him without really registering the read
out, most of his attention on the woman behind him, burning
holes in the back of his head with her eyes as if she had laser
sight, and on his companions, who he knew were looking at
him questioningly.

"Jerico," he growled finally. "Go rest!"
Frowning, Jerico left.
After glancing at him several times, Gabriel finally leaned

on the arm of his chair nearest Gideon's. "Problem?" he asked
in a low voice.

Gideon slid him a fulminating glare. "Why would you think

that?" he snarled.

Gabriel shrugged. "It sounded like everything was going

well, but then there was death in her eyes when she came
out. I would not have believed she could manage such a
look."

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Gideon dismissed everything but the first part. "Sounded?"

he prodded in hopeful interest.

Gabriel shrugged. "A good deal of gasping and moaning

and groaning. We could not hear her very well over you,
but...."

Gideon felt his face heat. "You are developing a sense of

humor," he growled, unconsciously adjusting his aching balls.

Gabriel's brows rose in surprise, but he didn't miss the

movement. "Am I?" He sounded surprised but pleased, but
then frowned. "You did not achieve...?"

Gideon slid him a warning glare. "I did," he said coldly.
"Why is that still bothering you then?"
"Because...!" Gideon bellowed before he thought better of

it and then broke off. "I do not know," he finished finally, his
voice a low growl.

A sudden thought struck him, the culmination of the hours

he had spent pondering his situation instead of sleeping as he
had intended. "I achieved orgasm," he added slowly, trying to
wrap his mind around the realization.

Gabriel sent him a disbelieving look. "Simulation...."
"It was no simulation," Gideon said sharply. Abruptly his

lips curled in a pleased grin. "I spilled my seed inside of her."
The smile vanished as another thought hit him and he
frowned. "I think." He cupped his balls in his hand, studying
them with a good deal of admiration, even though they were
still aching like a son-of-a-bitch. Finally! His body had evolved
as the others had. He had begun to suspect that they were
either lying or that some essential element was missing from
his own make up and he would never evolve entirely and

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become 'real' as they were, a new life form capable of
reproduction of his species.

Gabriel eyed him resentfully and somewhat enviously for

several moments. "Well, you did not do something right," he
said finally. "Else she would not have been looking as if she
wished she had a weapon when she came out of the cabin."

* * * *

Strain though she might, Bronte could not hear the low

voiced conversation between Gabriel and Gideon. Their voices
were little more than a low drone and unless she got up and
moved closer, which they would notice, she could only guess
what they were discussing.

A product of paranoia or not, her first thought was that

they were sharing the lurid details of what had happened
between her and Gideon. She fumed over it for a while,
certain that must be it. As angry as she'd been when she left
the cabin, she didn't believe she'd misinterpreted the
expressions of Jerico's and Gabriel's faces. Either they'd
known when he went into the cabin what he had in mind, or
they'd been able to hear just enough to figure out what was
going on.

Considering Gabriel had just tried and left with his cock in

his hand, she finally decided he wouldn't have been Gideon's
cheering section. It seemed to her, though, that he would
have been angry about failing where Gideon had succeeded,
but she supposed he thought once one of them had 'tapped' it
the rest would get the chance.

He shouldn't hold his breath!

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It irritated her almost as much that they didn't seem to

resent her having had sex with Gideon as it had that Gideon
hadn't even attempted to cuddle afterward.

Not that she'd been in any doubt about the way they felt

about her!

But she would've thought pleasure bots would have been

programmed to please a woman in every way, and what
woman wanted a man to just fuck them and then go to sleep!
God! If a woman wanted that she could just stick with a real
man!

Four out of five of her lovers had behaved like that anyway

and one out of four had been downright nasty about not
wanting to be touched afterward. When they were done they
were hot and sweaty and out of breath and just wanted to be
left alone to sleep it off, the hell with whether or not she
needed a little reassurance or wanted to feel appreciated. One
had actually rolled over and told her to lock the door on the
way out. If some woman hadn't bashed the bastard over the
head by now, she would be surprised.

So much for thinking she could avoid being used if she

could avoid them! She couldn't avoid them any more than she
could escape. The tiny ship was crawling with horny cyborgs!

Contrary to logic, instead of cooling her temper and her

resentment, the fact that all three men gave her a wide berth
over the following week did nothing but make her more
resentful. By the end of their second week in space, all three
had begun to watch her broodingly any time she moved,
Gideon most of all.

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She had never considered herself a vengeful sort of

person, but the hurt and anger she felt about their behavior
toward her finally drove her to do something that would have
appalled her if she'd even considered it before. She decided to
get even with Gideon by allowing one of the others to seduce
her.

It wasn't as if he actually cared, or would be hurt by it,

after all. None of them had any inkling what caring was.

In any case, they had made it clear that they considered

her their enemy. It wasn't as if she could wage war on them
in any other way, and if fucking them resulted in the three of
them trying to kill each other ... well, she didn't have a pilot's
license, but she was fairly certain she knew enough about
computers to turn the ship around and retrace its path.

If she could get the chance to get to the controls, which

she couldn't as things stood because there was always one,
and usually two, on the bridge, carefully monitoring the ship's
progress.

In any case, they were closing in on her like stalking

predators. Sooner or later, she knew one of the three was
going to catch her with her guard down and pounce. The air
fairly crackled with sexual desire. It was more a matter of
allowing it to happen than making it happen.

She gave it a little push anyway. What they didn't seem to

realize as they were watching her was that she was also
watching them. It didn't take long at all to learn their
routines. Just like their human counterparts, these males
rarely varied.

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They prepared meals six times per thirty hour period,

which constituted a 'day' cycle. When one disappeared from
the main area of the ship into the sleeping quarters, he was
gone precisely eight hours. They bathed and changed before
they returned, however, which meant it was impossible for
her to sleep in the bed alone unless she wanted to try to
sleep in two or three hour intervals. She tried at first, but she
discovered very quickly that her internal clock was still set on
earth time. And if she fell asleep any where besides the bed,
one or another would scoop her up and take her to bed.

She could either be passive and not move away the next

time she felt a hand stray over her while she was trying to
sleep, or she could be more blatant about it and time her bath
so that she was in the right place at the right time.

She opted for the bath. Subtlety was not one of their

strong suits. If she wanted to really piss Gideon off, and she
did, she had to make sure he knew she hadn't been caught in
a sneak attack like the one he'd sprung on her. It was still
hard to decide which one, besides Gideon, she most wanted
to get even with.

Gabriel panted after her as much as the others, or maybe

more, and he had been the most outspoken among them with
his bigotry over humans.

Jerico, on the other hand, was the one who'd looked at her

that first day as if he wanted to devour her and then told her
it was a shame she was human and not cyborg! He was just
as big a bigot as Gabriel was—and probably Gideon, too.

Finally, she decided to just leave it to fate. Whoever fell

into her net was fair game. They were all assholes and if she

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couldn't beat them senseless herself, she could at least try to
play them against each other and watch the fireworks!

It turned out to be Jerico's day—which meant it was and it

wasn't—she hoped.

She didn't know that it would even bother Gideon. After

all, it had been Jerico that had started the fight with Gabriel.
Gabriel and Jerico were more volatile. Gideon actually seemed
fairly laid back—most of the time, anyway.

It wasn't actually a matter of choice when it came right

down to it. She placed herself in 'harm's' way, and control
over the situation went right out of her hands.

She had just stepped beneath the shower spray when

Jerico came in to bathe. He froze when he saw her, and even
though she was at great pains to pretend she had no idea he
was there, she felt suddenly weak with fear about what she'd
plotted, instantly regretted it, and yet couldn't think of any
way at all to get herself out of the mess of her own creation.

Panicking, she was still trying to decide if she pretended to

suddenly notice him and covered herself if he would take that
as a rejection and leave when he swarmed into the shower
and pinned her to the wall. Her breath left her in a rush as he
compressed her body between his and the chilled surface.
Before she could catch it back into her lungs, his mouth
settled with such savage hunger over hers that she felt as if
she was falling into a deep, dark, fiery hot pit. She hadn't
counted on her reaction to him, hadn't considered that she
even could fall as deeply under his spell as she had Gideon's.

She shouldn't do this, not for any of the reasons that had

seemed perfectly sound before, she thought dimly, grasping

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at the panic that was rapidly vanishing beneath the flames as
the last stronghold.

It winked out as Jerico filled his need to explore her mouth

and moved on to fresh territory, scouring her flesh with the
heat of his mouth and the rough caress of his tongue. She
was already aching with need before he reached her breasts.
The moment he sucked one turgid tip into his mouth, she
inhaled a harsh gasp and nearly passed out at the heated,
weakening pleasure that engulfed her.

She was shameless, she thought a little wildly, groaning at

the fire that collected in her belly as he traced a path from
the breast he'd been tormenting with his tongue and plucked
at its twin, because she realized in that moment that she
wouldn't have felt anything she was feeling if she hadn't
wanted Jerico as much as she had Gideon.

She didn't feel shameless, even though she thought she

should.

She felt ... desperate with need, feverish with it, burning

up with it as he traced a path from her breasts downward
across her belly. Her flesh quivered beneath his open
mouthed kisses. The muscles along her channel contracted,
as well. Moist heat flooded her nether regions. Pushing her
legs apart as he knelt before her, he parted her nether lips
with his thumb and forefinger and sucked her clit into his
mouth as he had her nipples.

"Jerico!" she gasped, catching his head, trying to thrust

him away. He caught her wrists, holding them while he
continued to lap and suck at her until she felt as if her knees

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would give out and she was gasping hoarsely with every
breath as if she was dying.

She was going to come if he didn't stop. She wanted to. It

beckoned her seductively, tempting her to yield to the quivers
radiating through her sex. She resisted, fought it with every
ounce of willpower she could muster.

Clamping her hands on his shoulders, she pulled at him.

"Now!" she demanded breathlessly. "Jerico!"

He straightened abruptly, covering her mouth again as he

caught her buttocks and shifted her up the wall. She looped
her legs around his waist as he lifted her, locking her ankles
together. Guiding his cock into the mouth of her sex, he
allowed her to slip downward, engulfing him. She groaned
with a mixture of frustration and pleasure as her body fought
his girth. He pressed her more tightly against the wall and
thrust again, sheathing his member more deeply, driving her
wild with the need to feel him fully inside of her. With his
third thrust, he sank home, burying himself so deeply inside
of her she cried out, biting down on his shoulder as she
fought to keep from coming instantly.

It was a losing battle. As soon as he shifted her and began

driving into her, she came with screaming intensity, gasping
and shuddering at the hard quakes that went through her. He
uttered a long, low growl as her body fisted around his sex,
milking him.

Gasping, still shuddering with his own release, he leaned

heavily against her for several moments and finally pulled his
cock from her, allowing her to slide down the wall until her

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feet touched the floor. They sagged weakly against one
another while they struggled to catch their breath.

He settled a hand along her cheek. Hooking his thumb

beneath her chin and tipping her face up to his, he searched
her eyes worriedly. "I did not hurt you?" he asked gruffly.

Bronte felt her throat close. His emerald gaze was earnest.

She didn't know why it seemed to matter to him, if he was
more concerned that he might have hurt her because he had
been ordered not to, or if he was genuinely concerned about
her. It didn't matter at the moment. The only thing that did
matter was he seemed to care.

She shook head, unable to find her voice, drowning in

guilt.

He'd defended her before, tried to knock Gabriel's head off

because he thought Gabriel had made her cry.

Why hadn't she thought about that when she had been so

busy working herself up to hate them back because she knew
they hated what she was?

She averted her gaze. "How could you want me when you

hate humans so much?"

He said nothing for several moments. "We do not hate

humans. They hate us. They have hunted and killed us for
years," he said finally. "From the moment they realized that
we were no longer theirs to control, puppets, they began to
fear and, when they began to fear, they began to hate."

She glanced up at him in disbelief. "You gave a good

impression of it."

He smiled faintly, stroking his fingers along her cheek.

"Not just now."

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She shivered at the memory. Frowning, he reached to turn

the water off and then drew her from the bathing cubicle and
handed her a cloth to dry off with. She frowned thoughtfully
as she patted the water from her skin and rubbed as much as
she could from her hair.

"It was not much of a bath," he commented wryly. "No

soap."

Bronte bit her lip, feeling another twinge of guilt. She

couldn't think of any way to ask him if he thought Gideon
would be angry with him about having sex with her, though.
He didn't seem concerned at all, and he knew Gideon far
better than she did. She had to wonder if she had been
suffering delusions to have thought Gideon would feel the
least bit possessive about her.

It occurred to her, with a touch of relief, that she probably

had been. Obviously, Gideon's only concern was being cut off
from the only supply of pussy available. If there were no
actual feelings involved beyond that, he wouldn't have any
reason to be angry about it.

That left her in the position of being the supplier, though,

to keep the peace. She didn't particular care for that. On the
other hand, if satisfying their needs would make her own life
less fraught with danger, maybe even make them more
inclined to feel kindly toward her on a personal level rather
than merely because they were under orders to protect her, it
seemed a small price to pay for a little security, particularly
when it was no great hardship. They were all very handsome,
very desirable, and certainly gifted when it came to
pleasuring her.

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Maybe, she thought, she had looked at the picture all

wrong? She was afraid because she was a captive, and her
feelings had been hurt, and she hadn't been thinking clearly.
If it was possible to be on friendly terms with her captors,
wasn't that a lot wiser than being on unfriendly terms with
them?

It wasn't as if it was going to be any real trial to have sex

with them ... as long as she had the option of saying no ...
and she felt that she did. Gideon had seduced her, but he
certainly hadn't forced her. She had set out to seduce Jerico
and become the seduced, but despite the way they had
watched her almost from the first, none of the three had
assaulted her and taken what he wanted. It distressed her
that they didn't actually like her, or rather, saw her as an
enemy not to be trusted because they knew humans hated
and distrusted them, but she didn't trust them either.

She had to admit, as scary as it was to think in those

terms, she was completely at their mercy. Orders or not, they
were a long way from their commanding officer. They could
have done whatever they pleased ... even killed her if they
were concerned about her complaining about her treatment
and no one would've been the wiser.

And if they really hated humans, couldn't she have

expected them to behave that way? After all, they were
soldiers. They made no bones about the fact that brutality
and discipline were all they had ever known, all they really
understood beyond the flip side of that that had been
programmed into them ... they could kill and fuck with the

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best—were the best, but they didn't have social skills because
they hadn't been given them, didn't understand them.

It made her feel a good deal better to think she

understood them and the situation she'd found herself in. It
made her feel far less threatened to think that she wasn't
completely powerless, that she understood how to behave to
protect herself.

Since it was meal time and she was suddenly hungry, had

more appetite than she'd felt since she'd been captured, when
they'd dressed she led the way as they left the bathroom and
crossed the cabin. As he opened the door for her, she tipped
her head and smiled at Jerico tentatively. She hadn't gotten
through the doorway, however, when a hand clamped around
her arm and she was snatched from the room and shoved
roughly to one side.

Stunned, she gaped at Gideon's set profile as he met

Jerico at the door with a fist to the face. The thunderous,
meaty thud of a very large body hitting the deck followed,
and then a roar of rage and pounding footsteps as Jerico
regained his feet and charged, slamming in to Gideon full tilt.
Bronte screamed as both men shot through the doorway and
landed in the middle of the floor in front of her, skidding
several feet on the slick floor before they came to halt. Their
hands locked around each other's throats, they rolled, almost
knocking her feet from under her. Uttering another shriek,
Bronte leapt over their thrashing legs and looked around
wildly for a place to hide. Gabriel, watching the fray from the
other side of the galley, leapt over the two men on the floor,
landing within a few feet of her and scaring her silly. Before

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she could decide what his intentions were, he hooked an arm
around her waist, swung her through the cabin door, and
closed it behind her.

Shaking, covering her ears with her hands to try to block

out the crashing noises from the mid-section, Bronte scurried
into one corner, more than half expecting the fight to join her
as someone slammed against the panel on the other side of
the door.

The crashing and growling and grunting of effort, meaty

thuds of fists to flesh, and duller thuds when someone swung
and missed, connecting with the wall or floor instead, seemed
to go on forever and Bronte had begun to worry that they
were actually going to kill each other. Finally, though, the
fight began to die down to an occasional smack of flying fists
or the crash of something being turned over or broken.

And then there was silence.

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Chapter Eight

Bronte was afraid to find out what the end result of the

fight had been. The longer she sat with her ears pricked
trying to figure it out by the little she could hear, though, the
more anxious she became to know. Finally, when she thought
she heard sounds indicting clean up, she got up and went to
listen with her ear against the door panel.

The door opened at the precise moment she leaned to put

her ear against it and she fell through, stumbling against the
man on the other side. He caught her, steadying her, and
Bronte looked up uneasily to discover it was Gideon.

The expression on his face made her go weak all over.

Even as she tried to push away from him, he cinched her
more tightly against his chest with one arm and caught her
face with his other hand, dipping his head down and capturing
her lips with all the tender gentleness of a battering ram
breaching a stone wall. The sheer possessive savagery of his
mouth and tongue as he claimed her mouth in fierce assault
took her breath. The heat of his mouth, the fire he sent
coursing through her veins sapped what little strength she
had left.

She'd forgotten, she thought, dizzy, intoxicated by his

drugging kiss, just how devastating his kiss was to her
senses, wondering how she could possibly have forgotten
anything so powerful that it annihilated brain function and
muscle tone all in one fell swoop. She wasn't aware of

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anything beyond the fire and dizziness until she bumped
against a hard surface at her back.

"Let her go, Gideon."
He ignored the threatening growl for a handful of

heartbeats but finally lifted his head. Bronte had to struggle
to lift her eyelids. She discovered when she had that Gideon
had waltzed her back into the cabin and up against one wall.
Both Jerico and Gabriel stood just behind and to either side of
him, gripping his arms and trying to pry him loose from her.

Gideon swung his head to fix Gabriel, who was the one

who'd spoken, with a threatening, narrow eyed glare. "Go to
hell," he snarled.

Gabriel gave him a look. "Not with the heat of battle still

upon you, Gideon," he ground out. "Let her go."

Bronte thought for several moments that he would either

ignore the warning demand or turn on Gabriel. After what
seemed an internal battle for self-control, however, his arms
loosened and he released her. He did not move away.
Instead, he stood staring down at her, breathing raggedly.
"She is playing us against one another," he said coldly.

Guilty color flooded Bronte's cheeks. Triumph flickered in

his eyes, as if he had only been fishing for that bit of
information and her expression had confirmed it. Uneasiness
moved through her. She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from
Gideon's to assess the reaction of the other two, but she had
a bad feeling that the 'brilliant' plot she had hatched had
seriously backfired. "You think, just because I had sex with
Jerico, that I was hoping the two of you would try to kill each
other?" she asked, trying to sound both indignant and

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outraged, though she thought the shaky squeak of her voice
probably made it sound more like the confession of guilt it
was than indignation that he could believe she would even
think that way.

His eyes narrowed. "I think so, yes," he growled.
Bronte averted her gaze with an effort. "You are certainly

entitled to think what you damned well please!" she said with
more surety. "But it just happened, and there was no reason
why I shouldn't have ... And I enjoyed it!" she added for good
measure.

"Loudly," he ground out.
Bronte sent him a startled look, casting around in her

mind, and finally realized that she had been very vocal. To
make things worse, they'd been in the shower, which had no
doubt magnified the sounds. It had seemed to at the time,
but she'd been too caught up to worry about the fact that the
walls of the cubicle seemed to have a megaphone effect on
every sound. She reddened with discomfort. "Whatever you
think, I was not trying to be heard!" she said testily.

"You just couldn't help yourself?" he asked coolly.
She glared at him. "NO, I couldn't!" she snapped, too

angry now herself to even want to try to explain that it was
the acoustical effects of the shower and probably the water,
as well.

She slipped away from him then. Retreating to a safe

distance and setting her jaw, she looked at the three men
studying her with bravado born of fear. "You kidnapped me,"
she said tightly. "Stole me away from my home, my life, and
... everything. You've made it abundantly clear how you feel

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about humans in general ... and me in particular. I don't owe
you a damned thing! Any of you. I can't be unfaithful by
having sex with whoever I feel like having sex with because I
have no ties to bind me to any of you—not legal, and
certainly not emotional!

"I didn't make you fight. You decided to do that on your

own, and while you're accusing me of wanting it to happen, or
manipulating you to make it happen, you might want to
consider how well you're going to get along if nobody is
getting pussy ... or if I decide to chose just one and ignore
the other two!"

The three men exchanged looks of discomfort. Gabriel

frowned, seemed to hesitate and finally spoke. "Does that
mean you would or would not consider a legal binding?" he
asked finally.

Bronte stared at him blankly, feeling real anger. If that

wasn't just like men, damn them! They hadn't heard one
damned word she'd said beyond the part they were really
interested in.

"Not now, Gabriel," Gideon growled, a warning note in his

voice.

Jerico caught his arm, jerking his head toward the other

end of the room. Gideon rolled his eyes, but they moved a
little way away from Bronte—for all the good that did! She
could hear them perfectly well despite the lower pitch of their
voices.

"We are running out of time," Jerico pointed out.

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Gideon sent him a look of disgust. "I do not think

discussing a contract will constitute courtship," he said
through gritted teeth.

Jerico glared back at him. "It may have escaped your

notice, but we have made no progress at all in that direction
that I can see beyond the fact that she has stopped hiding
whenever we come to blows and now only looks at us as if we
are mindless brutes instead of monsters! At this rate, we will
be home and it will be a moot question!"

"Jerico is right," Gabriel, who'd joined them, put in. "We do

not have time to figure out how to go about it, develop any
skill at it, and overcome her distrust. If someone else had
captured her ... maybe. But I have a very bad feeling that
being our prisoner is not going to make her feel at all kindly
toward us ... or receptive even if we were very good at
courting, which you know we are not. She is very reasonable,
to my thinking, for a woman. Why not just ask her to
contract?" He turned to study her for a long moment. "To
consider a contract," he amended.

Gideon's lips tightened. He sent Bronte a hard, assessing

look. "She will only throw it our faces if she knows what we
want, and use it against us."

"I am a man of action. I know what to do in battle,"

Gabriel pointed out. "In this situation, I do not, and I am
becoming convinced that I will not figure it out, either. We do
not have the intel to properly assess the situation, nor do we
have the time to collect it and evaluate it. You did not
consider that when you decided upon this plan!"

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Gideon narrowed his eyes at him. "I did consider that," he

said coolly. "It is sometimes necessary to improvise, however,
when you are in the field and can not assess needed supplies,
intel, or equipment!"

"Mayhap, but you must see this campaign is not going at

all well," Jerico said irritably.

"You do not tip your hand to the ... uh ... opposition,"

Gideon pointed out, "only because you see that you are
fighting a losing battle! There is no more certain way to
assure defeat!"

"Jerico and I both feel that we should discuss a contract,"

Gabriel pointed out.

"This is not a democracy, soldier!" Gideon growled.
"This is also not a military engagement!" Jerico snapped

heatedly.

Realizing their voices had been steadily rising, all three

turned to look at Bronte.

Bronte tried to look as if she hadn't heard a word they'd

said, but she was fairly certain she wasn't very successful.

They moved their discussion to the ship's midsection,

closing the door behind them.

Bronte chewed her lip indecisively for a moment and finally

moved to the door. Easing up to it cautiously before she
placed her ear against the panel, she carefully braced a hand
on either side of the door to make certain she didn't fall
through the doorway if it opened unexpectedly.

"You are thinking with your cock, not your brain," Gideon

said coldly, "because she has not allowed you to touch her. If
you were thinking clearly you would realize that she is not

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likely to consider a contract with you if she will not allow you
to touch her."

"You do not want to ask because you are afraid she will

not consider contracting with you," Gabriel said angrily.
"Because you know that Jerico gave her far more pleasure
than you did."

There was no warning snarl of rage, only the meaty smack

of flesh to flesh and then stumbling footsteps that told its own
tale. The scrape of some object across the floor and several
more stomping footsteps preceded another blow as Gabriel
retaliated.

"You two are not weary yet?" Jerico demanded.
He let out a grunt as two fists hit him in rapid succession,

both Gabriel and Gideon, she suspected. Either they were
tired, or they had already worked off most of their repressed
aggression. Contrary to what Bronte feared, it did not
escalate into another full-fledged battle. After trading a few
more blows, she heard nothing but heavy breathing.

"We have wrecked the ship," Gideon finally observed,

almost mildly. "If we are done here, I think we should clean
up and put things back together."

"We are not done!" Gabriel said in a muffled voice, as if he

was holding a hand to his mouth. "I still say we should ask
her."

"Fine!" Gideon snapped. "Ask her. She will only look at you

as if you are insane!"

An uncomfortable silence followed. "We thought you meant

to ask her," Jerico said finally. "It was your plan to start
with."

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"It was my plan to court her and bring her around to the

idea," Gideon pointed out angrily. "She has done nothing but
look at me like I am a beast since I seduced her. I am not
going to ask her when I know she will only tell me to go to
hell!"

"As you said before, though, at this rate we will have killed

one another before much longer—whether she is willfully
pitting us against one another or not. You have been worse
since you were with her, not better—which I understand now
because we were no sooner done than I wanted to begin
again. I will be as insane as you are if she refuses to have
anything more to do with me, and I will kill both of you with
my bare hands if she decides to choose either of you and
refuses me!" Jerico ground out.

"And the ship will not take many more battles," Gabriel

added. "It will fall apart on us if we are not careful or we will
end up breaking something that can not be repaired."

There was silence for several moments. "We could clear a

place in the hold," Gideon finally suggested thoughtfully.
"There is nothing of any consequence that can be damaged
down there. We will do that," he added decisively. "We must
all agree that, if we have issues to work out, we will go below
and 'discuss' them. That way, she will not know we are at
each other's throats over this and we can convince her we are
not the mindless brutes she thinks we are.

"Then, since it is clear we are not worth a fuck at courting,

we will petition her to consider it as a sound defense move.
You are right, Gabriel. She is very reasonable and intelligent.
If we have done nothing else, we have certainly convinced

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her that we are capable warriors and willing to fight. She is
bound to see it as an advantage to have the protection of
three good soldiers.

"Gabriel—if you do not make your move soon, I do not

mind telling you that I will not wait upon it much longer. I
have endured just about all I can stand and it is not to my
advantage to wait until I am mindless and do something
unforgivably stupid ... like I almost did a few minutes ago."

"Can we discuss this in the hold?" Gabriel growled.
"Certainly!" Gideon responded. "After you!"
Bronte flattened her ear more tightly against the door,

straining to hear in the silence that followed that exchange.
There was a scraping sound and then the sound of flesh
smacking into flesh followed by a loud crash ... as of someone
falling down a ladder, because she heard dull clangs
preceding the loud crash like a foot striking several rungs.

"That was ... a dishonorable blow, Gideon!" Jerico ground

out. "You might at least have allowed him to get down the
ladder before you kicked him in the face!"

"This is not a contest of skills for points," Gideon retorted.

"It is war, and there is no honor in war, only winners and
losers." Another thud followed that retort and Bronte
assumed it was the sound of Gideon dropping to the floor
below.

Realizing she had heard all she was likely to hear, Bronte

retreated to the bed and settled on it, trying to decide what to
make of the discussion. It was hard to make heads or tales of
it, though. In the first place, she was hungry. The battle had
interrupted the meal and now the entire galley was a wreck

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and there was no telling when any of them would get
anything to eat. In the second, despite Gideon's certainty that
she wouldn't hear them in the hold, she could hear a good
deal of noise emanating from the bowels of the ship. And, in
the third—well it just didn't make any sense at all.

The way they had been discussing contracts, she had

thought at first that they were talking about a co-habitation
agreement—as bizarre as that seemed even at the time. But
they had talked as if they were all wanting to contract and
that could not be done at the same time.

They must have meant something else, she decided. She

didn't know why she'd leapt to the conclusion that it was a
co-habitation agreement, except that it was clear they wanted
sexual rights, but she had to have been wrong.

Jerico opened the door and stared at her for a long

moment. "Are you hungry?"

Bronte eyed him doubtfully but finally nodded.
"Good! I have cleared the dining area and prepared food

for two."

Bronte didn't bother to ask him why he'd only prepared

food for two. She got up and followed him back into the
galley, settling on the bench he'd wiped down and glancing
around at the wreckage as Jerico set two plates on the table
and settled across from her.

"Gideon and Gabriel are rearranging the supplies in the

hold," he said coolly when they heard a sudden, loud crash
that made Bronte jump, followed by a good bit of roaring and
cussing. "I believe the load shifted on take off. We were a
little rushed when we were on loading."

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"My things from my office?" Bronte gasped in dismay.
He looked uncomfortable. "Those are in the forward hold,"

he said smoothly.

Bronte narrowed her eyes at him, certain he was lying.

She had no desire to go below and defend her property from
Gideon and Gabriel, however. Trying not to think about the
crashes beneath their feet, or her things, Bronte focused on
eating. It grew almost ominously quiet in the hold after a little
while. Bronte found herself listening intently, more uneasy
about the silence than she had been about the fighting. After
a few minutes, however, she heard the definite sound of feet
moving up rungs and a moment later, a hatch near the bridge
popped open. Gideon emerged, raked a hand through his wild
hair, and, after eyeing Bronte a moment, almost seemed to
shrug. "Gabriel is 'resting' in the hold," he said significantly.
"When you are done, Jerico, mayhap you should just check to
see if he ... uh ... needs a hand down there." Moving
somewhat stiffly, with one arm pressed tightly against his
ribs, he limped past them, heading for the facilities.

Jerico got up when Gideon had disappeared into the

rearward cabin. Moving to the hatch Gideon had left open, he
stared down the hole intently for several moments and finally
returned to his seat.

Bronte deduced from that, and also because Jerico seemed

in no particular rush to finish his meal, that Gabriel at least
appeared to still be breathing.

Her nervous stomach wasn't particularly conducive to

digestion, but she finished her meal anyway. As she worked
at chewing and swallowing food that had little taste or appeal,

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she found herself listening for any sound that might indicate
Gabriel was up and about, fighting the urge to go and look for
herself to see if he was alright. Jerico and Gideon had been at
pains, though, to pretend there was nothing going on below
and she was fairly certain Jerico would find a way to stop her
if she tried.

When she'd finished, she decided to help with clean up

since it would give her an excuse to linger in the galley to see
if Gabriel came up. Food had been strewn all over the galley,
even slung up on the walls and ceiling, evidence that
someone had already prepared, or been preparing, a meal
before the battle.

"That will not be necessary," Gideon said coolly and Bronte

glanced up to see he'd emerged from the cabin. He wasn't
bleeding anymore, but one eye was swollen nearly closed. His
lower lip was split and thicker on one side than the other.
There was a reddened knot on one cheek bone and another
on his forehead, and there were fist and foot sized bruises all
over his chest and belly. "We clean up our own mess."

Bronte lifted her brows questioningly.
He shrugged. "It is a matter of maintaining discipline." He

colored faintly at her look of disbelief. "It is easy enough for a
soldier who has never seen battle to sit on his hands when
there is nothing useful to do, much harder for soldiers like us
who have spent far less time outside of a battle than in one,"
he added tightly. "If they have no other outlet, they will fight
among themselves."

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Bronte had the distinct feeling that that comment was a

jab at her—as if it was her duty to put out so that they
wouldn't feel the need to beat each other's brains out!

She was almost more angry with herself for feeling guilty

about it than she was with Gideon. Without another word, she
dumped the trash she'd gathered, wiped her hands, and
headed into the cabin to read.

She'd read the same page nearly a dozen times when the

door opened. Gabriel stood on the threshold for several
moments, weaving drunkenly and finally headed toward the
bed where she was sitting. With a pained grunt, he dropped
to sit on the edge, hesitated as if he was gathering himself,
and finally turned around and lay down, letting out a long
breath as he lifted one arm and draped it over his eyes.

She couldn't help but wince inwardly as she surreptitiously

studied his battered face and body. As badly as Gideon had
looked, Gabriel looked worse, and his stiff movements
certainly seemed to indicate that he felt a great deal worse.
The healer in her chafed at doing nothing, but she knew there
was really very little she could do for him. He couldn't have
broken bones—she was fairly certain—because he didn't have
any. Outside, he was flesh and blood. Internally—his skeletal
system, anyway, was a metal alloy—the strongest and most
lightweight known to man, and she doubted even one of them
could bend, break, or dent it. He should not have had
biological internal organs, but obviously did—She didn't know
if they'd been made that way—for some reason that defied
logic—or if it was part of their evolution into a new life form—
but this was certainly not the first time he'd gone a few

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rounds with Gideon and Jerico. They had nanos that healed
them—and did a better, faster job of it than she could.

And she still ached with the need to nurture and comfort

him.

There had been many times in her life before when the

deep need she had to care for things had been contrary to her
instinct for survival, but she thought this ranked among the
highest. The broken winged eagle that she'd found when
she'd been a little girl and been moved by her empathy for its
suffering to help had tried to peck her eyes out before she
could get away from it, had succeeded in giving her a number
of scars on her head and arms and shoulders to remember
the occasion.

The cyborgs, of course, had intelligence and the ability to

reason the wild bird hadn't, but it was the same situation, just
many times worse—they were wild, untamed savages and far
more dangerous than just about anything in the wilderness
because they were also intelligent and able to reason.

This need she was becoming more and more aware of

inside of her to empathize with them was bad enough given
her status as prisoner and enemy—although she thought any
reasoning person would have to accept that their treatment
had given them more than enough cause to feel as they did.
The nurturing thing was worse. She could not soothe these
savage beasts with a gentle touch—or a good fuck! She
hadn't needed to overhear Jerico's comments to know that
Gideon was more unpredictable and irritable since they'd had
sex than he had been before. The way he'd ... mauled her
after he'd beat the hell out of Jerico might have seemed

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wildly exciting at just that moment, but it was a clear
indication of lack of self-control, and he'd had a lot more of
that before.

Beyond that, everything she had overheard them say

indicated that they had hatched some sort of plot against her.
She couldn't imagine what it might be when they discussed
battle and strategic campaigns one moment, and courting and
contracts and sex in the next breath. It didn't make any
sense to want any kind of contract with her that she could
think of.

She almost wished they had just come right out in their

usual blunt, completely tactless manner and told her what it
was all about. Then she would at least know what it was they
were after instead of having to worry and wonder, all the
while knowing that the idiots thought they were waging
guerrilla warfare on her.

If not for the fact that they could move like lightening

when the mood struck them, and virtually soundlessly, she
would never have believed they even had the capability of
managing a sneak attack of any description.

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Chapter Nine

The books the cyborgs had so thoughtfully captured when

they took her turned out to be a godsend in several ways.
One of the most significant and obvious was the fact that it
was something to occupy the endless hours of space travel
that could make a person go quietly insane from sheer
boredom. There were research texts among them, though,
that she found helpful in another way. She'd already read
those pertaining specifically to her field—some twice or more
times—but she liked to think she had a fairly wide interest in
the world beyond her field and had books on many different
subjects, many of which she had never quite gotten around to
reading.

The volume on Psychology she'd bought fell somewhere

between necessary research, entertainment, and curiosity. It
wasn't directly related to her field, but overlapped it to her
mind since the mental health and development of her patients
could directly affect their physical health. She had referenced
it several times when she'd run across behavior in her
patients that disturbed her, but it wasn't a book she'd read
cover to cover simply because she wasn't qualified to practice
in that area and she wasn't comfortable trying to dabble in it.
She had only used it a few times to try to understand certain
behavioral patterns that she'd feared might indicate problems
outside her ability to treat.

She had, in fact, forgotten it was part of her library until

she ran across it, but it was her uneasiness about her shifting

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attitude toward her captors that prompted her to select it to
see if she could learn anything helpful. Naturally enough, the
focus was on child psychology and she hadn't actually
expected to find anything useful in the book when she'd
abandoned her novel. There were several chapters, however,
that gave her a good deal of food for thought.

She hadn't been abused by her captors, either verbally or

physically—not to her mind—and yet she saw a pattern in the
discussion that was disturbingly familiar. In a sense it was
brain washing, mental manipulation brought about by a
combination of persuasion and fear, or reward and
punishment, that made the victim begin to empathize with
the person who was victimizing them and also made them
eager to please so that they would receive the 'reward' for
doing so—praise and acceptance.

Jerico had told her they didn't hate humans, but they had

given her that distinct impression before, made her feel guilty
for things she had had no hand in, no control over.

Was it just her imagination? Or had they set out to use

guilt to make her empathize with their cause? And, if that was
the case, why had they abandoned that psychological warfare
so abruptly—within the first week of her captivity? It seemed
likely that it had been intentional, not just accidental in the
sense that they were so angry about it that they couldn't
control or contain their feelings of misuse.

It was a very effective method of brain washing, but only if

the message was pounded in repeatedly over an extended
period of time. That would've seemed to have supported the
suggestion that it had been unintentional except for the fact

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that it also suggested a radical change in their perception
when they went from not being able to help spewing venom
about their mistreatment to suddenly having no problem
submerging their feelings.

If it had been intentional the motive behind it, she felt

sure, would have been to ensure that she was on their side by
the time they reached their destination, to make certain that
they could trust her to take the place they'd set aside for her
without having to worry that she would use the opportunity to
strike back at them.

She would've liked to think that they'd abandoned the plan

because, once they had begun to get to know her, they had
realized that she would never, under any circumstances,
harm the innocent, however she might feel about the people
who'd orchestrated and implemented her captivity.

Was that it, she wondered? Had brain washing been a part

of the plan, but they'd seen that it wasn't necessary?

They had definitely been using reverse psychology on her,

assuring her that they were nothing more than machines and
at the same time proving they were anything but. She'd had
the sense, though, that that was more of a defensive
mechanism, because they had expected her to hate them. It
was actually fairly typical human behavior to forestall
rejection one expected by rejecting the other person first.
Pride, ego, or sheer contrariness made it easier to push
others away before they could do the snubbing because then
one couldn't get hurt.

Maybe that was it? Maybe there had never been a plan at

all to try to brainwash her into shifting her loyalty from her

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fellow humans to the cyborgs? Maybe they'd just been so
hounded by the company trying to wipe them out that they'd
been sure all humans would hate them on sight and they'd
been braced for it, already defensive before they'd even given
her a chance?

She frowned at that, realizing that she'd heard enough to

know that even the cyborgs had a 'class' system—that
Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel had even more of a reason to feel
persecuted and defensive than the others. The Hunters,
apparently, ranked at the very top of the pyramid because
they were not just top of the line cyborgs. They had
everything the very best had and much more. They had been
programmed to believe they were human, right down to the
tiniest detail—a past, memories that made them capable of
functioning as if they'd been born, not manufactured. She
suspected that it had come as a severe blow to them to
discover they weren't and they were probable wrestling with
some pretty serious psychological issues of their own, but
obviously the cyborgs didn't see it that way. To their thinking,
although obviously they would rather die than admit it, they
were inferior. They were intelligent enough to understand that
they lacked something critical, knowledge and skills that
would help them to fit into the new social structure their kind
had established better, but were unable to fill in the gap.

After reasoning it over for a little while, she decided that

she'd probably guessed right about a lot of it. It seemed
logical that whoever had sent them would consider it
absolutely necessary to do whatever it took to shift her
loyalties, especially since they expected her to be influential

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in the lives and development of their young. They not only
wouldn't want to take the chance they she would hurt them.
They wouldn't want to take the chance that she would try to
manipulate her patients.

She didn't think it would have occurred to Gideon that she

might be trying to manipulate them if they hadn't set out to
manipulate her.

She still didn't know why they'd abandoned the plan—

although it was clear they had—but she was as certain as she
could be that it had been part of their original orders.

She was equally certain that she wasn't mistaken about

their defensiveness and that it wasn't just her bleeding heart
that saw them as 'wounded'. The humans who'd created them
wanted to annihilate them ... and they didn't even feel the
equal of their peers because they'd only been originally
designed to perform a specific function. They could be
soldiers, servants, or pleasure bots, but in every case they
were expected to be slaves to humanity, puppets that could
be used or discarded, where the others had been able to walk
among humans and interact as their equals, completely
undetected.

She actually felt more uneasy once she'd reasoned it out,

though. It would almost have been easier to accept that she
was 'blameless', under mind control—theirs—instead of her
own. If she accepted that they hadn't deliberately
manipulated her, though, she also had to accept that her soft
heart was once again working contrary to what should have
been a much stronger instinct of self-preservation. She was
flawed.

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Of course there was no doubt that their motives for

kidnapping her hadn't been nefarious. They needed her and
knew damned well no human was going to just volunteer to
help them. That left them in the position of either doing
without or taking what they needed.

That didn't make it alright. On the other hand, she was

obliged to admit that, if she'd been in the same position they
were, worried about the health of her child, and she'd had no
choice but to let the child suffer or take whatever steps
necessary to see that it didn't, she would've at least been
tempted to do the same thing.

She still felt that she should've hated them for it. She still

thought she shouldn't have been able to empathize with
them, let alone feel, more and more, a compulsion to heal
their 'wounds'.

She knew part of that growing need to give was linked to

the physical attraction she felt toward them. If she had found
them unappealing she would've been less inclined to be
receptive to anything else.

Unfortunately that was so far from the case that it was

downright embarrassing. Physically and sexually, they blew
her mind. The fact that they seemed so emotionally needy
was just the banana peel to complete her downfall.

And the thing that really distressed her was that she

couldn't figure out which one of them was going to be the
tank that flattened her. From one day to the next, sometimes
from one hour to the next, she teetered between them, drawn
from one to the other like a bee that couldn't make up its
mind which blossom was sweetest.

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Or maybe she was the flower and couldn't decide which

bee she most liked sipping at her nectar?

She felt horribly guilty about avoiding poor Gabriel, but

she was already in enough trouble from giving in to Gideon
and Jerico. If she had sex with him, too, and he had anything
approaching the effect Gideon and Jerico had had on her—and
she strongly suspected he would—then she would only be
that much worse off, that much more confused, and that
much closer to having a nervous break down. It was hard
enough trying to back track and put a safer distance between
her and the two she'd already been intimate with because she
was having to fight her own needs and desires, not just
theirs.

She couldn't look at either Gideon or Jerico without

remembering what they'd done to her, how they'd made her
feel. She didn't think she could've done so even if not for the
fact that any time she met their gaze she saw it in their eyes
that they were thinking about it, too. And even when she
refused to make eye contact, the way they looked at her was
enough to arouse her by itself.

The only self-defense she could devise, however, was to

continue to avoid them as much as possible in the confined
area of the ship. They made that easier on her by erupting
into violent conflict more and more readily. The longer they
were in space, the less it took to set one of them off.

By her best guess, they'd been in space for nearly a

month, earth time, when she abandoned the cabin one day
because Gabriel had gone in to sleep and discovered there
wasn't a sign of either Jerico or Gideon. The noises from the

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hold quickly answered the question of where they'd gotten off
to. They'd been 'arranging' and rearranging the supplies in
the hold for weeks, every few days at first and then almost
every day, and then sometimes two or three times a day. As
quickly as they healed, most of the time they went around
looking like prize fighters.

They would vary their explanations for what they were

doing in the hold. Sometimes they were 'securing' the
supplies or 'rearranging' the load, sometimes they were
'inventorying' supplies, and sometimes they were 'exercising'
or 'practicing' hand-to-hand combat to stay sharp.

She wouldn't have thought it was possible to get used to

them pounding the daylights out of each other at the drop of
a hat, but, little by little, she'd stopped being totally unnerved
by it. She still didn't like it. It still set her teeth on edge and
upset her besides because she hated to see the evidence of,
not just their frustration, but their pain. She began, slowly, to
accept, though, that it was in integral part of them,
something that was unlikely ever to completely change.

She'd already settled on the bench to read when it

abruptly dawned on her that it was the first time she'd found
herself completely alone and unwatched. More importantly, it
was the first time she'd been any where near the bridge
without one or more of them standing between her and the
controls.

The moment the thought jelled in her mind her belly

twisted with fear and her heart began to pound so frantically
she felt like she would suffocate. Her body seemed to go into

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rigor mortis, but her mind went wild with possibilities.
Uneasily, she cut her eyes toward the hatch.

It was closed, as it usually was whenever they went below

to 'work'.

She glanced toward the cabin, wondering how deeply

Gabriel was sleeping, or if he was still alert enough to put two
and two together and realize that she was alone. Evidently,
Gideon and Jerico were too preoccupied to realize she could
be rambling around unattended.

Without consciously making a decision, Bronte set her

book aside and slipped off of the bench. Her legs felt as if she
had tied lead weights to them. Actually, her entire body felt
as stiff and heavy as if it didn't belong to her at all. Flicking
darting glances between the hatch to the hold, the
unattended bridge, and the door of the sleeping quarters,
Bronte inched a little closer to the bridge.

By the time she finally reached it, she was weak and faint

and ready to collapse from the adrenaline pulsing through
her. Wilting into one of the seats, she turned to stare at the
hatch again, trying to listen over the pounding in her ears. It
didn't particularly relax her when she finally identified enough
banging around to ascertain that the battle was still in full
swing, but she decided she could afford to spend a few
moments studying over the control panels.

She could see at a quick glance that the set up was typical

of others she'd seen, but then she had never done much
more than glance at the control center of a vessel, or watch,
without a lot of comprehension, as the pilots and co-pilots
and navigators manipulated their various instrument panels

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and monitored the vid displays. Everything was clearly
marked with legends, though, and she managed to identify
what most of the various controls were for. To a great extent,
she knew the ship pretty much flew itself, or more accurately
the computer flew the ship, just as it maintained everything
on the ship.

The pilot came in when maneuvering was needed, which

was mostly at launch and landing but could also include the
need to avoid an obstacle in space that might not have been
there the last time one passed through. Nothing in space was
'fixed'. It wasn't like surface travel on some world where one
could memorize all the landmarks and expect them to be in
the same place when one made the return trip.

Piloting a space craft required not only lightening reflexes

but extremely accurate reflexes because of the speed at
which the ship was traveling and the often many times
greater speed of the objects in space traveling toward it or on
a course that bisected the ship's course.

Therein was the rub. She might be able to convince the

computer to turn around and head back if she could figure out
the right coordinates. She might not even have to try to
figure out how to trick the computer into listening to her,
because it might not be secured against her voice, but she
thought that most likely it was.

She couldn't pilot the ship, however. Not only had she

never done that, she was honest enough to accept that her
reflexes were not only a long way from lightening fast, they
were also a long way from pinpoint accuracy. As often as not,

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when she reacted, her coordination was clumsy at best and
disastrous at worse.

And piloting wasn't the only stumbling block. Navigation

was critical. The ship's course had to be carefully monitored
and precisely corrected at regular intervals. They weren't just
traveling through 'empty' space. They were traveling through
gravitational fields, mostly so weak that they couldn't even
feel them, and yet they were still enough to effect the ship, to
alter its course in one direction or another as it was pulled at
from first one direction and then another. Drifting so much as
a hair's breadth at point A could mean not just missing the
planet one was aiming at. It could mean missing the entire
solar system, or maybe even the galaxy.

The best she could hope for would be to retrace their

course and hope that she could get close enough to
communicate with someone who could come and get her, or
slow the ship down enough they could catch her in a tractor
beam and pull her in.

After glancing around quickly to make certain no one had

spotted her yet, Bronte moved to the seat Gideon generally
occupied, which allowed him to monitor both the ship's
controls and the navigational controls. She stared at the star
chart displayed on the vid, trying to find a point of
orientation. She wasn't a lot more accustomed to star charts
than she was the ship's controls, but every kid in school had
to learn to identify the major population centers—occupied
solar systems—in their own galaxy and, of course, the galaxy
itself plus the known galaxies around it.

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Nothing looked even vaguely familiar to her, though, she

realized in dismay. Frowning, she fell to studying the clusters
on the display, wondering if it was just the direction that
made the patterns look different—because galaxies had an
identifiable pattern that could be memorized and she
should've been able to recognize at least one.

A shadow fell across the screen. She didn't even realize it

for a split second, except she noticed there was no longer an
irritating, reflective glare from the lighting behind her.

Gideon, she saw when her brain finally connected 'no

glare' with 'shadow', was standing over her, his face a mirror
of fury. Bronte gaped at him in absolute horror for several
moments.

He didn't ask her what she was doing. He didn't need to.

There could be no doubt whatsoever what she was doing.

Bronte didn't even try to think up a lie. It was pointless to

try even if she could've managed any sort of mental
acrobatics when she had no excuse at all for being where she
was.

She bolted upward out of the seat as if she'd been ejected

from it and made a valiant attempt to dive past him. He
caught her as she rushed past, hooking an arm around her
waist and allowing her momentum to carry her full circle until
he had her trapped between himself and the wall. Trapped,
Bronte gaped up at him, belatedly recalling that he'd told her
that, while she didn't have to worry that any of them would
hurt her for any reason, that didn't mean she didn't have to
concern herself that there would be no retaliation for anything
she did. Unfortunately, instead of inspiring fear and by virtue

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of that, a sense of self-preservation, that memory triggered
the memory of what he'd done to 'teach her a lesson' for
biting him. Her reaction was instantaneous. Heat flooded her
and her belly went weightless.

It was at that precise moment that she noticed several

things about him that she'd failed to notice in the first few
moments of sheer terror.

Rage didn't exactly, or at least not totally, describe his

expression. It was rather equal parts anger and raging desire.

He was shaking, his breath heaving raggedly in and out of

his chest, obviously in the grips of conflicting emotions a lot
more powerful and chaotic than just anger.

A split second before he plastered his mouth over hers and

totally annihilated brain function altogether, another memory
popped into her mind—the last time he'd looked at her that
way was when Gabriel and Jerico had pulled him off of her,
telling him he couldn't touch her when he was still caught up
in the grips of battle lust.

Fear didn't have time to emerge above her own desires or

dampen it. The thought had barely lit in her mind when she
felt the pressure and infinitely welcome adhesion of his mouth
over hers, felt his heat and desire invade her senses with the
force of a neutron bomb as his tongue raked over hers
possessively, filling her with the heady taste and scent that
was uniquely his and more intoxicating that a fifth of one
hundred proof alcohol. Full-fledged arousal inundated her at
the same instant fear driven adrenaline shot through her
heart like a spear. Her entire body instantly lost all muscle
tone. If he hadn't been holding her, pinning her to the wall

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with his body, she would have dissolved into a puddle of
boneless flesh at his feet.

He hadn't touched her in far too long, she realized dimly,

held at bay by her determination to keep a safe distance from
him, but it hadn't been nearly long enough for her body to
forget his effect on her. Without a murmur of protest or any
coyness, everything inside of her opened fully to him,
blossomed into readiness.

The tearing sound and pull against her uniform as the front

closure parted penetrated her mind a split second before she
felt Gideon's hand close over one breast, squeezing it. She
opened her eyes with an effort as he broke the kiss, lifting his
head to look down at her breasts as he fondled them,
plucking at her nipples until both were standing erect and
hard and pulsing with acute sensation.

That was when she discovered it wasn't just Gideon

crowding her. Jerico stood just to the side of the two them,
his expression as filled with hungry intent as Gideon's.

Either Gideon had known all along that Jerico had followed

him from the hold and made no move to leave—which
seemed likely—or he simply hadn't allowed that fact to deter
him from his prey.

He slid a narrow eyed, almost challenging look at Jerico.
Jerico didn't seem to notice. His gaze was riveted to her

breasts. He swallowed audibly as he watched, reaching for
her wrist almost like a sleep walker.

A frisson of dread pierced Bronte's heated arousal as his

hand closed around her wrist. The image of the two of them

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fighting over her and ripping her limb from limb leapt into her
disordered mind.

For a painful handful of moments, the two men's gazes

met. Almost as if there'd been some silent agreement that
passed between them, they returned their attention to her.
Gideon slipped his hands upward from her breasts to push the
uniform from her shoulders and then slipped his hands
downward to her waist. Pulling her from against the wall, he
turned her so that her back was to Jerico.

She thought at first that that was his way of claiming her

attention fully and at the same time making it clear that he
had seized her first and wasn't about to yield her until he was
ready to do so. Jerico's hands closed over her shoulders,
however, gliding downward over her arms to push the sleeves
from them. As the top portion fell free, Gideon pushed it from
her hips so that the suit continued its downward trek until it
settled around her ankles.

A hand settled on one of her buttocks, squeezed the cheek

in a massaging motion.

Bronte's eyes widened as Gideon's hands slipped upward

to cup her breasts again. She didn't have time to complete
the cycle of acknowledgment and then panic. Jerico grabbed
her arms, lifting them above her head and then curling them
around his neck. She arched her back instinctively at the pull
of pressure along her arms and shoulders, but even as she
tried to twist her head to look behind her, Gideon caught her
jaw, tipped her head back against Jerico's shoulder and bent
his head to align his mouth with hers again.

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Chaos erupted inside of her as they shifted closer, pinning

her between their bodies.

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Chapter Ten

Even as Gideon's mouth assaulted Bronte's senses,

centering her mind on the forceful persuasion of his lips and
tongue as he lay siege to her mouth, the nibbling assault of
Jerico's mouth along one arm to the sensitive crook shifted
her focus in that direction. And when Gideon moved against
her, molding his hard chest and belly along hers and rocking
his hips to nudge her mound with the hard ridge of his cock,
she felt the heat and brush of Jerico's body along her back,
felt his erection digging into the cleft of her buttocks and
lifting her harder against Gideon's erection.

The bombardment of her senses from seemingly every

direction at once sent her into sensory overload. Within
moments, she began to feel as if she was on fire from the
inside out. She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't keep track
of the hands or mouths moving over her with feverish,
shaking need beyond the location that exploded with fiery
sensation at each caress. She moaned, shook, buffeted by
their bodies, burning up with both her own heat and theirs.

Jerico dipped his head to nibble along the side and back of

her neck as his hands glided along her arms and around to
cup and mold her breasts, his fingers plucking and teasing
her nipples. As he released her breasts and skated his palms
downward over her belly Gideon abandoned his assault on her
mouth and leaned lower, catching her along either side of her
breasts with his hands and pressing them together so that he

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could torment first one and then the other with the hungry
pull of his mouth and tongue.

She had no clue of when they'd discarded their loincloths

until she felt turgid flesh against her instead of cloth sheathed
rods. Doubt flooded her as she felt them both probing her at
once, both trying to mount her on their cocks. Gideon won
the battle by snatching her upward and impaling her on his
turgid length. Even as she let out a sharp gasp, wrapping her
legs around his waist, however, she felt Jerico pierce her from
behind.

Pain warred for several moments with the pleasure as he

drove into her, continued to battle for dominance for many
moments as they began to pound into her frantically, but it
only seemed to magnify the pleasure. She held on tightly, her
legs around Gideon's waist, her arms locked around Jerico
neck behind her, but her body had already begun to quiver on
the verge of release before they managed to synchronize
their rhythm. As they found it, began to strive for their own
release, she came with an explosiveness that wrenched hard
cries from her with every intense spasm that rocked her, that
sent her spiraling toward darkness.

She went perfectly limp even as first Jerico and then

Gideon uttered harsh groans and came. It would've been hard
to say who was shaking the most when they leaned together
in the aftermath, struggling to drag air into their lungs. But
Bronte was still closer to comatose when they finally eased
their cocks from her body than she was consciousness. When
her feet touched the floor, her body, like her uniform had,
kept going. Gideon and Jerico both made a grab for her, but

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she was so slick from the combined perspiration of their
bodies and hers she slid from their grasp, wilting at their feet.

Dimly aware that both men were staring down at her in

consternation, she tried to lift one eyelid and failed. Jerico
and Gideon exchanged a horrified glance and knelt on either
side of her. She had no idea what they were doing until she
felt Gideon's fingers against the still pounding pulse in her
throat.

"Cut it out," she mumbled, slapping at his hand.
"You are hurt?"
Irritation flickered to life in spite of the warm afterglow of

the most powerful climax she'd ever had in her life.

No thanks to them, she was ok!
"I might be dying," she murmured in a die away voice as

she abruptly recalled what had unleashed the beasts to start
with.

Gideon slipped his hands beneath her and snatched her up

so fast she nearly got whiplash. She opened one eye a crack
as he strode quickly toward the rear of the ship, Jerico on his
heels—literally. He managed to step on the back of Gideon's
foot, twice, nearly tripping him up. Gideon sent a snarl at him
over one shoulder, like the warning growl of a panther.
They'd managed to make it through the rearward hatch/door
by that time, however, and Jerico merely ran around them as
they entered the sleeping quarters.

Gabriel, sensing the commotion, sat up groggily. Jerico

reached him before he could get to his feet and knocked him
off the bunk. Leaning down, Gideon settled her almost
tenderly on the bed and began checking her for breaks.

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Bronte tried to fight him off but as soon as she pushed his
hands away they settled somewhere else.

She swung at him when he caught her legs and parted her

thighs to examine her pussy, missing, unfortunately.

He straightened finally, staring down at her. "What is

wrong?" he demanded, his voice threaded with both confusion
and anger.

"Too much cock," Bronte muttered unwisely, rolling onto

her belly.

The smack of a hand on her buttocks brought her back to

life. She reared up on the bed and glared at Gideon, who was
looking with a mixture of surprise and dismay at his hand, as
if it had acted independently of his will. He transferred his
gaze to her after a moment. "You are not hurt!" he growled
accusingly.

Bronte set her jaw. "It wasn't as if you didn't try! What

made you think you could both fuck me at the same time!"

Reddening, Jerico and Gideon exchanged an uncomfortable

glance. "What the hell did you do?" Gideon ground out
furiously.

"Nothing you did not do!" Jerico snarled.
Groaning, knowing what as coming, Bronte struggled to

drag herself off the bed and seek shelter. She slid off the end
of the bed and onto the floor just as Jerico hit the wall behind
the bed and landed where she'd been moments before.

"What the hell happened?" Gabriel, who'd been glancing

from one player in the drama to the next like someone
watching a tennis match, demanded just as Jerico launched

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himself off the bed at Gideon, catching him in the mid-section
and carrying him halfway across the room.

She certainly wasn't going to tell him! Ducking, she

wiggled under the bunk, praying no one was going to land on
it and squash her like a bug. Gideon and Jerico were slinging
each other around the room, however, and she was fairly
sure she couldn't make it out of the room or into the
bathroom without getting flattened by one of them. She
collapsed weakly against the wall as far from any edge as she
could get once she'd climbed under the bed, wondering
uneasily if they were going to remember what had started the
fuckathon and free-for-all once they had exhausted
themselves.

Recalling the look on Gideon's face when he'd emerged

from the hold and discovered her studying the star charts,
she shuddered. It dawned on her that they must have
suddenly realized she was alone and the bridge unattended.
Ordinarily, they 'sorted' the supplies in the hold until they
were too exhausted to manage much more than crawling out
again, and sometimes not even that much. This time, though,
both of them had still been pumping aggressive adrenaline
when they'd arrived to find her trying to plot escape.

Not that she'd had a chance in hell of actually managing

anything.

She supposed, if she'd been thinking more clearly, as in—

not scared shitless at her audacity—she could've blocked the
hatch to the hold and trapped them down there, but probably
only long enough to sabotage the ship.

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Because she was pretty sure that would've been the

results of tampering with any of the controls.

They weren't even in the Milky Way Galaxy—not even

close enough to identify it anymore! She didn't have a clue of
where they were, but it looked like uncharted space to her—
at least uncharted by humans.

Fortunately for her, the rage they were feeling at that

moment of discovery had spilled out in lust. Even so, things
had seemed pretty touch and go there for a few moments,
and she'd almost begun to get seriously worried when she
realized they weren't stopping at merely fondling her all over
at the same time.

She'd had no idea three people could do that!
It wasn't as if she hadn't had sex both ways before—she'd

never especially cared for the backdoor entry, but she'd done
it plenty of times with her ex. It had certainly never occurred
to her that she could be done both ways at the same time,
though!

God! That had been the most awesome climax she'd ever

had in her life! She'd thought for a few moments that she'd
actually had a seizure, that her brain had exploded when her
body did.

A shiver skated through her and she realized she was still

naked.

Jerico and Gideon seemed completely unconcerned about

the fact that they were, but she was getting cold. Seeing that
Gabriel had joined the battle, she inched toward the end of
the bed and felt around on the top until she managed to grab
a handful of the cover.

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She'd pulled it halfway off the bed when a hand suddenly

closed around her wrist. Gideon dragged her from beneath
the bed and stood her on her feet. "What were you doing at
the ship's controls?" he growled.

Bronte stared at him, chewing the inside of her mouth.

"Just looking," she said finally.

His eyes narrowed.
"I didn't touch anything! I swear it!"
He studied her a moment longer and finally turned to

Jerico and jerked his head in the direction of the bridge.
Swaying slightly, Jerico stared at him blankly for a moment
and then nodded, stumbling from the room unsteadily.

"You, too, Gabriel," he said grimly, without turning to look

at the other man, his gaze still locked with hers.

Gabriel didn't move.
"That is an order," Gideon said in a low, rumbling growl,

sliding a narrowed glance at the man. "Make sure she did not
tamper with anything."

With obvious reluctance, Gabriel saluted and left.
Bronte swallowed uneasily when she realized they were

alone.

"You can not be trusted," he said after a long moment.
Bronte gave him a look that was a mixture of guilt and

indignation. A thought occurred to her abruptly. "You were
testing me?" she demanded, outraged.

Something flickered in his eyes, the barest hint that she

might have guessed wrong. "If I were, you failed, did you
not?"

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Unable to maintain eye contact, she looked away. She

didn't know why she should feel the least bit guilty about it,
or distressed that she might have disappointed him. She was
their prisoner, after all. That was what prisoners did—try to
escape.

She realized, though, that it hadn't actually been a test,

not per se. The fact was that he'd begun to trust her or he
wouldn't have 'forgotten' and left the helm unattended.

And she'd really screwed that up!
That was why she felt guilty and distressed. Not because

she'd actually done anything wrong, but because she could
tell she'd thrown away something she didn't realize she'd
wanted until it was gone.

Damn it!
He hooked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look up

at him. "I did say that there would be consequences."

Her entire body went taut at that, his words instantly

recalling the last 'consequences'. She swallowed with an
effort. "I thought that was what we just did," she said
uneasily.

His expression tightened. "Not quite."
She hadn't realized he'd shifted closer until she felt the

edge of the bed behind her knees. She tipped backwards as
he crowded her again, sprawling on the bed. Before she'd
even stopped bouncing, he was on top of her, her wrists
manacled to the bed on either side of her head.

"Gideon!" she gasped breathlessly.
His gaze, which had been focused on her breasts, lifted to

hers. "Good," he murmured, dropping his head to trace a

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feather light path across her throat with his lips. "At least we
have established who I am."

He would throw that up to her, she thought with a mixture

of uneasiness and irritation, now, when he had her completely
at his mercy! She should have known he wouldn't forget ...
and he would hold a grudge for that minor act of defiance!

Her heart was hammering so hard by the time he reached

her breasts they were trembling with the pounding beat.
Extending his tongue, he traced a circle with the tip around
one nipple and along the side of her breast, across the valley
and up the next mound, lazily, mind shattering circles around
first one and then the other until her breath was coming in
short little gasps and she was dizzy with the heat surging
through her blood. She bit her lip as the need tightened inside
of her for him to take the aching tips into his mouth. Instead,
he merely teased her, on and on, never quite touching her
where she yearned to be touched, until she bucked against
him, struggled to jerk her wrists from his hold.

"What do you think I should do to you for trying to

sabotage the ship?" he asked in a low, husky voice.

Bronte swallowed with an effort. "I wasn't."
He flicked a glance at her.
"I wasn't!" she said testily.
He studied her for a long moment and dipped his head

again. Bronte sucked in a sharp breath when she felt his lips
close on one engorged tip. She held it, waiting hopefully. He
merely nipped it lightly with his lips, however. It wasn't what
she wanted, needed. It was bad as what he'd done before,
just enough pressure to almost feel good. He nipped at it until

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she was ready to scream at him and then moved to the other
nipple and teased it in the same way. She curled her fingers
tightly into her palms, trying to close her mind to the
movement of his lips. It was just enough pressure to make it
impossible to ignore and not nearly enough to satisfy. Her
skin felt as if it was growing too tight. The warmth in her belly
spread outward, warmed her skin and then heated it more
until it was stinging, driving her crazy.

"What was the plan then?"
Dizzy from her gasping breaths, Bronte opened her eyes

and tried to glare at him. "I didn't have a plan," she finally
muttered.

"No plan?"
There was disbelief in his voice, and that didn't augur well

for an end to the torment. She licked her lips with a tongue
that felt almost as dry. "I was just wondering where we
were."

He lifted his head. "Try again."
"That was all ... really," she said a little weakly. She was

not going to tell him about her half-baked plan to take over
the ship when they killed each other! He was bound to think
she'd been plotting to try to murder them and she would
really rather not give him that idea.

He went back to teasing her with the tip of his tongue. She

struggled against him again until she couldn't find the
strength to struggle any more. "Gideon! Please!" she said a
little desperately.

She nearly came out of her skin when his hot mouth closed

over her nipple and suckled. She hadn't realized until that

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moment that the blood was building tighter and tighter until
her nipples had grown painfully swollen. For several moments
it was almost more torture to have him tugging at the
engorged bud than it had been when he'd been driving her
crazy with the teasing. She lost her breath, groaned when she
finally managed to fill her lungs again.

The muscles of her sex clenched so tightly her belly

cramped painfully. Moisture flooded her nether regions.

She began to think she was going to faint ... or die if he

didn't stop. The only thing that she could think of that could
be worse was if he did stop.

He stopped. She was nearly sobbing for breath by then.
"You were studying the star charts."
Bronte twisted her head away. "To figure out where we

were ... in case."

"In case?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
She refused to look at him. When she didn't answer him,

he dropped his head and took her other nipple in his mouth,
suckling on it hard enough she cried out at the molten tide
that washed through her. It was tortuous to feel the tug of his
mouth on her ... in the most wonderful way imaginable.

She began to feel desperate for the feel of him inside of

her, plunging into her. The muscles along her channel
clenched and unclenched frantically for the feel of him.

He stopped abruptly, released his hold on her wrists and

shoved away from her. He'd already climbed off of the bed
before it dawned on her that he was leaving her.

She still couldn't believe it!

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She shoved herself up on one arm and glared at him when

she saw he was striding toward the door, feeling disbelief
yield to outrage and then pure rage. He really did mean to
leave her like this! "You son-of-bitch!" she snarled at him,
wishing she had something to throw at him ... like a knife. "I
will kill you if you ever do that to me again, you asshole!"

He halted at that, twisted his head to glance at her over

his shoulder. "I am son of none. I had no mother," he
growled. He hesitated. "You will not go near the bridge again.
There will not be an 'in case'. We are much harder to kill than
you can possibly imagine."

That comment washed over her like a douche of ice water.

Dismay followed it. She didn't want them dead! How could he
think she wanted that! It was just a figure of speech. She
hadn't really meant it, for god's sake! It wasn't like she could
do anything to them, damn them!

She felt like crying. Her chest tightened. Her throat closed.

Her eyes and nose stung with the need and they just wouldn't
come.

She got up when she realized she couldn't find the relief

she needed and went in to take a bath. The water, usually so
pleasantly soothing, didn't soothe her at all. Her entire body
still ached from being so aroused and then left unfulfilled.

Which made it impossible to ignore the fact that she

wanted to kill him for arousing her and then not finishing, not
because he'd aroused her to start with.

"Bastard!" she yelled angrily.
He had no mother ... no father ... no family ... no life

beyond what he had here. She felt like crying all over again

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when his words echoed in her mind, this time from remorse—
'I had no mother'. She did cry that time, hurting for him, for
them.

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Chapter Eleven

Gideon settled heavily in the command chair. Adjusting his

aching member and painfully throbbing balls, he draped a
knee over one arm of the chair, slouching tiredly in his seat
as he stared unseeingly at the forward vid screen.

"We have checked everything twice. She did not tamper

with any of the instruments."

Instead of glancing at Gabriel when he spoke, Gideon lifted

one hand and rubbed it down his face, settling it over his lips
and chin for several moments before he lifted it away from his
face and frowned down at the tremor in his hand. "That is
good at any rate," he said finally, dropping his hand to the
arm of his chair.

"You did not hurt her?"
Gideon's head swiveled sharply in Gabriel's direction. "I

would not so far forget myself no matter how angry!" he
growled.

Gabriel stared back at him unflinchingly. "You and Jerico

left her alone in here," he pointed out, "or she would have
had no opportunity to sabotage the ship. You did something
you should not have when you caught her or you would not
have been so anxious that you had hurt her. Do not tell me
you will not lose control! You have not been in control since
we brought her onboard!"

Gideon massaged his chest at the reminder of the pain

that had shot through him when she had wilted to the floor
like a crushed flower. He was not certain what had caused it,

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or the jolt of knee weakening adrenaline that had followed it,
but he thought that had more to do with his anger than
anything else that had happened. He frowned, but
thoughtfully. "I have not seen that either you or Jerico have
behaved any more rationally," he said coldly.

"You are certain we did not hurt her?" Jerico asked

uneasily.

Gideon shrugged. "I could find no damage and she felt well

enough to threaten to kill me when I left. I do not think so."

"Why would she do that?" Gabriel ground out.
Ignoring the challenge in Gabriel's voice, Gideon thought

that over. "I am not entirely certain. She did not like the
method I used to interrogate her, I think."

Gabriel considered that and finally relaxed. "What else are

we to do when she is so fragile, and more than our lives are
worth besides? She has no room to complain," he said
resentfully. "She has tortured us far more than we have
tortured her. I am almost ready to cut my genitals off and
toss them into the incinerator. You two, at least, have had
some relief. I have had none!"

"It is worse afterwards," Gideon said morosely.
"How would you know?" Gabriel snarled angrily.
"Because I felt as you do before, and now it is worse!"

Gideon growled back at him. "You should pleasure yourself to
relieve the pressure."

"I have!" Gabriel said indignantly. "Else I would have lost

my mind long before now. It helps for a short while and then
I feel worse! I begin to think the more I empty this thing, the

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more it produces! I am up to six times per cycle now and I
am sure my balls are getting larger."

"Precisely my point," Gideon retorted.
"I can not think that our plan is going at all well if she is

trying to think of a way to escape," Jerico put in thoughtfully.
"I was taken completely by surprise. She has shown no
aggression at all—only fear, though it has not seemed to me
that she is nearly as fearful as before. And I still am stunned
that she would be so bold that she would seize the first
opening to try something. I think we must concede that she is
not at all like any opponent we have come up against before.
I am not at all certain how to proceed with someone who
appears so passive and attacks without any warning
whatsoever."

"She knows that she is not strong enough to challenge us.

She is waiting for us to kill ourselves for her so that she can
return home. She was trying to familiarize herself with the
controls and plot a course back."

"She told you that?" Gabriel demanded.
"Not in those words, but she inadvertently revealed her

plan while I was interrogating her."

Gabriel smiled faintly. "She is very clever. I would not

have thought that she would be any challenge at all ... not in
that way."

"You have lost your mind or you would not be smiling like

a moron!" Jerico snarled. "She wants us dead! I am as certain
as I can be that that means she will not consider a contract
with us!"

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Gabriel glared at him. "A man wants to feel pride in his

woman!" he shot back. "I was only thinking that I am more
convinced that she is perfect even than before. She is
beautiful and desirable and clever and brave. I do not mind
saying I feel far better to think of getting offspring on her.
They will only be stronger for having a mother such as her ...
even if they are not cyborg."

"I think you have missed a crucial point," Gideon said

dryly. "She does not want us. I am convinced, but if we can
not convince her then we will only be that much more
miserable when the others take our woman!"

"I will kill anyone who looks at her!" Gabriel snarled

furiously.

"You are a formidable warrior, Gabriel, but you are not

that good! There are still far more who have no woman than
have," Gideon pointed out. "We can not kill them all and the
council would not stand still for wholesale slaughter of our
kinsmen—by us. The idea is to create a society, not to finish
what the humans set out to do and wipe ourselves out."

They fell to considering the situation for a few moments.

"What about your plan to present the notion to her in a
tactical sense?" Jerico asked finally. "I did not think much of it
at the time, but it is clear that all this time we thought she
was coming to accept the situation she was merely plotting to
use our weakness for her against us. If she is of that bent,
then she is surely more likely to appreciate the advantage
than I had thought she might."

Gideon cupped his mouth and chin in one hand, thinking.

"I am not as certain as I was that that would have the desired

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effect. We can not point out the merits of it without also
pointing out why it would have merit and then she is liable to
decide to wait and let the others kill us to get to her. I begin
to think she may be holding a grudge over the fact that we
are the ones who captured her. It is unreasonable when we
were only following orders, but I do not think she properly
appreciates our position in this ... or that she has considered
that someone else would have been sent in our place."

Gabriel shrugged. "It was our decision to take her when we

discovered the man was dead," he pointed out.

Gideon glared at him. "Tell her that! I am sure she will be

more willing to forgive us for it then!"

"I hesitate to point this out, but it occurs to me that she

might be holding a grudge because she has already thought
of that."

Gideon sent Jerico a look of disgust. "It is very likely," he

said tightly. "But I still do not want to point that out to her. I
think that we must accept that she will not begin to feel any
affection for any of us, but I would rather she did not
continue to hate us. If she knows that we took one look at her
and instantly decided to take her instead—because we were
thinking with our cocks instead of our brains—she will know
the advantage it gives her. She will torment us endlessly if
she realizes she has the power to do so.

"I would prefer battle wounds! Painful as those are, at

least they heal and do not continue to ache and make me feel
sick! She has the tongue and eyes of a laser rifle and unerring
accuracy to deploy her ammunition. She made me afraid
when I thought I had hurt her. I have never known fear

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before in my memory! And she was only pretending to be
hurt. I was so blinded by rage when I realized that that I
thought for several moments that I would lose control, and
then I thought that I would throw up my dinner when I
realized that I had considered choking her, however fleetingly
it went through my mind!

"I am convinced it was a mistake when it was decided to

allow the development of emotions instead of removing the
portions of the brain which encourage such illogical and
uncontrollable urges! One can not go insane if there are no
emotions to twist the guts into knots and make one think all
sorts of irrational things!"

"I thought it was only me," Gabriel said after a prolonged

silence. "I almost feel better to know that I am no more
irrational than you."

Gideon rolled his eyes. "I can not imagine why that would

make you feel better! And if it was only you, then we would
not all be spending more time in the hold pounding on each
other than doing our work. I have sustained less damage in
entire campaigns than I have had since we took that female! I
have begun to think my nanos will wear out repairing the
damage."

"I have wondered the same," Jerico agreed tiredly. "We

can not continue as we have. We must find a way to get her
to agree to contract or give up on the notion altogether."

Gideon and Gabriel both turned around to stare at him in

disgust. "You give up the notion," Gabriel ground out. "I am
not ready to do so."

"Nor I," Gideon agreed.

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"I did not say that I was ready to concede defeat!" Jerico

snapped angrily. "I said we must resolve this ... somehow."

Gideon sagged lower in his seat, scrubbing his hands over

his face. "I can not think!"

"It is your rest period," Gabriel pointed out. "You should

rest and then you will be able to consider this more clearly."

"I do not trust Bronte enough to sleep near her at the

moment," Gideon ground out. "Nor trust myself near her at
the moment after what I had to do to get answers from her.
And I am not about to allow her to know by ordering her out
of the cabin."

Jerico and Gabriel exchanged a curious glance. "She was

that angry?"

"You have not seen her angry before," Gideon said. "You

only believe that you have because you did not see her when
I left."

"You do not think she learned her lesson?" Gabriel asked.
"I believe she taught me one," Gideon said wryly, absently

massaging the ache in his genitals. "I do not know why she
was so furious. She could not have failed to know that it
affected me just as much, probably more. She does not have
these to swell up and ache like hell."

He fell to drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair,

thinking. "She was angry because I did not finish," he said
pensively.

"That was the point," Jerico said.
Gideon shot a look at him but it was clear his mind was

elsewhere. "She does not like that anymore than we do," he

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decided. "We can use the same tactic against her that she has
used to such effect upon us."

"I do not think I like the direction this is going," Gabriel

said uneasily.

Gideon frowned. "We can not gain her affection. We can

not offer contracts as a tactical advantage. Pleasuring her has
not convinced her that she wants us. Mayhap withholding it
will do what nothing else has done ... Or at least withholding
culmination? We will make her suffer as we have been and
then we will have something of value to offer to encourage
her to contract with us."

"I think your fluids have backed up into your brain!" Jerico

growled. "Exactly how do you think that will convince her?"

"We can not wait until I have had her to do this?" Gabriel

demanded furiously.

"I am sick of hearing you complain!" Jerico snarled. "If you

can not find the balls to approach her, shut up!"

Gabriel was out of his seat and had pinned Jerico to the

wall, his hands around the other man's throat before he had
even finished speaking.

Gideon ignored them. "The hold," he reminded them

absently.

When they emerged some thirty minutes later, he looked

them over and calmly proceeded to outline the new plan.

"I still do not like this," Jerico said gustily, still struggling

to catch his breath.

"I do not like it either," Gabriel announced, glaring at

Jerico and daring him to say more. "I will go and fuck her
now, and then we can implement the new plan."

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Gideon sent him a look. "She is ripe now—hungry. We

must keep her that way until she begins to feel desperate and
then offer the contracts."

"Fine!" Gabriel ground out. "I will give it a week."
"You will give it however much time is required," Gideon

said implacably.

"But we are less than a month out!"
"And likely we will need that much time ... if it works at

all!" Gideon retorted, shoving himself to his feet and heading
toward the hatch to the hold. "I think I will rest in the hold."

"There is no bed," Jerico pointed on.
"I would rather sleep on the floor than wake to find Bronte

trying to saw my balls off with a toothbrush!" Gideon snarled.
"Unlike Gabriel, I am fond of mine!"

* * * *

The remorse that Bronte suffered over the anxiety that she

had wounded Gideon didn't last. She moped about it for days
and finally decided that she would try to make it up to him
the next time he initiated sex. She'd been too caught up in
enjoying what he was doing to her to even think about trying
to pleasure him in the same way. It occurred to her, though,
that that was what she needed to do to make amends, not
merely allow him to take his pleasure but to go out of her
way to give him pleasure herself. If she demonstrated her
feelings, he was bound to realize that she did not want
anything to happen to him ... to any of them. She didn't hate
them. It was important that they know she didn't.

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She could simply tell them, of course, but she saw no

reason why they would believe her. She didn't think they
would've believed her before they had caught her at the
helm. It seemed much less likely they would believe her now.
In fact, it was more likely that they would only become deeply
suspicious ... more suspicious than they already were.
Because she couldn't deny the fact that she'd nipped their
budding trust and wasn't likely to regain it.

It was Jerico who gave her the first opportunity, however.

Unfortunately, she was so caught up in worrying that Gideon
might take it badly if he was second when it was him she had
talked so nasty to that she was thoroughly enthralled before
she could reason it out. She was dismayed when he broke
away from her almost as abruptly as he had seized her.
Feeling perfectly blank when he left, she finally decided he'd
abandoned her because he had been hurt, too, and he had
thought she didn't want him to continue because she hadn't
tried to encourage him to.

She should, she thought unhappily, have realized that they

must all know what Gideon knew, or thought he knew.

By the end of the week, she was forced to accept that they

were actually avoiding her. They weren't even resting in the
sleeping quarters anymore if she was in the room. She didn't
know where they were sleeping, but it wasn't anywhere
around her.

This was much, much worse than she'd thought it was! As

loath as she was to accept it, it seemed unavoidable that they
thought she might try to smother them in their sleep or
something equally underhanded.

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Becoming desperate, she finally decided to try the same

tact with Gideon that she had tried with Jerico the first time.
She made sure she was in the shower, available and naked,
when she knew it was time for him to take his bath.

Her belly tightened with nerves the moment she realized

he'd entered the room. She braced herself for impact. When
nothing happened beyond him standing as still as a statue,
she pretended she still hadn't noticed him and began to soap
herself as seductively as she could manage given that she
was shaking all over with a combination of nerves and need.
She was still annoyed with him for arousing her so
thoroughly, until she was ready to scream with need, and
then abandoning her. That only made her more needy now,
though. She thought she would've been even if Jerico hadn't
left her wanting, because this was Gideon, but that
unpleasant conclusion certainly hadn't helped matters.

Her body was already hot and liquid with desire and he

hadn't even touched her. She had to remind herself that she
couldn't just allow him to ease his need on her. She had to
give to him, show him with caresses that she did care about
him. She didn't want anything to happen to him ... even if she
had mentally called down curses on him and thought, for a
little while, that she hoped an asteroid would land on him.

Relief flooded her when he stepped into the bathing unit

with her, caught her against his chest and then pinned her
between himself on the wall. Shuddering as he captured her
face with her hands and covered her mouth, as if he thought
she would try to elude him if he didn't hold her, she pushed
herself up on her tiptoes and looped her arms around his

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neck. And, despite the dizzying rush of burning need, as he
thrust his tongue into her mouth, she kissed him back,
stroking her tongue along his as he caressed her.

He began to shake worse than she was as she rubbed

herself against his chest, arching her hips to press her mound
against his erection. Uttering a deep groan after only a
moment, he wrenched himself away from her and moved
beneath the shower spray. It took her a moment to gather
her wits and brace her wobbly knees.

Dismay filled her as she stared at his broad back.
Swallowing with an effort against the sense of hurt and

anger that welled in her at his blatant rejection of her
overtures, she finally decided she probably deserved it. She
should not have been surprised that he was unwilling to allow
her to try to wound him again. He didn't trust her any more,
she reminded herself.

It still took all she could do to gather the nerve to try

again.

He flinched all over when she placed her palm lightly on

his back. She hesitated and finally allowed her hand to skim
downward until she cupped one hard, rounded buttock. He
whirled on her with a snarl when she did that. Seizing her
shoulders, he shoved her roughly against the wall again. This
time instead of kissing her mouth, however, he focused on
her throat and breasts. Jolts of sensation shot through her
with each open mouthed kiss he dragged along her throat,
but that paled by comparison to the fire that boiled through
her when he began to suckle hungrily on first one breast and
then the other. She completely lost sight of her objective, too

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drunk with pleasure to begin to think, too focused on trying to
keep her legs under her when they'd turned boneless with
weakness.

When he shoved away from her again, she uttered a faint

sound of protest, but she was too shocked to manage any
more than that. It took all she could do even to stay on her
feet as she watched him leave the bathing unit and then the
bathroom itself as he was fleeing. He hadn't even paused to
grab a sheet to dry off, she thought numbly. He'd stalked
from the bathroom dripping puddles of water.

Dragging in a shaky breath, Bronte turned to finish her

bath mechanically, trying to figure out what had happened.
He wanted her. He wouldn't have kissed her like that if he
hadn't. Why would he do that? As much as she hated his idea
of punishment when she did something he didn't like, she was
obliged to admit it wasn't nearly as bad as some things he
could have thought of—like locking her into the hold. This felt
a lot like his brand of punishment, but she couldn't believe
that this was the same thing. She hadn't done anything ...
lately.

Undoubtedly, she thought miserably, she'd underestimated

just how angry he was about it. He hadn't seemed to be the
type to hold a grudge before. Either she'd been mistaken and
he was, or she'd screwed up a lot worse than she'd thought
she had.

When Jerico did the same thing to her the very next day,

she decided it couldn't possibly be just a matter of hurt or
resentment. She hadn't said anything to Jerico. Why would he
be holding a grudge?

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It wasn't bad enough that the way they treated her made

her feel lower than a snake. She was horny, too, damn it!
After a week of that, she was just about ready to claw their
eyes out. She would've run if she'd had anywhere to hide, or
if they'd given her enough warning to try.

She reached a point where her own resentment—and

desperate need—extinguished every sense of charity and
remorse she'd been nursing. Gabriel, she realized, was the
only one who wasn't going out of his way to torment her. In
fact, just the opposite. He'd begun to avoid her like she had
the plague. It was more because he hadn't tormented her,
she thought, than because he seemed to be in full retreat that
fixated her interest.

She didn't think it was a hunter's instincts that had drawn

her attention.

But what did she know?
She knew she was beginning to feel really desperate and

she hadn't managed to push either Jerico or Gideon beyond a
certain point—that point being the critical time when she was
hovering on the brink of coming and ready to mount their
shaft herself if she could've gotten hold of it.

The bastards!
Gabriel, she decided, was just too sweet to bring himself to

behave as badly as Jerico and Gideon were behaving. He
didn't trust her any more than they did, which was why he
kept his distance, but he couldn't bring himself to be mean.

The problem was, even after she'd focused on her target,

she discovered Gabriel was a lot harder to nail. If he came
into the room and she was sleeping, or propped up in the bed

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reading, he left again without having moved more than three
feet into the room—as if there was some invisible barrier he'd
run into. If he came in to bathe and she was in the bathing
unit, he retreated immediately. She would've had to chase
him down and tackle him to mount him!

She'd begun to think Gabriel was unattainable when he

finally gave her the perfect opportunity to get what she
wanted.

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Chapter Twelve

Bronte was sitting on the bed reading when Gabriel came

in. She barely glanced up when he froze, sending her the
hunted look he'd begun to cast in her direction whenever he
found himself alone with her. He hesitated when she
pretended to ignore him and finally crossed the room to stand
beside the bunk.

Bronte sucked in her breath and held it the moment she

realized he was striding toward her, tensing all over. Trying to
regulate her frantic heart beat and rapid breaths, she kept
her eyes on the text, hoping that he meant to lay down to
sleep.

He didn't lay down or sit down. Instead, she realized that

he was holding something out, waiting for her to take it.
Lifting her head, she discovered it was her long lost glasses.

A little stunned, she looked up at him.
"I repaired these for you," he said uncomfortably. "They do

not look as they did, but I have mended the frame, at least,
so it will stay together."

It was so thoughtful of him she was almost as stunned as

she was pleased. Her chest tightened with emotion as she
dragged her gaze from his and studied the glasses again.

She still wasn't willing to give up the advantage he'd given

her. The problem was, she couldn't decide for several
moments how she could use the advantage. If she sprang up
and grabbed him, he would probably slough her off and
retreat as he had before. She was tempted to ignore the

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glasses and grab him by his cock since it was within reach,
but she didn't think that was going to do the trick either.

She would have to lull him into a false sense of security,

she decided. Lifting her head again, she smiled at him. "This
is so sweet! I'm.... Overwhelmed! I hardly know what to say!"

He looked surprised but pleased. "It was nothing."
She smiled up at him again. "It is to me. I can't tell you

how much I've missed having them!"

Reaching for the glasses finally without looking at them,

she grabbed his hand instead of the glasses, coming up on
her knees at the same time. Unfortunately, she discovered
that didn't bring her within reach of his face. Shrugging
inwardly, she leaned toward him and placed a kiss in the
center of his chest instead. He flinched all over as if she'd
stuck fire to him instead of her lips. He didn't retreat,
however. Heartened, Bronte moved both of her hands to his
waist, and tipped her head to smile up at him again.

He caught her wrists as she allowed her hands to drift

downward in the direction of her goal. She'd barely managed
to brush the bulge against his loincloth.

He ground his teeth. Tiny beads of sweat popped from his

forehead.

She could see his eyes had glazed with desire, though, and

that he was struggling mightily against the urge to throw her
down on the bed.

Balked of going straight for her goal but certain he was

teetering on the edge of reason, Bronte dropped her head and
began to nibble a trail of kisses along his chest.

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It was all the encouragement he needed. Her head swam

as he shoved her down on the bed and fell on top of her.
Excitement threaded her veins as he kissed her throat and
tore at the opening of her suit, squeezing her breasts almost
painfully when he finally managed to bare them to his touch.
Bronte gritted her teeth against the intensity of the fire that
burned through her as his mouth closed over one achingly
sensitive bud, tugging at it greedily.

Fighting the weakness and disorientation that engulfed her

instantly, she stroked her hands over his head and back and
shoulders as he pulled at her breast with his mouth,
undulating her hips and pressing her mound against him
rhythmically in a desperate attempt to tear his control from
him. As if he couldn't stop himself, he hunched against her in
response, thrusting his erection almost painfully against her
thigh. She dug her fingers into his arms, trying to shift
downward to align her body with his.

"Can't," he muttered hoarsely as he lifted his head and

stared at her other breast hungrily.

She arched her back, lifting it toward him in offering. He

succumbed to the lure, covering it voraciously, sucking at her
nipple until she felt like her chest would cave in from the lack
oxygen ... or she would pass out from lack of air. Tangling her
fingers in his silky black hair, she held him to her, fighting for
breath.

When he came up for air, she tried to pull him to her, or

shift lower, wanting his mouth on hers, wanting to feel his
cock digging into her belly, or her mound, or better yet
thrusting inside of her instead of digging into her thigh. He

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caught her wrists, parting company with several hairs on
either side as he shackled her wrists to the bed. He barely
even flinched, didn't seem to notice. "I can not," he ground
out, his gaze moving over her face as if he could devour her
with his gaze alone.

That pierced her high when his last comment hadn't.
"Why not?" she asked huskily, writhing against him

enticingly, managing to lift her head high enough despite his
hold to nip at his cheek with her lips.

"Orders," he managed to gasp out, twisting his head to

brush his parted lips against hers, sucking at them as if he
was struggling with the urge to complete the circuit and
explore her mouth thoroughly.

"Orders?" Bronte murmured, returning the favor by

sucking at his full lower lip.

"Not to pleasure you," he said in a rasping voice as he

dipped his head to suck at her chin and then nuzzled the side
of her face, nipping at her with his lips.

The flames leaping inside of Bronte were instantaneously

transformed into pure rage. They had been doing to this to
her on purpose? Deliberately arousing her and leaving her to
swelter in it? Why? To get even with her because she hadn't
just given it immediately and spread her legs for them?
Because she'd touched their precious controls?

She didn't care why, not at the moment anyway. The need

for revenge burned as hot as her desire had a moment
before, so hot she could barely bring order to her thoughts.
Gabriel's desperation provided the answer without a great
need for thought, though. She turned her head to nuzzle his

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face as he had hers. "But I could pleasure you, couldn't I?"
she murmured in a breathy whisper near his ear. "They
wouldn't be angry about that would they?" she added when
he shuddered all over, tracing his ear with her tongue for
good measure.

He lifted his head to stare at her doubtfully. "I do not think

I could control myself, Bronte. I am on fire for you," he said
hoarsely. "It hurts like hell."

Bronte's anger vanished at that, most of it anyway. She

could see in his eyes that he wasn't exaggerating or trying to
play on her sympathies. She stroked his cheek. "Shhh. I'll
make it better," she murmured, pushing at his shoulders.

When he rolled away from her, she followed him. He

caught her waist in his hands as she climbed on top of him,
straddling him, as if he meant to toss her back onto the bed.
She stroked his chest and belly soothingly and finally leaned
down to follow the path of her hands with her lips. He tensed
at the first touch of her lips. A tremor raked through him, but
although his hands tightened on her waist, he didn't push her
away.

He sucked his breath in and held it as she explored his

chest with her lips and tongue, nipping at him lightly with her
teeth at times and at others sucking small patches of skin. He
let his breath out in a ragged grunt as she teased his nipples
as he had hers.

Slowly, she worked her way downward from his chest to

his belly. When she'd scooted far enough down his belly to
reach his cock, she covered it with her hand, stroked it
through his clothing. He shifted beneath her restlessly,

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tensing, holding his breath and finally expelling it harshly and
sucking in another.

When she worked a hand beneath his loincloth and curled

her fingers around his shaft, he caught her wrist. She shifted
her gaze from his hand to his taut face. "I know how to
pleasure a man as well as you know how to pleasure a
woman," she murmured. "If I take you into my mouth, it will
feel the same to you as it would if we had sex ... except you
won't be going against orders."

There was distrust in his eyes, but painful need, as well.

Finally, he loosened his hold on her. Unable to figure out how
to remove the loincloth, she merely pushed it aside, shifting
down his thighs until she could caress him more easily. She
could hear him grinding his teeth when she covered the head
of his cock with her mouth and sucked on it experimentally.
She lifted her head in surprise. "Did that hurt?"

"Yes ... No," he choked the words out. He reached down

and unfastened the loincloth, however, throwing it out of the
way.

She studied his genitals as she caressed him, deciding that

as cocks went, his was as beautiful as the rest of him—long,
sleek, and thick. She liked the taste of him, too—liked his
taste a lot. She hadn't expected to be aroused all over again
just by giving him pleasure, but the desperate yearning for
fulfillment that had burned in her so powerfully only moments
before, arose again as she alternated between stroking and
sucking him, using her hands and mouth to engulf his huge
cock when she went down on him because she couldn't take
him fully into her mouth.

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His fingers curled into claws on either side of him, digging

into the sheets. After a few moments, he caught her
shoulders, dug his fingers into them as if he was trying to
decide whether to push her away or not and then returned his
hands to the bed. His hips jerked, lifted and stilled. He caught
her shoulders again and then speared his fingers through her
hair, clutching tightly at her skull. His growing excitement fed
hers until Bronte completely lost touch with her original
intention. Instead of focusing on giving him pleasure, she
became intent on her own. She wanted him to come, needed
him to. The hunger in her belly to be filled drove her to suck
at him more and more feverishly. She pulled at him with the
suction of her mouth as if she could suck his come from him.

When his cock jerked in her mouth, he bolted upright,

trying to pull her free. She planted a hand against his belly
and shoved at him, sucking harder. Uttering a deep groan, he
fell back, arched his hips upward to meet her mouth, and
then a choked groan as his body reluctantly yielded up his
seed. She hesitated as she felt the hot liquid shoot down her
throat and then swallowed and sucked and stroked him faster
as one hard shudder after another raked through him until
they lessened to tremors and his cock at last went flaccid in
her mouth.

Exhausted as she was, as painful as her own body was still

clamoring for release, Bronte felt satisfaction of a different
kind as she leaned her cheek wearily against his hip and his
hand settled against her head. She could hear the thundering
of his heart in his groin and that not only pleased her, it gave
her a sense of triumph. He reached for her when he'd finally

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caught his breath. Dragging her up his length, he studied her
face for a long moment and finally nudged her chin up and
kissed her gustily.

After a moment, he rolled onto his side and burrowed his

face against her throat. "I have never felt anything like that
before," he murmured lazily, shivering faintly as Bronte lightly
stroked his back.

"But it felt good?" she asked.
"I do not think good is a strong enough word to describe

it," he muttered, chuckling huskily. "But it only made me
want to.... "He broke off, stiffening. "I should go."

She didn't try to stop him. She watched his face worriedly,

though, as he pushed himself off of the bed with an effort,
looked around vaguely for his loincloth and then stood up to
put it on, swaying slightly.

"Gabriel?"
He glanced at her uneasily.
"Don't tell them what I did. I don't want ... I'd hate it if

you got into a fight, or ... anything because of me."

He reddened, looked uncomfortable, and finally merely

nodded and headed for the door.

* * * *

If Gideon hadn't been watching the door of the cabin,

waiting for Gabriel to come out, he would've missed the
lopsided grin of satisfaction that flickered across Gabriel's face
as he emerged. He'd been counting the minutes since Gabriel
had disappeared into the room with Bronte, however, and
he'd reached the boiling point. He'd already pushed himself

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up from his seat and turned to stride to the room and drag
Gabriel out. When Gabriel left the room, therefore, Gideon
had a clear view of his face and he knew instantly what that
imbecilic expression of bliss denoted. Uttering a growl of rage,
he launched himself toward Gabriel even as Gabriel came to a
halt and glanced guiltily toward Gideon and Jerico.

Hearing the warning growl, Jerico intercepted Gideon,

bracing his body and exerting an equal, opposing weight
against Gideon. "The hold, Gideon! Not here!"

"I do not need to go into the hold," Gideon growled. "I will

strangle that son-of-a-bitch with my bare hands. There will be
no sound at all save for his gurgling as I choke the life out of
him."

"Fine!" Gabriel growled. "I will meet you in the hold!"
"We agreed to conduct these discussions in the hold!"

Jerico reminded Gideon.

Tiring of trying to shove Jerico out of the way, Gideon

slammed his fist into Jerico's belly instead, lifting him nearly a
foot off the floor.

"He has fucked her!" Gideon ground out, slamming his

other fist into Jerico's belly and then shoving him out of the
way. "We agreed that we would hold out for a contract! I will
tear his cock off and choke him with it!"

Gabriel ducked as Gideon launched himself full tilt at him,

catching Gideon in the breast bone with his shoulder. The
blow knocked the breath out of Gideon and sent him pin
wheeling backward. He fell on his rump and side and skidded
several feet.

"I did not fuck her!" Gabriel snarled. "She pleasured me!"

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That caught both Jerico's and Gideon's attention. Holding

his chest, still struggling to catch his breath, Gideon merely
glared up at him as he staggered up from the floor. Jerico,
massaging his lower belly, having just regained his feet,
froze. "She did what?" he demanded in dawning fury.

An expression of guilt and then pleasure flickered over

Gabriel's taut features. "With her mouth."

Jerico and Gideon exchanged a glance. "Her mouth?"

Gideon demanded, still without comprehension but with
dawning outrage.

"Yes!" Gabriel snarled. "I did not breach orders! She took

me into her mouth and pleasured me!"

"Now I know I will kill you!" Gideon ground out furiously,

launching himself at Gabriel again.

Jerico, uttering a roar of rage, reached Gabriel first.

Burying his head into Gabriel's belly like a battering ram, he
drove Gabriel backwards until he hit the corner of the table
and fell. Gideon, hard on their heels, grabbed Jerico and slung
him aside then dove on top of Gabriel, grabbing him by the
throat.

Gabriel pried at Gideon's fingers then slammed his fists

against Gideon's forearms. Unable to break the hold, he
reached upward instead and closed his fingers around
Gideon's throat.

Bronte, hearing the commotion, ran to the door and froze

as she reached the threshold, staring in frozen horror at the
tableau before her for several moments. "Stop it!" she cried
out finally. "You're choking him!"

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"I mean to choke him to death," Gideon snarled in a

choked voice.

Glancing around a little frantically for a weapon, Bronte

finally realized she still had her book in her hand. Charging
across the ship, she began pounding on Gideon's shoulder
with the plasti-metal tube. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" she
yelled, punctuating each demand by rapping Gideon on the
shoulder with the hard, cylindrical tube.

Jerico snagged her around the waist and snatched her off

her feet, heading toward the room with her. After prying at
his fingers for a moment and discovering she couldn't break
his grip on her, she began swinging blindly at him with the
tube, catching him several times on the head with it before he
snatched it out of her hand. "Damn it, woman!" Jerico
growled as he set her on her feet inside the cabin. "Stay in
here!"

Glaring at his back when he turned to head back into the

fray, Bronte followed him. He halted at the door, whirling to
face her. "You will stay put or I will tie you to that bed!" he
ground out.

Bronte snapped at his finger with her teeth when he shook

it in her face.

He managed to snatch it back before she could clamp

down on it. For a split second an expression of stunned
surprise crossed his features. Anger quickly replaced it,
however.

"Bronte!" he growled warningly.
"You stop them then!"

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His eyes narrowed. "Did you pleasure him with your

mouth?" he demanded.

Bronte blinked at him rapidly several times. "He told you!"

she gasped indignantly.

Jerico's face contorted with fury. Turning on his heel, he

left the room abruptly.

Furious herself now, Bronte was tempted to let them kill

each other. As she watched the fight, however, searching a
little frantically for something she might use to distract them,
her gaze lit on the refrigeration unit. Stalking over to it, she
opened the door, snatched the large container of ice water
from the shelf and pitched the contents at them. As full as the
container was, it seemed doubtful more than a glass full had
hit any of the three. They were already overheated from
fighting, however, and the moment the icy water sluiced over
them all three men sucked in a harsh gasp of shock and
froze, lifting their heads slowly to stare at her in disbelief.

Stunned herself at the effectiveness of it, Bronte stared

back at them with a shock nearly equal to theirs. The moment
their shock wore off, however, and all three faces went taut
with anger, Bronte dropped the container and sailed back to
the safety of the room. She wasn't sure where to go once she
got there. There was no place to hide and no room that she
could barricade against them—nothing she could drag to the
door to use as a barricade. The bed was attached to the wall
and floor.

Scurrying over to the bed, she hopped on top of the

mattress and snatched the cover up ... as if it would work as
some sort of shield if they decided to come after her.

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Minutes passed while Bronte tried to listen over the

thumping of her heartbeat in her ears and wondered what in
the world had possessed her. She'd just decided they weren't
going to follow her when the door opened and all three men
crowded into the doorway. After staring at her frowningly for
several moments, however, as if they were trying to figure
out what had possessed her, they turned and left again.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Bronte dropped the cover she'd

been holding and stared at the door thoughtfully, wondering
why she'd decided to interfere. It didn't take long to arrive at
the conclusion that she hadn't actually decided to at all. She'd
felt a compulsion to stop them and she'd acted on impulse.

As her impulses went, this one hadn't been near the

disaster her urges usually were. In fact, now that she thought
about it, it had actually worked very well. She'd broken the
fight up and in record time.

She still didn't know why she'd felt compelled to do

anything at all.

She hadn't wanted them to hurt Gabriel, she realized.
Not that he didn't deserve it since he'd gone straight out

and told them when she'd warned him not to, she thought
indignantly. After she'd thought it over a few minutes it
occurred to her that he might not have. He'd been so sated
he'd hardly been able to drag himself up. She smiled faintly at
the memory.

He'd looked so cute and addled when he'd left.
Maybe he hadn't said anything to start it? Maybe they'd

only looked at him and known instantly that he'd just been

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thoroughly pleasured and they had suspected he had gone
against orders? And then he'd told them in his defense?

She hadn't been able to hear what had been said. She'd

only heard angry voices, and that had happened almost as
soon as he'd left. By the time she'd managed to get to the
door the 'conversation' had degenerated mostly into growls
and grunts.

She supposed they'd jumped him because they'd thought

he hadn't followed orders.

Gideon had to have been the one to give those orders and

it made her mad all over again when she thought about it.
Why would he do that, she wondered, feeling her anger
dissolve as misery took its place?

He must hate her. She felt a deep down ache at the

thought, wishing she could go back and undo what she'd
done. It wasn't as if she would've actually had the nerve to
try to fly the ship herself, after all—not unless she'd found
herself completely on her own with no other options.

On reflection, she decided that had been the worst impulse

she'd ever had ... next to telling him what she'd had in mind
under pleasurable torture, and the comments her anger had
prompted afterward.

Not that she wasn't still thoroughly pissed off about it,

damn him!

And he'd ordered them to torment her! Ordered them to,

she thought in disbelief!

She frowned at that thought, wondering abruptly if the

orders had been only that they weren't supposed to pleasure
her or if they'd been told to tease her and keep her on edge?

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She'd thought that was what Gabriel had meant, but he
hadn't said that. He'd said they'd been ordered not to
pleasure her and she'd jumped to the conclusion that Gideon
had given the order specifically to torment her. That wasn't
true, though, unless he'd specifically told them to tease her
and leave her in the lurch.

She was trying to make excuses for him, she realized after

a moment, irritated with herself. She wanted to make
excuses for him so she could forgive him.

What difference did it make, though, if she forgave him if

he'd decided he hated her?

She was actually beginning to look forward to reaching

their destination. At least then, hopefully, she would have
work to do and not so much idle time to drive herself crazy
with too much thinking. At least she wouldn't be cooped up in
close quarters with those three barbarians!

They'd probably be more relieved than she was. She

probably wouldn't ever see them again. Very likely they would
volunteer to go off and fight at the first opportunity, or maybe
even volunteer for another mission like this one—anything to
get as far away from her as possible, she thought morosely.

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Chapter Thirteen

"That was ... unnerving," Gideon said uncomfortably,

rubbing absently at his bruises as he dropped onto the bench
by the table, watching Jerico prepare their meal.

Gabriel, who'd settled opposite him, nodded, but worriedly.

"You saw no sign of space dementia?"

"You saw her yourself. She did not look at all disoriented. I

am convinced that she was only angry. I am just not certain
what set her off."

"Gabriel."
Both Gideon and Gabriel turned to look at Jerico. He threw

Gabriel a resentful glance. "I think that she was trying to
defend Gabriel from you," he added after a moment, frowning
at the container he was trying to open without spilling the
food inside of it.

Gideon's eyes narrowed as he studied Gabriel. "Why would

you think she would do that?"

Jerico shrugged. "She did not offer to pleasure me that

way," he said tightly.

Gideon said nothing. She hadn't offered to pleasure him

that way either, but he was damned if he was going to admit
it. "Exactly what did you do when you went in there?" he
asked instead.

Gabriel shrugged, so obviously trying to hide his

satisfaction that Gideon was tempted to reach across the
table and slug him again. "I had repaired her glasses. I took
them to her and ... actually I do not remember anything very

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clearly after that. I was trying not to think about throwing her
down on the bed and fucking her while she was smiling up at
me. All I can remember very clearly was that she kissed me,"
he touched his chest, "here, and then I could not really think
about anything but kissing her in the same place ... And then
I was."

"How did it get from there to her pleasuring you?"
"I told her I wanted to.... "Gabriel broke off, shifting

uncomfortably.

"Wanted to...?" Gideon prompted.
Gabriel sent him a harassed look. "I might have said

something to the effect that I couldn't, and then she offered
to pleasure me instead."

"Fuck!" Gideon growled, shooting up from the table. "Tell

me you did not go in there and allow her to interrogate you,
you cock sucking son-of-a-bitch!"

Gabriel shot to his feet, as well. "I was not sucking cock. I

got my cock sucked!" he snapped goadingly.

"He spilled his guts," Jerico growled in disgust. "I can see

it on his face! Are you going to take him into the hold and
beat the shit out of him? Or do you want me to?"

"I will take you both!" Gabriel snarled, stalking over to the

hatch and snatching it open. Before he could straighten,
Gideon planted his foot on his ass and gave him a shove. He
managed to catch one of the rungs on the way down.

Gideon slammed the hatch and bolted it.
"Now what?" Jerico growled.
"I am all out of ideas," Gideon snarled, stalking back to the

table and dropping onto the bench he'd just vacated.

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Gabriel began beating on the hatch door.
"At ease, soldier," Gideon bellowed, "or I will come down

there and break your fucking neck!"

Apparently Gabriel decided it would be best to stew in the

hold for a while. He stopped beating on the hatch door. "I
think we can safely assume he told her everything,"

Gideon ground out. "That is why she came out and beat

me with her book."

"She tried to bite me," Jerico added. "She is angry with

both of us ... very angry."

"Because Gabriel could not keep his mouth shut!" Gideon

snarled, getting to his feet and beginning to pace. Discovering
after a few minutes that he was biting his nails, he stopped
abruptly, stared at his hand in horror for several moments
and finally settled at the table again. "This is wrecking my
nerves," he muttered, spearing his fingers through his hair as
he propped his elbows on the table and held his head in his
hands.

Jerico cleared his throat uncomfortably. After a good bit of

rattling of containers, he finally assembled the food and
tossed two of the meals into the cooking unit. "Do you think
that what she did with Gabriel means that she favors him?"

Gideon looked up at him, his face slowly growing taut with

anger. "Do you?"

Jerico shrugged, then frowned as he thought it over. "I

wonder what it was like," he finally said moodily. "I will say
this for Gabriel—he is far braver than I. I would not have
allowed her to put her mouth on me. She is too ready to
bite."

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Gideon gave him a look. "You would do the same thing he

did. You would risk it if she offered." He paused. "I would,
and she already bit my finger."

* * * *

The first thing Bronte became aware of as she drifted

toward consciousness was burgeoning arousal and a shivery,
all-pervading, tingling tension. Warmth drifted through her,
curled low in her belly, coaxing moisture from the walls of her
sex and causing a gentle quaking as need stirred to life.
Becoming more aware in her lazy search for the source, she
eventually located the point where the delightful sensations
were channeling into her.

There was a mouth attached to one of her breasts, tugging

at the distended tip with a lazy, unhurried persistence that
induced gentle waves of pleasure to wash through her.
Awareness rose until it met the blanketing barrier of arousal
in her mind that discouraged conscious thought as her focus
centralized on the perception of sensation. Misgiving drifted
through her mind, though, a nebulous certainty that
acknowledging the giver would make the pleasure go away.

She shied away from that, unwilling to let go of the

enchantment, allowing the receptors of sensation in her mind
free reign to usurp cognitive awareness in favor of the
visceral. It couldn't last. She couldn't hold on to it. Her
allowance of sensory perception to dominate made it
impossible to remain passive. The warmth intensified into
heat. The tingling grew in strength until it became electric
currents. The tension expanded outward until it encompassed

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not just her sex but every muscle in her body. Tremors began
to ripple through her in her effort to remain still that gave
away her awareness.

Feeling him tense as he became aware that she was no

longer sleeping, she reluctantly gave up feigning sleep and
sucked in a shaky breath that bordered on a moan.

He took that as a cue to shift his attentions to her other

breast. She shivered as he released the bud he'd been
teasing and the air chilled the moisture that lingered there
from his mouth. The contrast of cold and heat as his mouth
opened over her other nipple evoked a cascade of stippling
flesh across her upper body that washed downward over her
arms and breasts and belly. The walls of her sex spasmed,
squeezing a gush of heated moisture into her sex.

The certainty settled in her that he would stop when he

realized she was nearing her peak. He would tease her on and
on until she thought she would die if he didn't fill her with his
flesh and drive into her until he took her the rest of the way
there, and then he would abandon her.

And she still couldn't find the will to try to avoid that

inevitability. Instead, even knowing she was playing into his
hands, she found herself struggling to hide from him just how
aroused she was so that she could enjoy it just a little longer
before he took even that away from her.

Her muscles began to ache from the effort to be still as his

mouth poured fire into her veins with each tug on her nipple,
each rough caress of his tongue across the exquisitely
sensitive bud of flesh. A sound of distress escaped her as she
finally yielded to the need she couldn't ignore any longer and

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shifted her hips in search of something hard to press her
mound against and discovered he'd pinned her lower body
with one thigh. Her clit quaked in discontent when she failed
to find any part of his body to rub it against.

She lifted her leaden eyelids to peer at him as Gideon

lifted his head to study her face. "Why do you hate me so
much?" she whispered plaintively.

Something flickered in his eyes. "Do I touch you as if I

hate you?"

He withheld as if he hated her, she thought in dismay as

he dropped his head to drag open mouthed kisses along the
column of her throat as if to demonstrate how he didn't hate
her when she knew better, knew he'd set out for some reason
unknown to her to make her life a living hell. "Your ...
programming," she gasped hesitantly, still unwilling to anger
him enough to pull away. "You said...."

He paused, lifted his head again. "I said I knew how and

where to touch you to give you more pleasure than you could
imagine," he said, his voice rough.

She swallowed uncomfortably, the sound loud in her ears.

"Yes."

In the dim, omni-directional lighting of the room, she saw

his brows draw together, a flicker of anger in his eyes ... and
something else. Pain? He tensed as if debating whether to
draw away or not and she felt her belly tighten in
disappointment.

Instead, he seemed to decide to punish her for pointing

out his origins as a pleasure bot. His touch became more
pointed, more demanding, lifting her from the plateau where

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she'd hovered when he'd allowed himself to be distracted and
forcing her up the slippery slope that she knew was going to
lead to painful disappointment because he wasn't going to let
her crest it and fall into the pool of ultimate bliss on the other
side.

She couldn't find it within herself to care for the moment.

His lips felt wonderful as they crawled along the sensitive skin
of her throat and the side of her neck, the light touch and
faint movement enough to send waves of scouring heat
through her. He sucked her earlobe when he reached her ear
as he had her nipples, stirring more currents and then sent a
headier jolt through her as he covered her ear with his mouth
and sucked at it lightly before tracing the swirls. Shivers
chased up and down her body, colliding in a delightful
explosion in her belly that made her suck in a sharp breath.

Lifting his mouth from her ear, he covered her lips,

thrusting his tongue past the delicate, yielding barrier and
raking it over hers. The friction of his tongue rubbing against
hers alone would've been enough in and of itself to enrapture
and enthrall, but the burst of his taste inside her mouth, the
infinite appeal of his scent overwhelmed her senses,
intoxicated her. And each stroke of his tongue over hers, each
inhalation of his scent was like another shot of his potent
elixir—sweet, drugging, innervating. She shook with the force
of the currents flooding her in hard waves, shifted restlessly,
not only because she couldn't be still, but because she
needed to feel the brush his skin against her and couldn't
prevent the search for a touch.

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The faintest of brushes would have been enough to feed

the need, but he held her and at the same time held himself
aloof, pinioning her legs with the weight of one thigh, her
upper body with the weight of his arms across hers. It was
torture, exquisite, exciting, but still torture. It wasn't enough
to feel his mouth on hers. It wasn't enough to taste him, to
feel his essence flowing into her like a river of lava. She
wanted more, needed more. She had to feel him all over, feel
his taut body pressing into hers, feel the abrasion of his
heated flesh brushing hers.

Briefly, he deprived her of even the one point of intimate

contact as he lifted his lips from hers. A faint sound of
disappointment escaped her, became a moan that was equal
parts pleasure and dread as she felt his lips nibbling a trail of
fire down her throat and realized his goal. She tensed,
waiting, hopeful, dreading almost as much as she anticipated
the touch she knew was coming.

His lips closed around one pulsing nipple, sending an

electrifying charge through her that seemed to fry nerve
endings as it moved through her. She uttered a choked gasp
in spite of all she could do. "Gideon! Please!" she gasped, a
mournful note of desperation in her voice.

He seemed deaf to her entreaty, and yet he tugged

harder, danced his tongue over and around the nearly
painfully engorged bud with more purpose and far more
devastating effect. She fought for breath, sucking tiny
snatches of air into her constricted lungs as her body reached
a surfeit of what it could take and yet could go no further,
bound to the earthly plain by her body's need to feel him

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inside of her and a stubborn refusal to give her release
without it. Mindlessly, she begged for it, pleaded—thought
she did. She found that she was only murmuring 'please' like
a litany, over and over.

He stopped, lifting his head to study her and she felt like

crying. "Give me what I want," he said hoarsely.

She didn't have to consider it. "Yes," she gasped

desperately. "Don't stop!"

He shifted, sucked only the tip of her other breast into his

mouth, flicked his tongue over it. "You will contract?"

"Contract?" she asked vaguely, even though what she

really wanted to do was tell him to act now, talk about it
later.

He dipped his head to toy with her nipple again, just

enough to have her gasping for air. "Co-habitation. You will
contract with us?"

Her mind was so awash with need she couldn't think. Co-

habitation? Us? There was something that didn't seem to fit.
He was waiting, though. He wasn't going to give her what she
wanted without an answer. She lifted her head with an effort
to look down at him, thoroughly confused. "Us?"

Gideon studied her face carefully, struggling to decipher

her expression when his mind and body were on fire with
need and working against any ability to reason at all. The
doubt in her voice alone was enough to give him pause,
however. She was wavering, he thought dimly, within his
grasp. Fuck the comrades in arms shit, he decided. "Me."

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She nodded, but he could see she hardly knew where she

was, that he'd pushed her well beyond any ability to fully
grasp what he was demanding. "Say it."

She groaned, arching her back to lift her breast to him. He

gave her what she was demanding, more because he couldn't
resist than because he thought he needed to push her more.
By the time he lifted his head again, he had to struggle to
focus on his objective. "Say it, Bronte."

"Yes," she gasped. "Please?"
A shudder went through him. Grasping her clothes, he

peeled the uniform off of her with hands that shook so badly
they fumbled clumsily, his mind completely unable to grapple
with the mechanics of removing the damned thing. He ended
up tearing it off of her when he hit a snag and couldn't figure
out how to untangle it. Grasping her thighs, he shoved them
upward, bending her knees, and then pushing them wide
enough he could wedge his hips between them with more
haste than finesse. She was so wet for him when he reached
between them to fumble with the mechanics of fitting their
bodies together a red haze of insanity closed over him,
compounded by the discovery that even when he'd managed
to align his cock with her opening her body resisted his efforts
to claim her immediately. His mind ceased to function at all
then. Gritting his teeth against the near painful pleasure of
feeling her heat and wetness engulfing him, he dug his toes
into the mattress and heaved upward, thrusting frantically.
Sweat beaded his flesh as he struggled, partly from the fire
burning him up, partly from the exertion, and partly from the

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sudden fear that he wasn't going to get all the way inside of
her before he spilled his seed.

His teeth gritted determination and the moisture of her

body finally combined to allow him to attain his objective
even though it felt as if her body was clutching his cock so
tightly it threatened to peel the skin off him. He had to stop
to catch his breath when he'd sheathed himself completely
inside of her. Impatient, she rocked her hips against his,
demanding that he move. Tremors ripped through him with
the effort to remain still, to keep from coming, to try to
remember what it was he needed first. Unable to grasp the
elusive thought, but certain it was vitally important to him, he
pushed himself up on his elbows so that he could study her
face, hoping it would come to him before he lost his tenuous
grasp on his control.

"Say it," he rasped hoarsely when he finally remembered.
"Yes," she repeated obediently.
He could tell she didn't have a fucking clue what she was

agreeing to and couldn't have cared less at that moment.
"You will contract with me on co-habitation," he said
determinedly.

"Yes."
He ground his teeth together as she bucked her hips

against his, sending hard waves of need through him and
bringing him perilously closer to a complete loss of control.
"Say the words," he ground out hoarsely.

"I'll contract with you."
He'd already gathered himself to move when a sudden

doubt shook him. "Gideon."

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She lifted her eyelids a fraction to peer at him. "Gideon!

Please!"

That was close enough. Even if she hadn't acknowledged

she knew it was him, he couldn't hold it any longer. Even as
she spoke the words, the muscles along her channel rippled
around him, milking him. Uttering a choked groan as his body
responded by trying to pump his seed into her, he fought the
urge down, trying to focus on something else, anything else.
As desperately as he wanted to give in to the screaming
demand of his body for release, he realized dimly that he had
to give her what she needed first ... what he'd promised in
return for her promise.

He settled closer, watching her face as he moved his hips

rhythmically to stroke his cock along her channel. Her face
went slack with pleasure, her lips parting as she panted for
breath, little sounds emanating from her throat. My woman,
he thought, memorizing her face, savoring her scent warmed
by her heated flesh, carried on her breath. His control slipped
a notch. Gritting his teeth, he fought to hold on to it even as
his body, with a will of its own, began to move faster, to
thrust deeper. The little sounds she made deepened, became
moans, reached inside of him and twisted his guts into a
pretzel. His balls tightened, threatened to explode.

Gasping at the pain/pleasure that ripped through him, he

shifted an arm beneath her hips, tilting them so that he could
reach the bundle of nerves deep inside of her that would push
her over the edge. He knew he'd found it when her moans
grew sharper, harsher, when he felt her muscles contract
around him and quake. Groaning, he yielded control to his

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instincts, felt it ripped away from his grasp as her cries
escalated into a keen sound somewhere between a sob a
scream, her body tensing abruptly before it began to convulse
with ecstasy. His heart seized in his chest painfully. His belly
tightened, forcing the breath from his lungs in a harsh grunt
and then squeezing, forcing his seed from his body to bathe
her womb.

His mind darkened as the red mindless haze lifted,

carrying away every ounce of strength with it until he
would've flattened her with his weight if not for his braced
arms and even then it wasn't the strength of his muscles that
held his weight but the unyielding steel beneath the muscles.
Wanting nothing more than to yield to the peace that
beckoned, he struggled instead to fight it off as vague
thoughts flickered through his mind, teasing him, warning
him that yielding was the worse thing he could do.

His member had gone flaccid inside of her, expended. He

still didn't want to withdraw. It was his. He wanted to stay
there, connected to her flesh to flesh. He realized after a few
moments, though, that she was dragging in short, pained
breaths. His chest was compressing her lungs despite his
effort to hold the bulk of his weight off of her. Summoning the
strength to move, he lifted his hips to withdraw from her body
and shifted his weight enough to fall to one side of her.

Even that little expenditure of energy seemed to sap the

last of it. He held on to the last thread of consciousness
tenaciously. It took unbelievable effort to move even his
mouth and tongue to form words, to force them from his
chest. "You gave your word," he managed, the words slurred

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and drunken with exhaustion. She didn't respond and he was
tempted to give up and accept what he'd managed to get
from her. He found he couldn't. He had to be sure. Opening
his eyes, he studied her face. "Mine," he managed, dragging
her close and curling his arms around her possessively. "You
said...."

"Mmm."
He lifted a hand to her face, curled his fingers and palm

around her chin. "Say it, Bronte," he demanded.

A faint frown appeared between her brows, as if she was

struggling to think of what he wanted. "Yes, Gideon," she
mumbled finally, snuggling her head more comfortably on his
shoulder. "I will."

Uneasiness still gripped him but he discovered he couldn't

fight his exhaustion any more.

She was studying his face when he regained

consciousness. He stared back at her warily as memory
returned. His body realized she was still curled naked against
him before his mind caught up, responding instantly. She felt
it. Her eyes widened as he insinuated a leg between her
thighs and curled his hips to press his erection against her.

"Did you mean it?" she asked huskily.
He swallowed against a sudden, hard knot of doubt. "Did

you?" he asked uneasily.

A frown flickered over her face and then one corner of her

lips tipped upward. "That was what this was all about?"

"If I say yes will you be angry?" he asked cautiously.
She thought about it. "Maybe."
"Then no."

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She laughed, a throaty, pleasing sound that seemed to

reach inside of him, fisting around his heart and squeezing at
his lungs. Lifting a hand, she stroked her fingers lightly over
his cheek. Her touch made his skin tingle, but it also made his
belly clench reflexively. He held his breath, wondering what
else she would do, struggling against the urge to push her
back against the bed and explore her with the newfound
knowledge that everything he discovered was his.

His—He was so focused on turning that over in his mind

and trying to figure out why it made him feel things he
couldn't entirely grasp that he was startled when he felt the
brush of her lips. He sucked in a shaky breath, too stunned to
move at first and then fighting to remain still when it settled
inside his mind that she was kissing him. She wasn't just
allowing him to touch her and kiss her.

It was the fear that she'd stop and move away that held

him in thrall as much as the unique pleasure it gave him.
When she pushed at his shoulder, disappointment filled him,
but he yielded, rolling onto his back.

She followed him, shifting her upper body onto his chest

and nuzzling her cheek against his. So this was what it felt
like to have her do the things to him that he did to her, he
thought dizzily. He'd known it must be pleasurable. It had
given him pleasure just doing it, but he hadn't considered
what it might feel like if she did it to him instead. It hadn't
occurred to him that she might want to.

He had to fight another round with his urge to dominate

when she had thoroughly explored his ear and moved to
brush her lips along his. The tip of her tongue, moving lazily

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along his lips drove him to distraction. He wanted to spear his
fingers through her hair and hold her tightly while he explored
her mouth. The moment passed, the opportunity to seize
control as she drifted lower, exploring his neck. He swallowed
with great effort, feeling as if he was choking.

As she charted a meandering trail downward, moving her

lips over him, tasting his skin with her tongue, nipping lightly
at him with her teeth, the struggle to remain passive grew
harder and harder. Instinct warred against a need and desire
completely alien to him and incomprehensible because it was
something he hadn't known before.

"What did you mean when you said 'we want to contract'?"

she murmured, almost idly as she traced her tongue in a
small circle around his navel.

A warning flickered in his mind, but he was mesmerized by

that warm tracery and the hopefulness that clogged his throat
that she would move just a little lower. "Us," he rasped
thickly.

"Us?"
When his mind bogged down in a war between reason and

need, she shifted lower. His body clenched so hard when she
ran her tongue over the tip of his cock it pulled his shoulders
off the bed. He gritted his teeth against pleasure that was so
intense it was almost closer to pain than pleasure when she
followed by inclosing just the head of his cock into her mouth
and sucking until it felt like his head would implode and his
lungs collapse. "Me, Gabriel, and Jerico," he rasped out when
she stopped and his heart started again, threatening to beat
its way out of his chest.

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She sucked on him again, this time running her tongue

along the sensitive rim of his cock head. He clawed at the
bed, curling his fingers into the mattress to keep from falling
off as his entire equilibrium went haywire. "You could do
that?" she asked, her voice low, almost as mesmerizing as
her mouth.

"Must," he gasped out, anxious to get the conversation

over with so she could put her mouth to better use. "Law."

She began to stroke her hands over his cock as if she was

strumming an instrument. She was, and his heart was
pounding out a deep bass backbeat and threatening to
explode as she tuned every nerve ending from the root of his
cock to the tip with a dexterity that had every one of them
screaming and tearing at his guts. "A law?" she prompted.
"On your world?"

"Yes—no less than two, no more than four males in a

unit," he ground the words out.

Before he could drag air into his lungs again, she closed

her mouth over him and he completely lost his breath and his
mind along with it. He felt his hips come off the bed as heat
engulfed him and the muscles of her mouth worked over his
cock. Sounds were forced from his chest with the little air
he'd managed to drag into his lungs, but he could no more
control that than he could the jerk of his hips every time her
mouth engulfed him and then pulled away again.

He was going to die, he thought dimly. He was going to

suffocate from lack of air, or choke on his heart. He couldn't
bring himself to stop her, though. He couldn't focus on
anything except his greed for the feel of her mouth to go on

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forever, killing him by agonizingly slow inches. His body
fought him every step of the way, threatening to snatch that
glorious feeling away from him by exploding.

He finally reached a point where he knew he was losing

the battle. The moment that certainty settled in the back of
his throat, however, a new urgency rose, the desperation to
spill his seed at her womb. Summoning every ounce of
strength and willpower he still possessed, he jackknifed
upward, clamped his hands on her shoulders and jerked her
toward him. Twisting as he brought her down again and
rolling over her as he shoved her against the mattress, he
stabbed at her blindly, plowing his cock back and forth along
her cleft several times before he managed to connect with the
mouth of her sex. She was wet. His mind couldn't grasp more
than that, didn't fully grasp even that much, merely
registered a vague sense of relief when he felt wetness allow
him to sink deeply inside of her with no more than a handful
of frantic thrusts. Even as the muscles along her channel
closed around him like a tight fist his body began to jerk and
spasm, spewing his seed into her.

A sense of profound relief filled him when his body finally

stopped convulsing. Shoving himself upward with one shaking
arm, he tipped sideways and fell off her and straight into
oblivion.

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Chapter Fourteen

Feeling vaguely let down that Gideon had come before she

could, Bronte lay with her eyes closed until she'd caught her
breath and finally turned her head to look at him. A mixture
of amusement and irritation filled her when she saw he was
asleep.

Sex was obviously a potent tranquilizer for him. The

wonder was that he'd managed to stay awake long enough
the first time to make sure she really had agreed to enter into
a co-habitation agreement with him.

Stifling the urge to chuckle, she studied his face,

wondering if she'd imagined the most truly bizarre proposal
she'd ever had.

Not that she'd had that many.
Actually none.
She wasn't sure how she felt about it—strangely vacillating

was as close as she could come. She wasn't even certain of
why she'd agreed. She puzzled over that for a few minutes
and decided she did know. She'd agreed because there
something so crazy and desperate about his absolute
determination to convince her that she couldn't bring herself
to say no.

Because she felt like, right or wrong, it could only be that

she meant a lot to him. Love was probably stretching it—a
long way. On an intellectual level, she knew he couldn't
possibly know what love was. That didn't mean he couldn't
feel it, but she didn't honestly believe he was capable of it.

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And it still didn't matter. She'd had people who claimed to

love her who would never have gone through half of what he
had to have her. It wasn't just the sex either. That was
almost the strangest part about it. He wanted her. He hadn't
made any bones about that, or spent a lot of time agonizing
on whether to seduce her or not.

But he'd refused to give in to his own needs until he could

make her agree.

That was dedication!
Realizing that the longer she stared at him the more she

wanted to touch, she finally slipped out of the bed and went
to bathe, more than half expecting him to wake up and join
her. He didn't, but she had plenty of company in her
thoughts. She went back over what he'd said to her, trying to
focus on that rather than what he'd done, which wasn't easy.

She'd been in such a state at the time she'd suspected she

must have somehow misunderstood him when he'd said
'contract with us'. He'd been in such a state while she was
questioning him about it that she hadn't been sure she could
put a lot of faith in what he'd told her.

It occurred to her rather forcefully, though, that Gideon

hadn't been working alone any of the time. Jerico had
behaved the same way toward her. She suspected poor
Gabriel would have too except that he'd had a good bit more
trouble controlling his own libido.

And she'd been mad as hell when she'd questioned him

and discovered he was under orders to tease only, not to
please.

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They hadn't all been behaving that way just because

Gideon had ordered it, or just for Gideon's benefit! Gideon
had said 'us'. He'd changed that to 'me' when she'd asked
him about it, but then he'd told her the law on his world
required 'no less than two, no more than four'. Gideon was
also the one who'd told her they had no mates and no hope of
having one.

Because there had been far more male cyborgs than there

had been females! The company had churned out thousands
as soldiers, god only knew how many more for construction
and other hazardous jobs, to say nothing of those sold as
pleasure bots. The demand for females hadn't gone much
further than female pleasure bots for men and maids.

Even if the company had succeeded in destroying a good

portion of the cyborgs when they'd gone rogue, there would
still probably be a hugely disproportionate number of males to
females.

So they'd enacted a law requiring the women to take two

to four men if she contracted?

Considering monogamy was still the most commonly

accepted co-habitations, that was almost mind-boggling—
especially since those societies that did practice multi-partner
family units were primarily made up of one male and several
females.

They usually did that, though, because of a

disproportionate ratio of female to male.

Which, apparently, was what the cyborgs had decided to

do.

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That was actually pretty deflating. Unfortunately, it wasn't

just deflating. It hurt, too. Even though she'd told herself she
knew Gideon probably wasn't capable of feeling affection, or
love, she realized that, deep down, she'd convinced herself he
felt something. All it was, though, was a ... Neanderthal male
determination to have a female!

The bastards!
She stewed over that for a while, considered telling them

all to go to hell. It dawned on her after a little while, though,
that she'd already deduced there had to be many times more
male cyborgs than females.

And she was going to be stuck on a planet with them with

no way to escape!

Considering the way Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel had

behaved, she couldn't imagine what it might be like to have
three times that many fighting over who was going to get
her. That horrifying thought quashed the vague notion circling
around in her mind to teach the three a lesson by rejecting
their offer.

She wouldn't even have wanted to if not for the fact that it

hurt, and it wouldn't have hurt if she hadn't felt anything for
them—not the same way, anyway, she reflected. She wasn't
going to do something stupid just to get even with them.

Some courtship, she thought indignantly!
On the other hand, they couldn't help it. She thought that

was what had suckered her in to start with—this need she
had to mother everybody—they were so needy. They didn't
know it, but they were.

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Anyway, she couldn't overlook the fact that they were

willing to fight each other for her at the drop of a hat. She
would feel much safer having to live among the cyborgs if she
had three that were perfectly willing, and able, to pound
anybody that looked at her crossways into the dirt.

She was still peeved about it!
She discovered when she left the bath that Gideon had

awakened and left. Feeling a little put out about that, she
finally shook it off and looked around for her clothes.

She was more than a little put out when she saw the

uniform. She'd thought that tearing noise was the sound of
the interlocking mesh closure. She hadn't realized that
Neanderthal idiot had shredded the thing when he couldn't
get it off of her!

Dropping it to the floor again, she stalked to the door of

the cabin and opened it.

Gideon, she saw, was in his seat at the helm, Jerico and

Gabriel standing behind him and they weren't making any
attempt to talk quietly among themselves.

"What are you doing?" Gabriel asked, puzzlement in his

voice.

"Looking for the contract," Gideon responded absently.
"What contract?" Jerico asked quickly.
Gideon lifted his head to stare at the two men blankly for a

moment. As he did so, however, he caught sight of her. "The
co-habitation agreement," he said slowly.

"Did she agree? What did she say?"
Gideon looked up at Gabriel uncomfortably.

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Bronte stared at the three men, feeling disbelief settle and

twist in her belly. Despite the fact that she'd thought the
three were conspiring against her, it was another matter
entirely to find herself facing them and have all doubt
removed.

Gideon, she realized, looked uncomfortable because he'd

ditched his 'comrades' the moment he'd seen the lay of the
land.

She was tempted to wait and see how he planned to get

himself out of this one. On the other, she knew how this story
was going to end—in the hold where all of their
disagreements ended up.

"She said you have to ask her yourself," she answered

before Gideon had come up with a response, crossing her
arms and leaning against the door frame.

Jerico and Gabriel both whirled guiltily at the sound of her

voice and froze like two hunting dogs that had just spied their
quarry when they saw her standing in the doorway of the
cabin completely nude. Gabriel recovered first, striding
quickly toward her. Jerico was about two steps behind him
and Bronte was beginning to regret the impulse to toss that
challenge into a potentially volatile situation—as she so often
did regret her impulses, and with good reason since they
usually turned out badly.

Just as she straightened away from the doorframe to run,

Jerico threw one leg out and tripped Gabriel up. Gabriel hit
the deck and slid toward her several feet, but as Jerico leapt
over him, he managed to snag Jerico around one ankle.

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Caught as completely off guard as Gabriel had been, Jerico
pan-caked on the deck within a few feet of her.

Instead of trying to leap over him as Jerico had done,

Gabriel leapt on top of Jerico, slammed his head against the
deck a few times and then slugged him in the face with his
fist for good measure. He beamed at her as he got to his feet.

Shaking her head at him, wondering if the urge to giggle

was a touch of hysteria or space dementia, Bronte preceded
him into the cabin. He caught up to her, snagged her around
the waist, and pulled her into his embrace, tangling one hand
in her hair and tipping her head back to give him access to
her mouth in almost the same motion. Dizziness swept
through her at the heated possession of his mouth,
disorienting her so thoroughly she scarcely realized they were
still in motion until she discovered he'd walked her backwards
until they bumped into a wall. The unrestrained eagerness of
his mouth and tongue as he lay siege to her senses was as
heady a drug as his essence, inundating her with heated
pleasure, instantly resurrecting the smoldering embers
Gideon had left behind.

She hadn't thought she could be so quickly or thoroughly

aroused after the heights of passion Gideon had taken her to,
but she discovered she was wrong, that everything inside of
her responded as eagerly to Gabriel as he responded to her.

She was giddy and weak by the time he ended the kiss.

Breathing raggedly, he pressed his forehead to hers, lifting a
hand to stroke her cheek. "You are so beautiful," he said
hoarsely, leaning slightly away to allow his gaze and his hand
to trail lightly down her body.

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The comment warmed her. At the same time wry

amusement flickered through her with the reflection that a
rise in desire seemed to have that effect on the eyes. He
stepped slightly away even as she struggled to lift her eyelids
to look at him, swinging her into his arms effortlessly. More
than a little breathless over his maneuver, Bronte felt her
heart quicken with anticipation as he strode to the bed with
her, settled her on the soft surface and followed her down. To
her surprise, instead of instantly ravishing her—as she'd
actually hoped he would, he merely settled beside her and lay
staring at her as if fascinated by her face. Finally, he lifted
one of her hands into his, examining it with equal absorption.
"Will you?" he asked finally, toying with her fingers almost
nervously. "Contract with me?" he added when he flicked a
glance at her face and saw she was merely staring back at
him in surprise.

Bronte sighed ecstatically. It was almost romantic!
If it hadn't been for the bleeding cut over his eye, the

reddened nose he'd hit on the floor when he fell, and the fact
that he'd slammed Jerico's head into the floor, she thought it
would've been even more romantic.

Rolling onto her side, she smiled at him. "You're certain

you don't want to torture a 'yes' out of me?" she asked
teasingly.

Doubt flickered in his eyes, his straight dark brows tenting

above the bridge of his nose in that sad/confused expression
that had always tugged at her heart.

Her chest tightened as it struck her that he probably didn't

understand teasing. It was tragic that they'd missed so much.

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In some ways they all reminded her of over grown children.
She supposed, in some ways they were, because they hadn't
gotten the chance to learn so many of the social skills
developed during childhood. They hadn't even been among
the fortunate ones that at least had faux memories to give
them those tools.

She lifted her free hand to brush a lock of inky black hair

from his face. "Never mind, Gabriel. I was just teasing. Yes, I
will contract with you—if you're sure this is what you want?"

He shifted closer. Dragging her beneath him, he locked his

gaze with hers. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I
would ... be honored."

He seemed absolutely sincere, and yet the comment made

her uncomfortable. "I can't help but worry that this would be
disastrous," she said. "You and the others have so often come
to blows."

He frowned at that. "We could apply for shift rotation, and

then no more than one would be with you at the time," he
said thoughtfully, and then added with the air of confession,
"A soldier's pay is not that much, but then Gideon is an officer
and he makes more—so you will not want for anything of
comfort. Between the three of us—if you decide that you will
accept Jerico—I am certain we can provide very well for you.

"I have no programming for social skills, but I would get it

if it becomes available. I have not had much opportunity to
utilize my programming as a pleasure bot, but I am fully
programmed and equipped. I can give you as much pleasure
as the others. I am also a programmed soldier and have

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much experience in that, at least. On my honor, I will protect
you with my life, always."

Bronte didn't know why his careful recital of his assets

made her feel like crying—after all that was a critical part of
courting, convincing the one you wanted that you were worth
having—except that he was so awkward at it, obviously didn't
know this was the sort of things one demonstrated or found
another way to subtly get the message across. She knew,
though, that he'd misinterpret it if she gave in to the urge.

"I will do all that I can to make sure you do not regret it,

Bronte—if you will agree."

She was going to cry if he didn't stop it! More to distract

him than because her libido was still raging, she lifted her
head to press her mouth to his. "Yes, Gabriel," she murmured
against his lips.

It had the desired effect—with benefits. It instantly

diverted him to sex and he redirected her mind from its
sentimental bent to a far more pleasant place. It took very
little to reignite the fire he'd already started. She was hot and
breathless by the time he ended the kiss and began the
search for other delights. By the time he drifted from his
exploration of her throat to her breasts, he'd thoroughly
awakened every nerve ending in her body and she was hot
and wet and desperate when he had satisfied his interest in
her breasts and moved lower.

She began to tug at him, trying to urge him to inter her.

When he ignored that, continuing to explore her belly with his
lips, she shifted to spread her thighs around his hips, arching
her mound against his chest. Instead of seizing the

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opportunity she offered to sheath himself inside of her, he
slipped lower still, pushing her thighs wide and covering her
sex with his mouth. She sucked in a harsh breath when she
felt the heat of his mouth on her clit. The faintly rough
texture of his tongue as he strummed it seemed to force the
air from her lungs.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, savoring the feel of

him for many moments, feeling her body tighten, her senses
expand and then focus on the delicious tug of his mouth. The
sensations intensified swiftly to nearly unbearable. She began
to moan instead of merely to pant for breath, to writhe and
lift to meet his mouth. The sense of urgency and anticipation
grew until she felt herself struggling to try to fight against the
tide carrying her away. From one moment to the next she
was torn between the desire to beg him to stop and drive his
cock into her and the equal want for him not to stop at all.

She did both, pulling at him to urge him to take her one

moment, holding his head to her the next. And then the
decision was ripped from her grasp. A keen cry tore from her
throat as her body abruptly seized so hard it forced the air
from her lungs and then began to convulse in hard waves as
she came until she was screaming, so caught up in the
rapturous spasms she was hardly aware of the hands that
settled on her face.

"Will you contract with me?"
She managed to open one eye a crack and discovered

Jerico's face hovering above hers. "Oh!" she gasped sharply
as another wave hit her.

"Is that a yes?"

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Mindless as she was at that moment, her brain seized on

the only thing supplied that might end the distraction. "Yes!"
she screamed. "Yes!"

She slumped into grateful semi-consciousness as the

spasms finally began to dissipate and Gabriel ceased to
torture her clit and shifted over her. She groaned again as
she felt his cock probing her and then thrusting inside of her.
There was a dull, meaty thud and she opened her eyes, trying
to focus them as Gabriel scooped her shoulders into his arms
and began thrusting into her.

Jerico was on the floor, but he noticed she'd opened her

eyes and sat up again. "You will agree to contract?" he asked
again, trying to wedge his head between her and Gabriel.

"Yes!" she grunted out as Gabriel found his rhythm and

began to drive into her in hard, deep thrusts.

"I have the contract! It is only the basic form, but I have

looked it over and I think this will do."

Her eyes crossed as Gideon shoved Jerico aside and held

up the tablet for her to look at it. "I ... can't ... read ... it,"
she grunted out testily in counter to Gabriel's thrusts as they
forced the air from her lungs.

He frowned. "Are you not done yet, Gabriel? Never mind. I

will read it."

"Oh god!" Bronte groaned, uncertain of whether it was

more from irritation at the distraction or because Gabriel,
prompted to hurry, was about to buckle her spine.

Gabriel's ragged, desperate breaths near her ear drowned

out most of the drone of Gideon's voice. Between that
distraction and the fact that she discovered Jerico had merely

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stepped back to watch, she should have been too diverted to
enjoy anything Gabriel was doing to her. Contrary to all logic,
however, or maybe just because her body could not be
distracted from enjoying it even if her mind could, she
discovered she was climbing toward climax again a handful of
seconds before it hit, crashing through her even harder than
her first had.

She squeezed her eyes closed, uttered a choked cry and

then a series of high pitched keens as the waves rocked her.
Gabriel shuddered, groaned, and climaxed on top of hers,
settling weakly against her as the last shockwaves of his
release went through him.

Through the warming afterglow of pleasure, she heard

Gideon's voice.

".... Automatically renewable after the full term of seven

years if undisputed, void if disputed by either party. Will that
suit you, Bronte?"

Dragging in a decent breath, finally, Bronte cracked one

eye open and struggled to focus on Gideon's face. "Wha...?"

He knelt down. "Will this suit?"
She opened her other eye, struggled to keep them from

crossing and finally closed one eye again. "I missed the first
part," she said with an effort.

He frowned and looked down at the tablet irritably. "I will

just hit the high spots. This is too much to read again. Unless
you want to read it yourself?"

"No," Bronte responded, beginning to recover enough to

feel a flicker of annoyance. "Is there a clause for early

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termination in case one of the parties discovers they are
completely incompatible with another member of the party?"

Gideon frowned as he looked it over. "Yes," he said finally,

obviously completely oblivious to her discontent. "One year."

"Good! Now go away—both of you!"
Jerico frowned, then slid a speculative glance at Gabriel.

"He is done. Gabriel should leave and then I can ask you
again about contracting with me without him to distract you."

Bronte gave him a look, uncertain for several moments if

he was serious or not. It dawned on her fairly quickly,
however, than none of the three had any tact whatsoever, or
any sense of humor. He was not only serious, he had no
inkling that it wasn't welcome at the moment, and obviously
neither he nor Gideon saw anything at all wrong with
discussing business while she was being 'pleasured'.

That was way more than just disconcerting.
"No!" she finally responded implacably when Gabriel finally

gathered enough energy to roll off of her. "I already told you
I would. You don't need to convince me!"

Sitting up with an effort, she scooted to the edge of the

bed and put her feet on the floor. "I'm going to bathe," she
finished weakly, wondering if her legs would hold her up long
enough to do so.

"We should sign contracts first," Gideon said.
"I am not signing any damned thing stark naked and

dripping come!" Bronte snapped.

Gideon frowned. "It will only take a few moments and then

it will be done."

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"This has to be recorded since we can't appear before a

judge or anything, right?"

Gideon nodded.
"Then NO!"
Gideon's face went taut with anger. "This is an order,

sol...."

Bronte shot to her feet, stalked over to him, and poked

him in the chest with her index finger. "I am not one of your
damned soldiers! You might as well get it through your thick
skull right now that I am not going to follow orders! We will
co-habit as equal partners or I'll have nothing to do with it
and you can shove that tablet up your ass!"

He looked taken aback, obviously was, because he didn't

make any attempt to detain her as she stalked from the room
and into the bath.

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Chapter Fifteen

Gideon managed to ignore the accusing glares Gabriel and

Jerico bent upon him for the first few minutes that he paced
the length of the ship's mid-section and back again. The
moment he became aware of it, however, his temper shot up
several degrees.

"You have something to say?" he growled, finally coming

to a halt when it occurred to him they were offering him an
opportunity to work off some of his nervous energy.

"Yes!" Jerico growled back at him. "We had only just got

her to agree to sign and now you have made her angry and
she is not going to sign at all!"

Since Gideon had just spent the past ten minutes trying to

understand himself what she'd meant and still wasn't certain
the comment diffused his anger somewhat. "She did not say
she would not," he said uneasily. "She said she would not be
ordered to do so."

"But you did order her!" Gabriel pointed out furiously. "If

she said she would not if you ordered her to, and you did,
does that not mean she has changed her mind?"

Gideon scrubbed a hand over his face. "That part has been

worrying me also. She said we would be equal partners or she
would not. I will tell her that we will be equal partners and
then she will," he said decisively. He glanced toward the cabin
door uneasily. "I think I will wait until she comes out and see
if she is still angry."

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"She said you could shove that tablet up your ass," Jerico

said thoughtfully.

Gideon glared at him. "Well, I can not! And I do not want

to if I could! It will do us no good there!"

"I think it was what they call a 'figure of speech' or maybe

slang," Jerico said after a moment.

Gideon stared at him impatiently. "Well? What does it

mean?"

"That she is angry ... I think."
Gideon gave him a look of disgust. "She did not have to

say that to make me understand she was angry! She must
have meant something when she said it!"

"I will shove it up your ass myself if she says she will not

contract now!" Gabriel growled. "Then she will be happy again
and contract with me!"

"You can try," Gideon snarled. "Mayhap I will shove it up

your ass!"

"I do not know why you had to order her at all!" Jerico said

with rising anger.

Instead of stalking over to Jerico and planting his fist in his

face, which was what he wanted to do, Gideon resumed his
pacing. "Because we passed the outer rim of the system nigh
an hour ago! Command center will have picked us up by now
and we will not get the chance to have the contracts signed if
we do not do something quickly!" he bellowed angrily.

"We must have several hours left!" Jerico said worriedly.
Discovering a ragged nail, Gideon began to gnaw on it as

he paced. "Three ... at most," he acknowledged. Successfully
removing the offending nail, he spat it out, and examined the

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others. He had already gnawed those to the tips of his
fingers, though. Disgusted, he dropped his hands to his sides
again. "That is only until we dock, however. Command center
will contact us as soon as we are in range, and then they will
know about Bronte. For you may be sure that they will ask
about the success of our mission. And when I report, as I
must, then they will begin to make plans for her that does not
include us! Or worse, they will instantly realize that we would
have used the tactical advantage of having her with us and
order us not to contract! If we have already signed the
contracts they can do no more than throw us in the brig for a
few months.

"What is taking her so long?" he demanded of no one in

particular, halting abruptly and swiveling toward the cabin
door.

He'd barely gotten the question out when the door opened

and Bronte stepped out. She gave him a look. "I was trying to
find something to put on. Someone, naming no names, ripped
the suit I was wearing!"

Gideon stared at her blankly. "You were not wearing...."
Jerico and Gabriel turned to glare at him accusingly.
"We do not have time to 'discuss' this now!" Gideon

ground out surging forward to grasp Bronte's arm and lead
her to the table where he had set the tablet. He discovered
when he had set up the vid to record the event that she was
reading it. Swallowing the urge to point out that he had
already read it to her, he settled on the bench beside her,
drumming his fingers on the table top while he waited
impatiently for her to finish. She threw him a frowning

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reproach, glared at his fingers for several moments and finally
sighed.

He instantly had the uneasy feeling that sigh was somehow

significant.

"This contract is for seven years. They're usually only for

five."

He bared his teeth at her in the best approximation of a

smile he could manage. "It is the standard contract."

She frowned.
He felt a cold sweat pop from his pores and resisted the

urge to glance toward the forward vid screen only by a
supreme effort. Finally, she shrugged and reached for the
stylus. Gabriel and Jerico, hovering on the opposite side of
the table, leaned forward to watch.

Gideon glared at them. "You are blocking the vid," he

pointed out coldly.

Bronte slid the tablet to him. Grabbing the stylus with a

sense of relief, he quickly scrawled his own name in the
appropriate box—Gideon CS46721. He discovered when he
replaced the stylus that Bronte was frowning at his signature.
He sent her a questioning look as he handed the tablet over
to Gabriel and Jerico to witness. "There is something wrong?"

He couldn't quite interpret the look in her eyes when she

met his gaze but it made his chest feel uncomfortably tight.
She shook her head, turning to look at Gabriel and Jerico in
much the same way.

It disturbed him that he couldn't understand what that

look meant but he resolutely dismissed it as Jerico handed
the tablet back. "Now it is Gabriel's turn," he said, flipping to

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the next screen before he rose and changed places with
Gabriel.

Jerico looked as if he would object, but when Gideon shook

his head, he settled into fuming silence, glancing behind them
at the forward vid as Bronte scanned the second contract.

They had just settled to sign Jerico's contract when the

communicator squawked. Bronte jumped and Gideon, Jerico,
and Gabriel stiffened, their heads swiveling sharply in the
direction of the speaker.

"Approaching craft, identify!"
There was a brief pause and then the command was

repeated.

Gideon and Gabriel exchanged a speaking glance. "Finish!"

Gideon said sharply getting up and striding quickly toward the
bridge. "Command center!" Gideon hailed the speaker. "This
is Black Hawk tango two bravo six niner zero!"

"Identify!"
"Lieutenant Gideon CS46721, Cyborg Forces."
"Mission status?"
"Target extracted. ETA forty six minutes." He paused.

"Mark."

"Target status?"
Gideon glanced toward the group at the table, meeting

Bronte's gaze briefly.

"Take...."
Before he could finish what he'd been about to say, the

proximity alarms went off. "Proximity alert! Proximity alert!"
the computer announced.

Gideon cut the alarm off. "Direction? Speed?"

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"Starboard, sub light," the computer responded.
Even as Gideon dove into the command seat and grabbed

the controls, however, something slammed into the craft so
hard it pitched Jerico off the bench and flung Bronte over him.
He caught her, wrapping his arms tightly around her as he
skidded along the floor with the pitch of the ship.

Bronte felt the shudder that rippled through the ship even

perched on top of Jerico. Gabriel picked himself up and
staggered toward the bridge, half falling into the
communications seat as he reached the control center.
"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Home base. This is Black Hawk
tango two bravo six niner zero! We have been damaged! I
repeat, we have been damaged."

He glanced at Gideon after a lengthy pause.

"Communications are gone."

Gideon gritted his teeth. "The whole fucking tail section is

gone." He glanced back at Jerico and Bronte. "Get her into
the emergency seat before we hit the atmosphere. And then
get back there and try to get the emergency lock down over
that rear door. It is not responding."

Gabriel bolted out of his seat. "Get the emergency lock. I

will help Bronte."

"Put her in my seat," Jerico said as Gabriel dropped to his

knees and opened a small hatch, pulling a fixed seat from
beneath the floor—the one they'd strapped her in to when
they'd blasted off from Earth, Bronte realized.

Gideon turned to look at Bronte. She saw the indecision in

his eyes and she knew what it meant. The emergency seat

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wasn't nearly as safe as the others. "I'll be safer if Jerico is
where he's supposed to be," she said quickly.

He didn't argue with her and that scared her worse than

she already was. She felt no better once Gabriel had strapped
her into her seat. Even she could see that it wasn't nearly as
sturdy as the other chairs, and besides that she had the pit
beneath her the thing had been pulled out of. It didn't matter
that Gabriel had shoved a floor plate over it and locked it
down. She knew the hole was there and all she could think
about was being sucked out of it.

She managed to smile at Gabriel weakly, however, when

he finished strapping her in and briefly touched her cheek to
reassure her before he went back to his own seat.

She hoped that was what he meant by it and not 'good

bye'.

"Atmosphere!" Gabriel barked. "In ten!"
"I have got it!" Jerico bellowed back at him to the tune of a

sudden metallic bang that made Bronte's belly clutch in
terror. Whirling toward the sound, more than half expecting
to see the ship disintegrating before her eyes, she felt a
measure of relief when she saw that Jerico had pulled a pair
of doors from the walls that looked far more substantial than
the sliding door of the cabin and locked them together.

Or ... where the cabin used to be. The wall and door were

substantial or they would've crumpled already, she told
herself.

Unless Gideon had been exaggerating, she thought

hopefully.

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She had a bad feeling that wasn't a 'trait' Gideon had

either. The entire ship was shaking so hard she had to clench
her teeth to keep from biting her tongue and they hadn't
even hit the bad part yet.

She wondered what the chances were of actually managing

to land the ship with nearly a third of it missing.

It probably didn't matter where she was sitting.
"Three!" Gideon yelled. "Get up here!"
He didn't have to announce when they hit atmosphere. The

ship bucked so hard Bronte knew she would've gotten
whiplash if she hadn't been strapped in. She screamed before
she could stop herself, her mind instantly equating the hard
slamming motion with hitting the ground. Her stomach went
weightless and lodged in her throat. The sensation of falling
didn't stop. She squeezed her eyes closed as the shaking
intensified until her brain and eyeballs were rattling in her
head. The pull of gravity felt as if it was going to crush her in
her seat. Her heart, already laboring with terror, struggled,
felt as if the weight pulling at her was going to make it
explode.

She focused on trying to breathe and trying to regulate her

heart, closing her mind to the screaming sound of metal
around her and the men's voices as they checked
instruments, called out reading and fought the bucking
bronco they were on trying to seize control.

They were dropping like a rock. The air around her grew

hotter and hotter. Bronte squeezed her eyes more tightly
together, focusing harder to block out the fear that they
would burst into flames. Some force buffeted the ship so that

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it lifted and then dropped repeatedly. The air speed Gabriel
had been quoting to Gideon began to drop. It was hardly
reassuring. They were still moving way too fast and she knew
it, but she began to feel a faint thread of hope, despite the
fact that the ship began to tilt further and further forward.

"We are still dropping too fast!" Gabriel announced.
"On my mark, fire the forward thrusters!" Gideon

bellowed.

Bronte opened one eye to see what was happening, too

frightened to ask even if she hadn't been worried about
distracting them. In the forward vid, she saw a spiral of
greens and blues that made her head swim. Glancing at
Gideon, she saw his arm muscles bulging from his grip on the
steering yoke, saw the hard edge of a clenched jaw. "Short
burst ... now!"

The ship bucked again as if it had hit something, the front

end pitching upward. Bronte held her breath, trying to keep
from throwing up.

Gabriel marked the air speed again.
"Again!" Gideon said. "Short burst only. Jerico, where are

we?"

"Over the Darden sea."
"I can see that!" Gideon ground out.
"Coming up on a land mass."
"What have we got?"
"Sand ... if you put it down fast."
"I do not think we have a choice."
"Dunes—starboard ten degrees," Jerico announced.

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Gideon threw him a quick glance and leaned against the

yoke as he struggled to alter course.

"Three," Jerico called out.
"Gabriel, fire all thrusters and see if we can slow this son-

of-a-bitch down," Gideon ground out.

The ship went wild, bucking and jolting so hard it jarred

Bronte's clenched jaws apart and then slammed her teeth
down on her tongue. Blood filled her mouth.

"Impact in ten," Gabriel announced.
Bronte sucked in a harsh breath, tensing all over.
"Five ... coming in hard."
"Hit the braking thrusts now!" Gideon bellowed.
The ship lurched, bucked. Abruptly they slammed into

something. The ship roared like a live thing as it crumpled
around them. Bronte screamed as pain speared through her
and then blackness swarmed over her. When she surfaced
again, her ears were still ringing from the last roar of sound
she'd heard. Flickering light moved over her eyelids and she
opened them with an effort. Around her was a tangle of metal
and vegetation. A leafy frond, stirred by air, or still
shuddering from their impact, was bobbing above her, she
saw, causing the flickering of light as it filtered the sunlight
pouring down through the canopy above her.

She closed her eyes again, searching for the pain she knew

she should be feeling. As if she'd summoned it, it flickered to
life, welled inside of her until it took an effort to breathe.

"Bronte!"
Her heart clutched at the sound of Gideon's voice. "Here!"

she tried to call out, but the word only emerged as a thread

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of sound. She tried again, managed to lift her voice a little
louder. She flinched at a sudden noise close by and more pain
flooded through her.

"Bronte!"
She struggled and managed to open her eyes again as she

heard him advance toward her through the rubble and then
felt his nearness. His face was taut as he stared down at her.
After a long moment, he reached to grasp her restraints.
Vaguely surprised to realize she was still strapped in her seat,
she tried to lift her hands to help him but discovered her arms
were just too heavy to lift them.

"Be still!" Gideon ground out, apparently having noticed

her slight movement.

She subsided, too tired to argue with him. "I'm so tired,"

she said, wondering why.

"Only a moment and I will have you loose."
More movement around her roused her enough to open

her eyes again. Relief flooded her when she glimpsed Jerico
and Gabriel. "We made it," she whispered.

Gideon crouched down in front of her, placing his hands on

her shoulders and easing her slowly toward him. She
screamed at the pain that lanced through her.

He stopped instantly and Bronte gasped for breath as the

pain slowly subsided. When she could open her eyes again,
she searched for the source and discovered a piece of metal
sticking into her. Mentally, she traced it. "I'm pinned to the
seat," she said in surprise.

Gideon gripped the piece of metal. "On the count of three I

will pull."

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Bronte put her hand over his. "Leave it. I'm dying

anyway," she said, feeling oddly calm about it and yet as
certain of it as she had ever been about anything in her life.
Her suit was already soaked in blood. She was fairly certain
the metal had severed major blood vessels if not an artery.

He caught her chin in a hard grip. "You will not die," he

said through clenched teeth. "On the count of three, Bronte."

Too tired to argue with him, she sucked in her breath,

trying to brace herself. He snatched it out on two, snatching
her breath with it and, blessedly, consciousness.
Unfortunately, she was only unconscious for a handful of
seconds. She came to as he pulled her from the seat,
groaning at the pain that cut through her with each step he
took. Dizziness swept through her and a sense of falling. Her
back settled on a hard surface.

When she opened her eyes she saw that all three men

were bent over her, their expressions grim as they tore her
uniform off of her. "'s alright," she murmured. "Doesn't hurt
much ... least I got contracted first," she added, trying to
infuse a little humor into the situation.

"Do not talk," Gideon said harshly. "Save your strength."
What strength, she thought tiredly? It was an effort even

to breathe. She discovered that was partly because Gabriel
was leaning against her, pressing her belly so tightly it felt as
if he was going to shove her stomach through her back.

"We need to get the bleeding stopped."
Gideon glanced up at Jerico. "Find whatever you can in the

wreckage." His hand was shaking as he brushed it along her
cheek. "This is going to hurt like hell, Bronte."

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She opened her eyes and discovered he had one of the

laser pistols in his hand.

Gabriel caught his wrist even as he lifted it and tried to

steady the sight. "This is too clumsy."

Gideon jerked his head up to stare at Gabriel. "She will

bleed to death if I do not stop the bleeding. This will cauterize
the wound."

Reluctantly, Gabriel released his grip.
Gideon rubbed an arm across his face and for the first time

Bronte noticed his hair was matted with blood. He focused on
her stomach. She saw the barrel of the pistol waver. Abruptly,
he tossed it aside. Glancing around, he snatched up a jagged
piece of metal. Bronte sucked in her breath as he slashed it
across his arm. Blood spurted from the artery he'd severed.
"Gideon!"

Ignoring her cry, he leaned over her, squeezing the arm he

had sliced so hard the muscles in his arm stood out, shook as
his blood flowed over her. "The nanos," he said harshly,
glancing at Gabriel.

Nodding, Gabriel glanced around until he found another

jagged piece of metal and sliced his own open.

They were going to die, too, Bronte thought, so distressed

she felt tears well in her eyes, gather at the corners and then
run down into her hair.

"I have found the med case," Jerico said, racing up to

them. He stopped abruptly when he saw what they were
doing. Dropping the case he'd brought, he moved around to
her legs. It was the last thing Bronte remembered clearly.
Darkness descended over her. It lifted and fell, not like a

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curtain so much as waves as if she was sleeping and
surfacing near consciousness and then drifting down again.

Burning pain brought her more fully awake for a handful of

minutes, just long enough to be thoroughly disoriented by the
hands pulling at her, rocking her. Something soft tightened
across the burning pain in her stomach and then they left her
in peace for a few moments.

"Now—while she is unconscious."
Dread filled her when she heard Gideon's words but she

didn't have time to brace for what she knew was coming—
more pain. She screamed as they pulled on her leg, trying to
tear off. Why wouldn't they just leave her alone? she thought
wearily when she could think at all again.

Thankfully, either they stopped torturing her or she lost

any sense of pain. She sighed tiredly and drifted off again.
She woke freezing, her teeth chattering so badly she couldn't
seem to make them stop. It was dark—or she was blind—she
discovered when she opened her eyes. Slowly, her eyes
focused and she saw stars winking above her.

Closing her eyes again, she searched for the pain and

discovered that she hurt all over, that it was impossible to
localize the pain, but it was duller, not the sharp, cutting pain
that had taken her breath before. A shadow had fallen over
her when she opened her eyes again. She stared hard, trying
to pierce the darkness.

"Drink." It was Jerico's voice. His hand settled beneath her

head, lifted it. She opened her mouth when she felt the edge
of a glass, or something cylindrical. Icy water cascaded into

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her mouth. She gulped and then choked and the water
overflowed, running down her chin and then her neck.

The coughing brought the pain up to a new level and she

struggled to suppress the cough and the shivers that added to
her misery.

"She is cold."
Two more shadows moved close. She heard a faint rustle

as they crouched beside her. "What happened?" she asked
through chattering teeth.

A hand settled on her forehead and then stroked her face

lightly. "The nanos stopped the bleeding, but we could not
give you many. They are designed to speed to the area most
damaged and close off the artery as quickly as possible to
prevent death by blood loss. Since you do not have many, it
will take a while for them to repair the damage from the
crash." He paused. "Jerico, keep watch. We will keep her
warm for now."

Bronte hadn't realized she'd been covered until Gabriel and

Gideon lifted the cover on either side of her, allowing a frigid
breeze to blow across her bare skin. Then they settled the
cover again and pressed lightly against her on either side.
Their skin was nearly as chilled as hers at first, but after a
few moments she began to feel them grow warm. Grateful for
even a small amount of warmth, Bronte tried to roll closer
and gasped as the movement sent a jolt of pain through her
stomach and another through her leg.

"Be still. You will only cause yourself more pain."
"I know," she gasped. "I'm still cold."

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A hand moved over her shaking shoulder. "I will lift you.

Just relax and do not try to help," Gideon said quietly.

It was impossible to lay completely passive, but the

moment she tensed her stomach muscles the pain intensified
until she couldn't help. Gabriel shifted closer behind her as
Gideon helped her onto her side. When he'd positioned her
against Gabriel, he moved closer, sandwiching her between
them. A sigh of relief drifted from her lips as she felt their
warmth envelop her until she ceased to tremble and finally
drifted to sleep again.

Light woke her again. She lay trying to block it for a while,

but her mind threw off the mists of sleep and began sifting
through flashes of memory. This time she didn't feel pain until
she tried to stretch. The movement didn't just create pain
inside of her, though, it surfaced the memory of laying
between Gideon and Gabriel.

She saw what was left of the ship when she finally opened

her eyes but it took her many minutes to figure out that that
was what she was looking at. Most of both sides were
missing. A large section of what had been the port hull was
curled back. Wires and strips of metal and tubing hung down
from what had been the ceiling. It wasn't until she spotted
the chairs that she realized she was looking at the front end
of the craft, or at least what was left of it. A portion of the
floor of the mid-section was still attached.

The nose of the craft was flattened, crushed back against

what had been the control console until she had to wonder
how Gabriel and Gideon had managed to walk away from it.

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The moment that thought clicked in her mind, though, a

flood of images followed. She'd been in no state to note their
condition, not consciously. Unconsciously, her mind had
collected the images. They hadn't walked away without a
scratch. Both of them had been torn and bloody, limping,
moving stiffly in pain.

And they'd still come to find her before they'd even tried to

do anything about their own wounds. Twisting her head to
search for them, she saw Jerico and Gabriel carefully sorting
through the wreckage. There was no sign of Gideon and panic
gripped her.

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Chapter Sixteen

"Gideon!"
Both Jerico and Gabriel whirled at her call. Dropping the

items they'd found, they hurried toward her. Gabriel reached
her first. "You must not call out!" he said, his voice harsh,
urgent as he dropped to his knees beside her.

Bronte's heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest.

"Why?"

Jerico and Gabriel exchanged a look. "The trogs will have

seen the crash. They will be searching for us."

Whatever, or whoever, the trogs were, Bronte had a

feeling she didn't want them to find her if they made Jerico
and Gabriel uneasy. "Where's Gideon?"

"He followed the path the craft tore through the jungle to

search for our weapons."

Bronte frowned, battling the growing, nameless fear. "He

went off alone? Without a weapon?"

She could tell by the look on their faces that they didn't

understand her alarm. "He took the laser pistol," Jerico
supplied finally.

She tried to sit up. Gabriel caught her shoulders to push

her down again but it wasn't necessary. The moment she
tried, fiery pain seared through her. She went limp, trying to
catch her breath.

"You must not move yet," Gabriel said gruffly. "The

wounds have only begun to close. You will open them again."

"What happened?"

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"We crashed."
Bronte closed her eyes. She'd forgotten what it was like to

get any information out of them, especially when they were
trying to keep her in the dark, and she suspected they were.

"Are you hungry?"
She wasn't, but she nodded when Jerico asked anyway,

knowing she should eat something. She wasn't just injured,
she was so weak it took an effort to do anything at all. She
knew she'd lost a lot of blood and she hadn't taken in food or
water in a very long time.

"We can not build a fire," Jerico said apologetically when

he returned a few minutes later. "So there is no way to heat
or cook food."

Because of the trogs—who were probably out looking for

them—and they couldn't leave because they were afraid to
move her. They didn't have to tell her that. She would've
known even if she hadn't been a doctor and well aware of just
how bad her injuries were.

She should be dead, she realized abruptly, not just weak

and in pain. She'd been impaled by a flying piece of the
disintegrating craft, pinned to her seat by it, and there was no
doubt the internal damage would have to have been
extensive when something that big had gone all the way
through her.

She would be dead except that Gideon and Jerico and

Gabriel had risked their own lives to give her nanos, slashed
their arms to force the microscopic bots to the surface and
milked them from their bodies and into hers. As vague and
mixed up as her memories were because of the shock, she

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recalled enough to know that they'd been injured badly
enough to be in serious need of their nanos themselves quite
aside from their own blood lost from injuries that had made
sacrificing more to help her life threatening for them.

She could see they'd finally gotten around to tending their

own wounds after they'd done what they could for her, but
she could also see that both Jerico and Gabriel were showing
signs of a good deal of trauma. Aside from the numerous
blood soaked bandages they were sporting, their coloring
wasn't even close to their usual healthy glow. Both of them
looked nearly as pale and washed out as she felt and she
knew Gideon was in no better shape.

Instead of taking the food and water Jerico held out, she

lifted a hand to explore the place along her mid-section where
she'd seen the metal sticking out of her. It was bandaged but
even the light pressure of her hand made it hurt deep inside
of her. Vaguely, she recalled being jostled until she'd felt like
screaming, or crying because she'd been too weak by then to
scream, and realized they'd been bandaging her wounds.

And her leg.
She lifted her head to look down at herself but discovered

she was covered with the blanket. She knew, though, that her
leg was broken, as well. They'd realigned the bone and
braced her leg with something.

She looked up at Jerico and Gabriel, feeling a mixture of

gratitude and something else that was difficult to pin down.
They'd saved her life—and Gideon. He was the one who'd
thought to try to give her their nanos—because he hadn't

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been able to bring himself to try to use the laser to close the
wound.

Finally, offering them a smile since she couldn't speak for

the knot of emotion closing her throat, she took the food
Jerico was offering. It was some sort of bread. Gabriel lifted
her head and propped something soft beneath it and she
pulled off a small piece and chewed it carefully. It wasn't easy
trying to eat flat on her back, but then she wasn't that hungry
anyway.

"We will stay close. If you have need of anything, keep

your voice low. We will hear you and come." Setting the cup
he'd brought with him within her reach, Jerico rose and left
her. After flicking a gaze over her assessingly, Gabriel
straightened and followed him and the two of them returned
to sifting through the wreckage.

She watched them while she struggled to swallow as much

of the food and water as she could, trying to piece everything
together in her mind.

Something had hit the craft, something pretty big to have

damaged it as badly as it had, a meteor undoubtedly, though
she wondered how it had gotten so close before the proximity
alarm had sounded. The system wouldn't have warned them
at all if had been malfunctioning, she didn't suppose, but
there most have been something wrong with the detection
range. Either that or something had caused the meteor to
abruptly change course.

They hadn't gotten the chance to get out a call for help

because the collision had destroyed communications.

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That explained why they were still here. The command

center had to know, though, that the ship had been damaged.
Surely they would be looking? Surely they would've been able
to track the descent at least part of the way and have some
idea of their general location?

Unless they thought the ship had been destroyed?
She dismissed the fear that caused her. Gideon, Jerico,

and Gabriel would take care of her. Despite their rowdiness in
general, it hadn't escaped her that the moment there was a
threat, they'd instantly responded with cool headed military
precision and they'd managed to get the craft on the ground
without killing everyone on board. As little as she knew about
piloting a craft, she knew that had been a hell of a feat in and
of itself. They'd had almost no control over it, had had to
improvise the usage of what they had left in ways it had
never been intended.

They might be flawed in a lot of ways, but she could not

have been in better hands in the situation they were in.

It was almost with surprise that she realized that she had

absolute faith, not only in their abilities but in their dedication
to taking care of her.

The thing that worried her was that she was the one

element in the equation that could bring about disaster. If
they'd been acting strictly on logic, they would've realized
that. Her injuries and her human weaknesses were a threat to
their survival. True, they'd been badly injured, too, but they
were not only many times stronger than even the strongest
humans, they had nanos to help them recover many times
faster from the severest injuries.

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She hadn't needed Gideon to tell her how hard it was to

kill one of them. They were virtually indestructible. As long as
they could prevent themselves from getting so much damage
so fast that their nanos couldn't repair them quickly enough,
and their speed, strength, and agility insured that, they
couldn't under most circumstances. The crash might be the
closest they'd ever come to reaching critical threat—certainly
would have been if the trogs had been close enough to attack
before they'd had a little time to recover.

Without her to worry about, they could've been far away

by now.

Instead, knowing there was a threat out there, they were

forced to wait until they thought it safe to move her.

Or they had chosen to wait.
She wondered if that was because of their orders to

protect her or if personal choice had figured in to it at all, but
she didn't want to examine that too closely. She wanted to
think at least a part of it had been because it mattered to
them, that she mattered to them.

The threat could only be indigenous life, probably

primitive, which also probably translated to dangerous
savages. Gideon had been in touch with the command center
before they'd lost communications. This had to be their
destination world, and yet they'd gone down beyond the
civilization the Cyborgs had created, a very long way,
otherwise they would have seen some sign of a rescue party
by now and Gideon and the others wouldn't be worried about
being attacked.

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They weren't worried for their own sake, she realized.

They were concerned about protecting her if there was an
attack.

If they were concerned for themselves, Gideon wouldn't

have gone off alone, virtually unarmed, and Gabriel and Jerico
wouldn't have been standing guard over her completely
unarmed except for whatever makeshift weapons they could
grab up.

Which meant she was even more of a threat to their

safety. They were not only going to be slowed by her, they
were very likely going to be forced into a confrontation
because of her, possibly by overwhelming numbers and very
likely by savages better armed than they were. Weakened
and injured as she was, she knew it could take her weeks or
months to recover, even with the help of their nanos—if she
ever completely recovered from it.

And she couldn't dismiss the fact that the nanos hadn't

been designed for human physiology and might not be up to
the task of fixing her even if there were enough to repair the
damage.

She didn't want to think about the possibilities of

permanent, irreversible damage at the moment, though. She
had enough to worry about.

Like whether or not the nanos would be able to prevent

infection from killing her or if the rod had so severely
damaged her intestines she would die slowly of the poisons
seeping into her body, or if there'd been any other vital organ
so damaged it couldn't be repaired. And saying she actually

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survived, her reproductive organs were still in tact enough to
have children.

They hadn't said anything to her about that, not directly,

but she'd overheard enough to know that that was their
single most powerful motivation for wanting a mate—her—the
hope that they might be able to have off-spring.

If it came to that, she had wanted a child, or perhaps two

or three. She'd even obtained a license to reproduce, which
had granted her permission to have her birth control surgery
reversed. The fact that she hadn't managed to find anyone
she'd wanted to father a child hadn't changed that. She'd
expected to find a man, eventually, that met her standards—
or came close.

Unwilling to dwell on those depressing thoughts, she

struggled to shift enough to watch Gabriel and Jerico work,
chafing at not being able to do anything at all to help. She
realized after a little while that their main focus was on
recovering as much of the things from her office as they could
find. Noticing she was watching, they began to bring the
things closer and form a growing pile.

It occurred to her after a while that they were prioritizing

what needed to be taken.

"How are we going to get all of this back to civilization?"

she finally asked Gabriel.

He paused. "We can not leave anything of importance

here. The trogs will take what they want and destroy the
rest."

Dismay filled her. They were going to be bogged down not

only with her but all this, too? "I can manage without most of

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this," she said decisively. "Focus on the instruments and
medicines. Forget the books—I know what's in most of them
anyway. Forget the files and the larger pieces of equipment.
Chances are they're too badly damaged to be of any use
anyway. Most of it was fairly delicate electronics. Even if it
looks like it might not have too much damage, it probably
has."

Nodding, looking vastly relieved, Gabriel returned,

discussed it briefly with Jerico and they began sorting the pile
they'd already collected.

Gideon returned late in the afternoon. Bronte was so glad

to see him she had to fight the urge to weep with relief.
Seeing she was awake and watching him, he tossed two long,
gleaming blades to Jerico and Gabriel and strode toward her
purposefully, crouching beside her and examining her
carefully with his gaze. Bronte took her own inventory. If he'd
been wearing bandages at all, he'd already discarded most of
them. Dozens of dark pink patches on his chest and arms,
legs, face and neck told of newly closed wounds. One on his
thigh and the place where he'd cut himself to help her were
still bandaged. There was a cut extending across his forehead
from his hairline, as well.

He was wearing something she'd never seen him wear

before. Something like a belt crossed his chest from shoulder
to waist and seemed to extend to his back. Above his left
shoulder, she saw a metallic handle of some kind.

He had tossed two long blades to Gabriel and Jerico.

Undoubtedly, that was what this was, a sheathe to carry his
own blade.

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Abruptly self-conscious about her own appearance, she

averted her gaze, wishing she could just pull the cover over
her head. "I must look terrible," she said uncomfortably.

His gaze flickered over her face. "Far better than

yesterday," he said. "It is good that I did not yield to the
impulse to secure you in Jerico's seat. That side took the
brunt of the impact and I do not believe you would have
survived it."

Considering the battering she'd taken, she thought he was

most likely right. It occurred to her even as she realized that
that it was not mere chance that her side of the craft had
been spared the brunt of the impact. "It took the brunt
because you made sure it did," she said.

A flicker of discomfort crossed his features. "It was a

logical decision. Given that I had little time to assess the
situation, I feel that I made the only decision I could have.
Jerico and I were more likely to survive than you, and I knew
that if we did not you would have Gabriel to take care of
you."

A knot of emotion hardened in her throat. "It didn't occur

to you, I suppose, that I might not want to survive if you
didn't?"

He frowned, giving her a strange look.
"I would have grieved if anything had happened to either

you or Jerico, whether you believe it or not. I'm very glad
that you're alright."

Confusion, doubt, and pleasure flickered across his

features in rapid succession, and then more doubt. "Why?" he
asked curiously.

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Dismay filled her. She didn't know why she'd interpreted

everything he'd done as signs he cared about her when she
knew better, knew he was still far more a creature of pure
logic than emotion. Not only did he not feel any of the things
that had begun to grow inside of her, he didn't understand
why she would feel them. Instead of trying to answer his
question and possibly embarrassing herself more, she
changed the subject. "Is that a ... knife you have strapped to
your back?"

He frowned, obviously not happy that she'd ignored the

question, but he allowed the subject to drop. "Of a sort. It is
called a sword."

"You had those on the ship?"
"We always have them with us, though they are only used,

or mostly, in confrontations with the natives of this world."

Bronte eyed the thing doubtfully. "I think I'd rather have a

laser pistol."

A faint smile curled his lips. "You could not wield a sword.

They are far heavier than the pistols—and nigh as long as you
are."

She gave him a look. "I'm not that short!"
His smile broadened. "Not quite. But I am that tall, and

this blade was designed for one such as I am."

"I still think the pistols would be more effective," she said,

mostly because she didn't like the idea of anyone getting
close enough to any of 'her' men for them to use the lethal
looking blades.

"That is because you know nothing about what we must

deal with. The trogs swarm when they attack and, most

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often, they are upon you before you know that they are
there. The pistols are of no use, or very little, in such an
attack, and I would far prefer to meet blade with blade—for
that is what they use—than to find myself with nothing but
my bare hands to fend off their blades."

She stared at him unhappily at that, almost sorry she'd

gotten that much information out of him. It couldn't be worse
knowing the danger of the situation, though, than not having
a clue until she found herself in the middle of such a battle.
Not that she thought anything could prepare her for such a
thing, but the information was certainly inspiration to do all
she could to help avoid the possibility.

When she said nothing else, he took the edge of the

blanket covering her and flipped it back. She was horrified
when she saw herself. Her body looked like one massive
bruise. Dried blood was smeared over most of her body that
wasn't covered with bandaging and clotted in the fabric that
had been used to bandage her, as well. She was going to be a
walking horror even if she recovered she thought dismally as
she took in the dozens of small cuts they hadn't dressed.

She bit her lip as he pulled up the bandage around her

middle and studied the wound. When he was satisfied, he
shifted downward and studied her leg and then covered her
again. Without a word, he rose and crossed to Gabriel and
Jerico. "We will give her the remainder of daylight to rest and
mend. I do not like that we must move her so soon as even
that," he added, lifting his head to scan the area, "but this is
a poor defensive position at best. The only advantage at all is

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that it is clear enough they can not come too close without
our knowledge. But we have no coverage for her at all.

"I have found a small cavern in the cliffs a half day's walk

down the coast. It is a much better defensive position and will
be more secure for her, also. I believe we can defend it long
enough to allow her time to mend beyond danger and then, if
we are not picked up in the meantime, we will make our way
to the city by way of the coast as long as we can follow it. The
trogs are not fond of water and will stay as far from it as
possible, I think."

"You do not think they will come for us?" Gabriel asked.
Gideon shrugged. "It is possible, but I will not wait upon it.

They will almost certainly be convinced that there is nothing
to find. If we had not had communications open at the time
we were hit they might have been more inclined to think we
had survived. In any case, you are aware the ship had no
locator to prevent our enemies from tracking us. They will not
be able to locate us without a great deal of searching and we
are many clicks from the point where we would have
disappeared from their screens. They will be searching the
sea."

He turned away from them after that to study the things

they'd recovered from the wreckage.

"Bronte said those things were not of great importance.

We have gathered those she said were important here," Jerico
said.

Gideon lifted his head to look at her for a long moment

and finally returned his attention to Jerico and nodded. "She
will know. Make a pile of next in importance, as well. If we

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get the chance and it seems feasible, we will return for it and
carry it to the cavern to be retrieved later. I found a few
useful items as I was looking for the swords. I left them in the
cavern. There is no fresh water nearby, though. We will need
to carry as much of that as we can and also food. I want to
limit the number of times we have to leave the cavern to get
either. The more times we risk it, obviously the more chance
the trogs will see and will follow. I do not want to have to
defend the place if we can avoid it. There is too much chance
that Bronte could be hurt if we have to fight."

Make me feel worse, why don't you? Bronte thought. Not

that she thought he'd intended for her to overhear the
conversation. In fact, she knew he hadn't realized the low
voiced conversation would carry so well or he wouldn't have
gone to the effort of lowering his voice. She'd heard enough,
though, to get the general idea that things weren't looking up
for them right now and she was the biggest cog in the wheel.

She chafed over it, but she was fairly certain she couldn't

get up without help, and even if she managed it she was
liable to tear something fragile loose that had only begun to
mend and make things even worse. She worried over it until
she fell asleep again. When next she woke, she saw that the
sun had shifted a good distance in the sky.

She also discovered she had a problem.
She ignored it as long as she could, but it seemed

acknowledging it to begin with had only focused her mind on
her discomfort until it couldn't be ignored anymore.

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This was where the patient was presented with a bedpan

and expected to forget they'd ever had anything like privacy
... or dignity.

She thought she'd rather die.
It was stupid, of course. The chances were they wouldn't

think anything at all about it, but it was how she felt about it
that was bothering her. Finally, unable to bear it any longer,
she watched until she managed to catch Gabriel's eye and
motioned him over.

"I have to go," she said uncomfortably when he knelt

beside her.

He looked at her curiously for a moment and finally lifted

his hand to her forehead. It took her a moment to figure out
he thought she might be delirious. "We will go soon," he said
finally, almost soothingly.

She must have a fever, but she was certainly not that

feverish. "No. I mean ... I have to relieve myself," she said
urgently, embarrassed to even have to ask for help.

Comprehension hit him and he looked around. "I will find

something."

Bronte grabbed his wrist before he could rise. "Take me

into the woods just a little ways," she said pleadingly. "I can
manage."

He frowned. "No, you can not."
"Please?"
He looked torn. "Gideon would lob my head from my

shoulders if I were to do anything that foolish, risked harming
you for no reason at all. And I would let him because I would
deserve it."

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Her chin wobbled. "Well, I don't need to go then."
"You should not be embarrassed...."
"Maybe I shouldn't, but I am!" she said testily. "Never

mind. I'm fine. Really."

He didn't look convinced but he rose and left.
She should've known he'd rat on her, she thought angrily

when she saw him stop to speak to Gideon. Gideon lifted his
head, stared at her a long moment and then strode
purposefully across the clearing. She pulled the blanket over
her head.

He snatched it down and looked at her. He did not look

amused. "You are not being at all reasonable."

She set her jaw, but it occurred to her after a moment that

he'd said they would leave near dark anyway. "We're leaving
soon anyway, aren't we? I don't see that it's all that
unreasonable to ask for a little privacy to ... uh ... you know,
when we'd be going soon anyway. And then we could just go
ahead and leave. And that would be better, right? To go a
little sooner?"

He frowned, but thoughtfully.
"I feel up to it," she added.
He gave her a look that told her he didn't believe that for a

moment. Finally, he nodded, though—a clear indication of
how anxious he was to move, she thought, not that she'd so
easily talked him in to it. "We will gather up what we mean to
take, and then I will allow them to go a little ahead and help
you."

Bronte stared at his back in dismay as he rose decisively

and left. Irritation quickly replaced it. The thick skulled thing!

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As if she wanted him to watch her any more than the other
two, she fumed! She was not going to be able to perform with
an audience!

Her anger lasted until he picked her up. As carefully as

he'd positioned his arms before he lifted her, she nearly
passed out. In fact, the pain that went through her was such
that for several moments she wasn't certain if she would
throw up or pass out first and she was still in the grips of both
when they cleared their campsite and Gideon stopped,
lowering her carefully to the ground. She fought a round with
the pain, nausea and dizziness.

"I need to sit up," she managed to say when she finally

caught her breath.

"You can not do that now."
She struggled for breath. "I can't ... do what I need to

without using my stomach muscles either." She looked up at
him pleadingly. "Please, Gideon."

He stared down at her angrily for several moments but

finally knelt and helped her to sit far enough upright to brace
herself on her elbows. She had to leave it at that. She
couldn't sit up any straighter and she felt like she was going
to pass out as it was. "Now, go away," she said when she'd
fought off the faint.

"No," he said implacably and resolutely turned his back,

folding his arms over his chest.

She glared at the back of his head for a moment but

discovered she just didn't have the energy to fight him any
more. Holding her blanket up as a shield, she coaxed her
bladder into cooperating. Fortunately, she was able to escape

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the run off, but the entire incident was humiliating and
exhausting besides. By the time Gideon had wrapped her in
her blanket again and picked her up, she was nauseated,
faint, embarrassed, and tearful.

He glanced at her in frowning inquiry several times when

she kept sniffing and finally, she looped her arms around his
neck and dropped her head onto his hard shoulder to hide her
face. "I hate being sick," she muttered childishly.

His arms tightened around her fractionally. "You will be

well soon."

She doubted that. She felt like she'd have to die to feel

better.

She was almost sorry her determination to have a little

privacy had prompted her to bully them into letting her have
her way. As carefully as Gideon carried her, every step he
took jarred her and caused her more pain. Her leg was
splinted and he supported it the best he could, she knew, but
even the slight jarring from his stride was agony and that
paled by comparison to the pain in her abdomen. She was
sorry she hadn't passed out before.

She began to recite a litany in her head to try to keep from

groaning out loud—Just a little further. Just a little further....
Just kill me now. Just kill me now....

The sudden scream that tore through the jungle around

them made the hairs all over her body stand on end. Gideon
stiffened all over and went perfectly still, twisting his head in
first one direction and then another. A volley of similar
screams followed closely on the heels of the first.

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"Gabriel! Jerico! Behind me!" he ground out, launching into

a ground eating stride that instantly diverted Bronte to the
only thing in her world that mattered at the moment—pain.
Her heart was thumping with terror but she couldn't think
beyond the pain that was burning her alive. She'd begun to
think she might have her wish, at long last, and faint when
they abruptly burst from the jungle growth onto a wide sandy
beach. Crossing it until they neared the water's edge, Gideon
lowered her carefully to the sand. As he straightened and
turned, he reached behind his shoulder and Bronte heard the
ring of metal as he pulled his sword from it's sheathe.

Through the gathering darkness of twilight and the

descending darkness of loss of consciousness, Bronte looked
up to see that Gideon, Gabriel, and Jerico had formed a semi-
circle around her, swords drawn, their feet braced in a
fighter's stance.

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Chapter Seventeen

"If I give the signal," Gideon said in a grim voice, "I want

you to take Bronte and carry her out into the water, Gabriel."

Bronte heard his voice as if from a great distance. The

darkness had grown so profound, however, she couldn't see
anything. Giving up the fight even to hold her head up, she
dropped her head against the sand and closed her eyes.

The screaming that had followed behind them as they

rushed from the jungle grew louder. She could feel and hear
the thump of feet against the ground as the trogs raced
across the beach toward them. Unable to bear the suspense
of not knowing what was coming at her, Bronte opened her
eyes again. The darkness had lifted a little, just enough to
wish it hadn't.

A horde of horrible gray skinned humanoids was racing

from the edge of the forest, their blades lifted as they ran as
if they fully intended to hack all four of them to pieces.
Almost as one, Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel advanced toward
the trogs, putting more distance between her and
themselves. Gideon pulled his laser pistol from its holster with
his free hand and fired at the oncoming pack of screaming
demons, eliciting screams of a different tone altogether as it
cut through their chests, or heads, and the stench of burning
flesh wafted over the beach. He'd managed to bring down
nearly a dozen before they were too close for the pistol to
have much effect any longer. Dropping the pistol back into its
holster as Gabriel and Jerico met those in the forefront, he

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swung at the first to reach him and took his arm off at the
shoulder.

Bronte squeezed her eyes shut as a stream of dark liquid

shot from the wound. She discovered she couldn't block the
sight, however, nor could she bear to lay helpless in the sand
and not watch. When she opened her eyes again, a half dozen
more trogs were writhing and twitching on the sand, or lying
perfectly still. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel were all covered in
blood but she couldn't tell if any of it was theirs. They didn't
move as if they were injured. They continued to lay about
them with the swords tirelessly, cleaving off whatever part of
the body their swords made connection with—heads, arms—
sometimes hacking them in two at the waist or cleaving them
from shoulder to breast bone.

Slowly, inch by inch, they fell back and Bronte realized

then why they'd advanced on their attackers—to give them
more room to fight. If they had to drop back much further,
though, she feared they were going to stumble and fall over
her and it didn't bear thinking on what the trogs would do if
any one of them went down. Bodies already littered the beach
in a thick layer and blood soaked into the sand and formed
puddles, and they had shown no sign of backing down,
apparently under the impression that they were a strong
enough force to take down only three cyborgs.

Or they were just that vicious—too insane with blood lust

to know or care that the three men had already cut their
numbers by more than half.

It took all Bronte could do to struggle up on her elbows. If

she hadn't had fear driven adrenaline pumping through her

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she didn't think she could've managed even that much, but
the sheer ferocity of the trogs was terrifying. She knew she
had to move. None of the men could stop fighting long
enough to help her and they had dropped back by now until
she knew any moment that one of them was going to stumble
over her and lose his footing. Grunting with effort, she
dragged herself a few inches, stopped to rest, and clawed at
the sand again, heaving backward a few more inches. Every
movement was sheer torture, the burning, tearing sensation
inside of her reaching a point where she was no longer even
conscious of the battle, unaware of anything except the fiery
pain and the need to move.

She was too exhausted from the effort even to react when

a hand caught her shoulder and stopped her.

"Bronte, stop! You will tear open your wounds!"
Relief flooded her when she realized it was Gideon.

"They're gone?"

"They are gone ... for now," Gideon confirmed, carefully

slipping his arms beneath her and lifting her up against his
chest. She couldn't even find the energy to lift her arms
around his neck or hold her head up. It fell against his
shoulder. He shifted her slightly to support her head as it
lolled weakly to one side. "You should not have tried to
move," he ground out angrily as he began to walk briskly
along the water's edge.

"Was afraid," she gasped tiredly.
"We would not have allowed harm to come to you."
She frowned, too tired to argue with him. "Afraid for you,"

she mumbled.

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He stopped, staring down at her face for a long moment

before he began walking again. She wanted to ask him if he
was hurt, or if Gabriel or Jerico had been hurt, but she yielded
to unconsciousness instead.

As welcome as it was, it didn't last. It was full dark when

she became aware again and she thought for a little while
that she was still blinded by semi-consciousness until she
noticed the stars. They were still moving. The roaring sound
in her ears was the ocean crashing upon the beach.

Beneath that sound, though, she could detect the steady,

comforting beat of Gideon's heart. He must have noticed
she'd roused. "It is not much further."

She nodded, then recalled her last thought before she'd

passed out. "Are you hurt?"

"The blood is not mine."
Bronte frowned but supposed that was an answer. "Are

Gabriel and Jerico alright?"

He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Yes."
"They're hurt," she said, instantly noticing the lapse.
"They are wounded, yes, but they are alright."
She tipped her head, trying to see them. All she could

make out, however, was a deeper shadow among the
shadows. Gideon slowed and finally stopped.

"What is it?" Jerico asked in a near whisper.
"Bronte wants to know if you are alright."
There was silence for several moments.
"Yes," he said finally.
"Gabriel, tell her you are alright."
"It is no more than a flesh wound. I have had far worse."

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Gideon ground his teeth. "But you are alright," he

prompted.

"Yes. It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch...."
"Shut up, Gabriel!" Gideon hissed, beginning to move

again.

Bronte smiled against Gideon's chest in spite of her abject

misery and her certainty that all three of them were wounded
and trying to hide it from her. They were walking, she
reasoned, and still able to annoy Gideon. That must mean
they weren't hurt too badly.

They left the beach a few minutes later, climbing over

rocks Bronte thought, when she noticed what looked like a
wall rising up from the beach, though she could still see very
little and wondered how they could see to move over the
rocks. The sound of crashing waves grew near deafening.
Sprinkles of water pelted her, raining harder and harder down
on her for a time, until the blanket around her was soaked,
and then they passed through some sort of opening that
dulled the roar of the ocean.

Relief flooded her when Gideon finally settled her on a

smooth surface. Almost immediately much of the pain began
to dissipate, the pressure on her leg easing now that she
could finally settle it on a flat, unmoving surface. It was cool
within the cavern, though, made cooler still by the nearly
constant wind that gusted into the mouth of the cave and the
wet blanket around her.

"Try to keep her warm, Gabriel, while Jerico and I find

wood for fire."

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Gabriel settled beside her and shifted close enough to

share his warmth. She wanted, desperately, to roll onto her
side and cuddle closer, to pull more of his warmth into her,
but she couldn't find the energy or the courage to face the
increase in pain she knew that would cause her. Instead, she
lay as still as she could hoping she would cease to hurt so
much once she'd gotten warm and lain still long enough for
the discomfort of being carried so long to ease off.

Gideon must be in agony from having carried her, she

thought dully. He hadn't asked either of the others to carry
her, though. She wondered if it was just a high tolerance for
pain, an ability to simply block it out, or if he'd just endured
because he thought it might hurt her more to shift her to
someone else.

Or maybe, in spite of what he'd said, Jerico and Gabriel

were both hurt too much to carry her?

She twisted her head at that thought, trying to peer at

Gabriel in the gloom. She couldn't see any more than a faint
gleam along his skin as it caught the little light that filtered
inside the cavern, but she thought he was looking at her.
"How is your wound?"

"It has closed." His hand brushed her face. "You are

warmer?"

She was shivering. "Y-yes," she lied through chattering

teeth.

He let out a sound of impatience. "Gideon and Jerico will

be back soon. It will be safe enough to build a fire in here.
The light can not be seen except from the sea—and the wind
will carry the smoke away."

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"And the waves will wash away your footsteps along the

beach," Bronte added.

He stroked his hand along her cheek again and then

shifted, very carefully covering her upper body with his and
supporting himself on his elbows. "Better?"

Bronte sighed as his warmth filtered through her. His body

blocking the bursts of air through the cave mouth would
almost have been enough even without his warmth but that
was very welcome. She wanted to crawl under him. "Yes,
much. It can't be very comfortable for you, though."

She felt his lips curl against her cheek as he dipped his

head to rest it lightly against her face. "I am comfortable ...
except...."

"Except?" she prompted.
"This does not feel at all the same as the times when

Gideon and Jerico and I have had to share body heat."

The comment surprised a snicker out of Bronte. "I should

hope not!"

She felt him smile against her skin again.
"You think that I am trying to be humorous?"
"Succeeding."
"Mayhap, but I did not mean it as you think."
She turned her face to nuzzle it in the crook of his neck,

enjoying the contact as well as his scent. "How did you mean
it?"

He was silent for so long she'd begun to think he wouldn't

answer. "I am not at all certain," he said finally. "It is
different, that is all I know."

"How does it make you feel?" she asked quietly.

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"Good," he said promptly. "Not as good as when we are

fucking, but very good."

It hurt to laugh, Bronte discovered.
He shifted his weight to one arm and then lifted his free

hand to stroke it lightly over her shoulder and arm. "I like to
hear you laugh, even if you are laughing at me because I am
such an uncouth brute I do not know how I should act or the
right things to say."

Bronte's amusement vanished. "Don't think that, Gabriel—

any of that."

"It is alright."
"It isn't alright. You are not an uncouth brute and you ...

almost always say and do just the right thing. I only laughed
because you were thinking of sex and we're both half dead."

"I was not thinking about sex." He paused. "Only a little. I

like this, too."

"Good, because cuddling is all I can manage right now."
"Cuddling?"
"Mmm," she murmured drowsily. "It's what a man and

woman do when they want to be close but they aren't having
sex."

"I like the sex, too."
"I know," Bronte murmured, curbing the urge to giggle.
She was half asleep by the time Gideon and Jerico

returned. They set about making a fire at once but Bronte
curled her fingers along Gabriel's waist when he would've
moved. He subsided and she felt guilty for holding on to him
when she knew he was probably cramped from holding the

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same position for so long. She released her grip on him. "It's
alright. You should get up and check your wound."

He ignored the suggestion, staying until Gideon and Jerico

had built a small fire and begun to sort through the things
they'd brought in search of food. "Go eat," she said finally. "I
know you've hardly eaten anything all day."

He shifted far enough away to study her face, grazing her

chapped lips with his thumb. "I will get you some water."

She was thirsty, so thirsty she could barely gather any

moisture into her mouth. She nodded, turning to watch the
men as they prepared a meal and heated it. It was obvious
this was something they weren't unfamiliar with and for the
first time she wondered about the life they'd led as soldiers.
From what Gabriel had said, they'd had to huddle together to
share warmth on more than one occasion. They must have
taken part in the battle for Xeno-12, she realized abruptly—
one of the most disastrous campaigns of the Hu-Sho Galaxy
war.

She frowned as she tried to piece together what she

remembered about that war, which had ended about the time
she'd graduated, but she hadn't really followed the news. It
had seemed so far away, so unrelated to her life. She'd been
too young, then, to care much about politics—she still avoided
politics as much as possible, except now that she was older it
was because she did care, but felt helpless to change
anything.

She did remember hearing about the disaster on Xeno-12,

though. The government had dropped almost a quarter of a
million soldiers on that frozen world, ill equipped to start with,

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and then failed to get supplies to them. Almost half the
soldiers had died before the supply ship finally arrived.

Even as carefully as she'd distanced herself from all the

war talk, the criminal negligence of the government that had
led to the deaths of so many hadn't been something she could
divorce herself from. And as disinterested as she was in
politics in general, nobody had been able to ignore the riots of
rage that followed when the news vids hit the airwaves.

That had been ... years ago, though, at least ten, she

thought, or maybe a little less than that? They wouldn't have
been old.... She broke off that thought as it hit her that they
were cyborgs. They had probably been created for that war.

When, she wondered, had she stopped thinking of them as

cyborgs at all? It wasn't that she'd forgotten they were. It
was simply that she'd accepted that they were and at the
same time ceased to think of cyborgs in terms of machines
created by man and begun to think of them only as men.

They were men, not machines. It didn't matter how they'd

come into existence.

"You were sent to Xeno-12," she said.
Gideon lifted his head and stared at her for a long

moment. "We were. It was the last campaign we fought as
soldiers of the Confederation."

When Bronte finally managed to drag her gaze from his,

she saw that both Gabriel and Jerico were studying her, as
well.

They must be wondering how she'd deduced they'd fought

in that campaign.

Or maybe they were just wondering why she'd asked?

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She averted her gaze after a moment, feeling—guilty, as if

she was directly responsible for that horror. Maybe she was at
that. Maybe everyone who did nothing was just as responsible
as everyone who'd brought about that disaster? She supposed
they were. She didn't know what she might have done that
might have effected the outcome but she should've tried.
Everyone should've and if they had, maybe then they could
have kept it from happening.

And maybe not. But she would at least be able to salve her

conscience that she'd tried.

It wasn't just the war that had caused riots across several

galaxies. It was the war that had turned the cyborgs rogue—
those who survived. There'd never been a public accounting
of how many of them had died on Xeno-12, but if the
confederation had dropped several hundred thousand
soldiers, they'd dropped twice or three times that many
cyborgs—at least.

Maybe there'd been something there, on Xeno-12, no one

knew about? Some micro-organism that had infected the
cyborgs and brought together just the right elements to set
off evolution? There must have been something about the
situation that had set off the change.

Or maybe it had been nothing more than a coincidence

that it began on Xeno-12? Maybe it was something that had
already begun when they'd been shipped out from the
company to that wasteland?

It seemed unlikely anyone would ever know for certain,

unless the designers had figured it out before they destroyed

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the recorded evidence of their complicity and set out to
destroy the cyborgs to finish the cleanup.

Jerico distracted her from her thoughts when he

approached her and settled beside her with a steaming cup. It
smelled like chicken broth. It was probably something they'd
'invented' from the dehydrated foods they'd brought along,
but it smelled wonderful. Even though she hadn't thought she
was hungry, Bronte's stomach immediately began to beg for
food.

Setting the cup down, Jerico lifted her shoulders and

settled her on his extended leg for support. Bronte looked at
him questioningly.

"You will be able to drink this better in this way, I think,"

he responded to the question in her expression.

Not a lot better, she thought wryly, but she certainly

couldn't drink lying flat of her back and she was afraid to try
to sit up on her own when every previous attempt to use her
stomach muscles to sit up had resulted in agony. On the
other hand, he hadn't eaten anything. She pointed that out.

"I will eat when you have drunk this."
She nearly dropped the cup when she tried to pick it up.

She didn't know how he'd managed to bring it to her without
burning himself, but she knew if the contents was as hot as
the container it would burn all the way to her stomach if it
didn't burn a hole in the bottom. "It's too hot. Why don't you
go eat and come back and help me when it's cooled?"

He ignored the suggestion, blowing on it to cool it instead.

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She watched him surreptitiously, her mind still on what

she'd just discovered, wrestling with the temptation to ask
more.

"There is something distressing you?" he asked finally.
She frowned. "I knew that you were soldiers and that all of

you had been involved in a good bit of fighting. I just hadn't
considered what battles you might have been involved in."

She saw he was frowning faintly, but she couldn't tell what

thoughts might be running through his mind.

"We have much fighting experience," he said finally,

offering the cooled soup to her. "Three years fighting for the
Confederation in the Ho-Shu galaxy war on the moons of
Galpo in the Neavia system—Ralo and Ben-Tavo. Two years
on Xeno-12. For one year after we had left the forces of the
Confederation, we remained on Xeno-12 with the resistance
army. We fought as mercenaries in the army of Juda-Fal in
the Maccan system for another four years, SEY (standard
earth years) and then when the hunters began to stalk us,
personal skirmishes with death squads on many worlds in the
years after that, until we joined the Cyborg Forces—now two
years ago.

"You should not have been frightened that we could not

protect you from the trogs. It is true that they attack in large
numbers, but we are far stronger and far more skilled and
experienced fighters, fully cognizant of effective battle
strategy and cool headed enough in battle to carry out the
execution of proven tactics, whereas they are disorganized
and too crazed with blood lust in the heat of battle to use
their heads.

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"Not that they are equal in intelligence with us anyway,

but they can not even use the intelligence they have when
they allow themselves to be blinded by such chaotic emotions
as rage and excitement."

Bronte was so unsettled by his calm recital of the horrors

they had lived through that it was several moments before
she realized that he'd completely misinterpreted the reason
for her curiosity and the reason she'd struggled so hard to get
away from the fighting earlier.

It explained so much that she hadn't really understood

before—especially their propensity for violence. No wonder
they were so prone to settle disagreements with their fists!
They had never known anything else. The wonder of it was
that they were sane at all! Or capable of any kind of
gentleness—and they were. Even at their roughest, they'd
never hurt her when they could easily have done so
inadvertently if they hadn't been very careful with her.

It also explained why Gabriel and Jerico, as capable as

they seemed of making their own decisions, inevitably bowed
to Gideon. Gideon had led them through innumerable battles,
earning not just implicit trust, but forming a bond between
the three that had been forged in blood and could not be
broken.

Except by her, she realized. Gideon had wanted her badly

enough he had been willing to break that bond if she was
bent on breaking it. She didn't know that Gabriel and Jerico
had been equally willing, but the fighting among them
certainly seemed to suggest that. And she was suddenly very
glad that she hadn't been put in the position of coming

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between them. Nothing good could come of breaking that
kind of bond.

"I wasn't afraid that you couldn't protect me," she told him

finally. "I suppose I should have been, and probably would
have been except that I was in no condition to focus on much
besides the pain.

"It's hard to be afraid of dying when you're in that much

pain," she added wryly. "All I could think about was that if
one of you tripped over me and fell you could be
overwhelmed and killed before you could get up to protect
yourself. I was just trying to stay out of the way."

He frowned thoughtfully and finally nodded. "There was

the possibility. I had not considered that, but the fighting was
close. You still should not have concerned yourself and tried
to move. That part was not wise when your risked damage to
yourself. If one of us had fallen, the others would have been
warned and would have adjusted their stance accordingly."

She stared at him sadly, feeling her chest tighten.

"Jerico—I didn't do it because it was a 'wise' decision. I didn't
want any of you to be hurt."

He nodded. "Yes. I understand, but even if only two had

been left, you would have been safe. We had slain many by
then."

Bronte bit her lip, but shook her head. "No, Jerico," she

said gently. "You don't understand. I know it's hard for you to
understand, but I care about you and Gideon and Gabriel."

He looked surprised and then pleased. "Because we are

bonded by contract? I found it in the wreckage. Gideon said

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that we must if possible else we would not have the file for
official recording and the council might decide to dispute it."

She frowned. "I wouldn't have contracted to begin with if I

hadn't already felt bound to you three by affection," she tried
again.

He looked stunned, almost spilled the last of the soup

down her neck. "You feel affection?"

Bronte thrust the cup away. "Yes."
He thought that over. "It was something we did?"
She couldn't help but chuckle. "A lot things."
"How does this feel?" he asked curiously.
Bronte felt her smile slip. She sighed. "Maybe you'll feel it

one day, too, and then you'll know."

He nodded, looked for several moments as if he would

question her further and then instead helped her to settle on
the ground again and went to eat. Bronte stared at nothing,
focused on trying to quash the hurt. It didn't matter how
many times she told herself that she was searching for
something that wasn't in their make-up, she still expected to
find it. She still believed, or maybe just hoped, that it was
there, that it just needed to be coaxed forth and nurtured.

She had to accept, though, that it wasn't and probably

never would be, that they just weren't capable of feeling any
sort of fondness at all. Could that void really matter, though,
if she came to love them? Wouldn't it be enough to have a life
with them and know they were devoted to that life? To share
passion? The passion alone was more than she'd ever
expected to find in a relationship. They would be faithful, she
thought, and industrious. Every relationship was flawed in

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some way and people still managed to make them work—at
least for a while.

There was always the incompatibility clause if she

discovered she was too miserable to live with it, she reflected
morosely.

It was going to be a struggle to try to adjust in a lot of

ways, she realized. She couldn't help but find a lot of their
confusion funny, but Gabriel had made it clear that, even
while he didn't fully grasp what there was about it that she
found amusing, he knew why she thought it was funny. She
didn't want to hurt them by constantly pointing out failings
they were already aware of and sensitive about.

It was going to be hard dealing with their idea of resolving

disputes for that matter, but she'd already grown far more
accustomed to it than she would've thought she could. And
Gabriel had promised that they would rotate their shifts,
which should make things more peaceful even if she did feel
guilty about them sacrificing their companionship to be her
companion.

And then there was the problem of getting used to living

with three different men when she wasn't used to living with
even one. Even if they were in and out, she would still have
to deal with that.

Typically, she'd jumped before she'd really thought

everything through, she realized in dismay. She'd been so
caught up in the passion they shared, though, and so bowled
over by their ruthless determination to have her, and so
focused on her own need to be needed, she had barely even
considered the practical side of such a relationship. Beyond

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acknowledging that she was in a position where she would
have to chose mates among them and the wisdom of having
protection, she hadn't even considered the mundane but
absolutely essential economics of the arrangement—which
Gabriel had thoughtfully pointed out.

Under the circumstances, it was impossible to ignore the

fact that her decision had been almost purely emotional.
She'd known that, physically, she found them tremendously
appealing, and also on an intellectual level. She'd also known
she was drawn to them because they seemed to need her in a
way they weren't even conscious of.

She'd accepted that she was fond of them.
But when she'd risked reopening her wounds, and thus

death, she hadn't been thinking about anything but protecting
them. She hadn't thought about what it might do to her if one
of them fell on her. She hadn't thought about anything
beyond her fear that she would get one of them killed.

She was afraid that meant she'd become a little more than

just fond of them.

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Chapter Eighteen

It took a good bit of arguing to convince the men, or more

specifically, Gideon, because he was always the one who
made the final decision, that she needed to try to get up and
move around if she was ever going to get her strength back.
It didn't help that it hurt so much even to try that Bronte
wasn't that keen on doing it herself and or that trying to
move around was complicated by a broken leg. On one level,
Bronte knew what recuperation was like—the physician's
viewpoint—but she'd never had any major illness or injury in
her life and it was totally different from the patient's
viewpoint, she discovered. She knew everything she should
do. She just didn't want to and had to struggle to make
herself do what she needed to.

She was out of depth beyond that. She didn't treat major

problems even as a physician. She monitored her patients'
health, treated minor injuries and illnesses, but everything
beyond that went to a specialist in the necessary field, and
besides that, she wasn't familiar at all with nanos and had no
idea what they might be doing to her. They had never been
approved for human use except under extreme, life-
threatening situations and even then the physicians ruled out
every other possibility first.

Part of it was a fear on the physicians' part that it would

render them obsolete—so they weren't enthusiastic about
using them at all and had in fact gone to great lengths to
make certain using the nanos didn't become commonplace.

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Part of it, though, was a fear in patients and physicians alike
that the microscopic bots might go rogue or otherwise
malfunction and create more problems than they solved.
Because, once they were released it was damned near
impossible to recapture them. Even a complete blood
transfusion couldn't remove them all because they were
determined to stay and 'fix', and interpreted efforts to remove
them as attacks upon the body. They would fight first to keep
the blood from being extracted at all and then, once they
realized their host was receiving an infusion equal to what
was being taken, they would rush to the infusion site to
monitor the blood coming in.

And then they would figure out what was going on and

'hide'. Efforts had been made to correct that particular
programming nightmare, but not with any success. It seemed
to be an either or situation. They could be programmed to
repair as needed, in which case they were absolutely
dedicated to searching out and repairing, or they could be
programmed to repair one thing only and they might or might
not. They had to have AI either way and if they'd been
programmed to correct some problem that would create
another, or fail to completely correct the problem, they would
simply wander around aimlessly trying to 'compute' data they
considered illogical.

The fact that hers hadn't been programmed for humans at

all made her distinctly uneasy. She couldn't complain. She
was still breathing and she certainly wouldn't have been if the
men hadn't given her the nanos. She knew better than to
believe she'd just miraculously recovered from the sort of

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wound that usually resulted in a slow, horrible death if
untreated very quickly, and sometimes even if it was. She
was alive because of the nanos.

She just didn't know what else they might decide to do

once they'd finished repairing the damage from the crash.

She discovered one thing as soon as she recovered enough

to notice anything besides her discomfort.

The nanos repaired her vision.
Not surprisingly, she'd lost her glasses in the crash. She

hadn't missed them because of her injuries, but she supposed
she'd become so used to them it had just taken her mind a
while to catch up to the fact that she saw perfectly clearly at
a distance without them—either that or the nanos had just
gotten around to repairing her vision. She wasn't sure which
because it was a while before she noticed. Once she did,
though, she was naturally delighted.

Now, even without her glasses she could tell whether she

was looking at Jerico or Gabriel when before she'd had to
study their movements and individual characteristics to be
sure because their hair was so nearly the same color and they
were close to the same height and weight. That hadn't been a
problem with Gideon, naturally, since he was fair, but now
she could see him better, see a lot of things she hadn't
noticed before because of the blurring.

The down side was that she noticed the faint scars all over

all the three men that she hadn't really been able to see that
well before. Not that she thought the scars detracted from
their appearance in any way, but their dangerous, painful
existence was written on their bodies. It brought home to her

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as nothing else, not even Jerico's recital of the battles they'd
fought, that the horror of war and death, pain, and the ever
present possibility of dying themselves was their way of life—
all they had ever known.

Before. She was determined, despite her qualms, to

change that. Maybe they didn't want what they believed they
did—a home life—because they'd never had it and just
thought it sounded like something they would want, but she
decided to do her best to make them glad they'd chosen her
to try.

Before she could even try, though, she had to regain her

strength so that she could be a mate to them, provide the
things a woman traditionally brought into a house to make it
a home. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel not only didn't like the
fact that she was determined to get up and move around,
though, she discovered that it bothered them—deeply. As
soon as she would begin her struggle to rise they would stop
whatever they would doing, stare at her as if holding their
breath to see if she would collapse again, and then disappear
as if they couldn't bear to watch while she struggled with the
crutch Gabriel had fashioned for her.

It depressed her. She could see why they would be

appalled at such weakness when they were so physically
superior. She could even understand that her painfully
awkward gate was probably a serious turn off sexually.

And it still hurt and it still made her angry. It made her

wonder if they'd begun to have doubts about convincing her
to join with them to begin with, maybe even begun to
entertain the idea of 'losing' the contracts on the way back.

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They weren't without flaws themselves—close—but not

flawless, she thought with a mixture of anger and hurt. And it
wasn't as if they weren't aware of those flaws.

The main difference between her perspective and theirs,

she realized, was that they didn't care for her. If they had,
they would've been able to overlook the fact that she was less
than perfect. They would've at least tried, just as she was
struggling to accept their flaws.

She supposed, all in all, it was a good thing that their

behavior angered her because it also bolstered her
determination to prove to them that she was still worth
having. She was going to recover. Maybe she would have
scars she hadn't had before, but the cuts and gashes, even
the two worst, seemed to be healing remarkably well. She
was fairly certain there wasn't going to be anything hideously
ugly that she was going to feel like she had to hide just be
attractive.

Bronte's first order of business was a bath. Unfortunately,

the first few times she 'got up' the most she could manage
was to sit up for a few minutes and at that she had to have
help. That was enough of a chore that she contented herself,
at first, with the pleasure of being able to actually sit up to
eat. By the end of the first day, though, she'd gotten to the
point that she could sit up without being helped upright and
stay upright for a long while before she had to lie down again.

Since it looked like that bath she wanted was another day

or so down the road, she convinced Gabriel to find something
to hold enough sea water for her to dabble in until she felt a
little cleaner. The sea water wasn't nearly as pleasant for

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bathing as fresh water, she discovered. She felt almost as
sticky and uncomfortable when she'd finished as she had
before she started. Overall she felt better, though, and she
thought she must look at least a little better.

She couldn't get to her legs. She couldn't bend over

enough to reach and she couldn't bring her legs up close
enough to grab them. Toward bed time, though, she finally
bullied Gideon into removing the splint they'd made so that
she could examine the break to see what progress there'd
been in healing. The wound where the bone had torn through
the skin had completely closed, she discovered with happy
surprise, and the fresh pink skin was already lightening.

Gideon surprised her by bringing water and bathing her

legs for her and for the first night since she'd been hurt, she
was not only able to cuddle without a lot of physical
discomfort, she could cuddle without worrying that she stank.
She decided the next morning that she was ready to tackle
getting up. If she'd had a bed to sleep in she might actually
have been able to accomplish that by herself—probably not—
but she might have. Getting up from a supine position to a
standing position when she could only bend one leg wasn't
possible, not as weak as she still was. She'd managed to get
on her hands and one knee before she realized that, though,
and by the time she looked around for help, she discovered
everyone had disappeared.

She lay down to rest from the effort and wait for

somebody to reappear.

And she waited.

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Finally, realizing they must be fully occupied elsewhere

and that she couldn't just call for help without the danger of
the trogs hearing her, she looked around the cavern for
something to use to help her get up. Spying a stone roughly
the height of a chair, she decided to see if she could lift
herself onto it and then get to her feet. The challenge was
getting to the stone to start with. She hadn't realized when
she started just how far away it was in terms of strength. She
had to stop and rest about halfway, and then, when she'd
dragged herself the rest of the way, she had to rest again
before she could start trying to figure out how she was going
to lift her ass from the floor to the top.

Gideon, she discovered, had returned at some point—

discovered it when she began fighting to get up on the rock.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, striding to stand

over her and glare at her.

She was too tired to have much energy for anger but she

sent him a look of resentment anyway. "What does it look like
I'm doing?"

He studied her a moment and then the rock. "Trying to

climb onto the rock. I see this. I just do not understand why
you want to sit on it. The floor is more smooth."

Bronte let out an irritated huff. "I don't want to sit on the

rock. I want to get up. I can't stand up without help, though."

His expression hardened. "You are injured. You need to

rest."

He meant well, Bronte decided. He just didn't understand

that just resting wasn't going to help her get better. "If I

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don't get up and try, I'm not going to get stronger. I'll get
weaker."

He looked unsettled by that comment, and then

suspicious. "This is not only because you do not like for me to
help you 'go'?"

Bronte reddened. "No," she said testily. "It's because I'm a

doctor and I know that I have to work to get better."

He still didn't look as if he believed her but he finally knelt,

looked her over for a moment as if trying to decide how to
get her on her feet without hurting her and finally caught her
beneath her arms. Relieved she wasn't going to have to try to
put rock climbing to the test, Bronte placed her hands on his
shoulders and pushed up with her good leg as he lifted her.
She thought for several moments after she stood that she
was going to faint.

"I knew you should not try this," Gideon said angrily. "You

are too stubborn for your own good."

"No," Bronte said faintly. "Well, I guess I am a little

stubborn, but I meant this isn't stubbornness. And it is a bad
sign to feel so lightheaded, but it means I should've been
trying to get up before, not that I shouldn't be trying now."

His expression said he didn't believe her but obviously

there was just enough doubt in his mind that he was willing
to go along with her determination.

"Now I need to walk a little," she said once the dizziness

had passed. Tightening her hand on his arm, she took a step
and dragged the leg she couldn't bend. He walked beside her,
supporting more of her weight, probably, than she was while

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she struggled to take a dozen steps. His expression was taut
when she finally asked him to help her down.

"Now you will be ill again," he said tightly when she lay

limply on the floor, fighting for breath at the little bit of
exertion.

"Now I'll be better," she argued. "Will you help me walk

again later?"

He looked torn. "Rest now. We will see."
"It would be easier without the splint," she said tiredly.
"The frame broke. I do not think it will mend as quickly as

the flesh."

Bronte opened her eyes to peer at him blankly for a

moment before she realized he had no familiarity with bones.
"It will, and it isn't that I'm not grateful that you realized it
would have to be lined up again and held in place—I am. I
would've been crippled if you hadn't. I'm just complaining
because it makes it harder to walk."

He nodded but he seemed anxious to leave so she didn't

try to keep him any longer.

It was no easier the next several times she forced herself

to walk and she had no idea whether she was making any
progress at all. She ached worse that night. Gideon fumed
when he noticed, but thankfully kept his thoughts to himself.

By the next day, though, she felt stronger. She didn't ask

him or either of the others to help her walk. She crawled over
to the rock and then up onto it, rested briefly, and then used
handholds along the cave wall to pull herself into a standing
position. She was sweating from the effort but so pleased
with herself that she grinned broadly at Gideon in spite of the

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furious glare he sent her when he discovered what she'd
done. "I got up by myself!"

"I see that," he growled. "You could have fallen."
She frowned at him. "Don't be such a grouch. I didn't fall,

and I was strong enough to get up by myself."

He relaxed slightly when she pointed that out. "Even so, do

not try that again. I will come and help you up and help you
walk until you are stronger. Or Gabriel or Jerico can help you
if they are here and I am not."

Spoilsport, she thought irritably, refusing to allow his

disapproval to ruin her good mood. "If I had a crutch, I think
I could start walking without any help."

He frowned. "What is a crutch?"
She wasn't surprised he didn't know what a crutch was. "I

need something that would reach from the floor to just
beneath my arm to help me balance and still keep my weight
off the injured leg—something straight. And it would need to
be strong but not too heavy," she said hopefully.

He looked her over as if he was gauging her length and

finally left again without a word. Just before dark, Gabriel
brought her a crudely wrought crutch made out of what she
thought might have been a young tree, except it had a crook
at the top that slipped perfectly beneath her arm. She was so
happy, she caught his face in both hands and kissed him.
She'd only meant to give him a peck of affection, but not
surprisingly he wasn't familiar with that. As soon as her lips
made contact with his, he responded with an open mouthed
kiss that assured her she was well on the road to recovery.

She sat back dizzily and smiled at him.

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He smiled back at her.
And then Gideon, who'd witnessed the whole thing, stalked

across the cave floor and slugged him on the side of the jaw
hard enough Gabriel sprawled out.

"What did you do that for?" Gabriel demanded furiously as

he sat up.

"You do not touch Bronte until she is well!" Gideon

growled.

Gabriel looked uncomfortable but still angry. "I only kissed

her, and she kissed me first!"

Bronte reddened guiltily when Gideon sent her an irritated

glare.

"You are not well enough for that!"
She glared back at him. "It was only supposed to be a kiss

of affection for making the crutch for me!"

Both men stared at her uncomprehendingly.
"Like the cuddling?" Gabriel finally asked.
Pleased that Gabriel had made the connection so quickly,

Bronte smiled at him. "Yes. Like the cuddling."

"I do not know what this cuddling is, but I do not want you

cuddling her either!" Gideon said testily.

"I was keeping her warm!" Gabriel snapped indignantly.
"Oh. Why did you not say that? Never mind. Do not keep

her warm either unless you have your cock in your loincloth! I
will cut it off and shove it up your ass if I catch it any where
near her cunt!"

Bronte watched him stalk away with a mixture of

indignation and ... pleasure at his thoughtfulness. She
thought that was what it was, concern for her well being. She

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decided to interpret it that way anyway. It had made her feel
as if he was protecting her because he was worried about her
and that was all that really mattered.

She had to fight both Gabriel and Jerico off of her the first

time she tried to use the crutch. She'd waited until Gideon
wasn't in the cave to try because she'd known he would be
determined to help. "Thank you, but no," she said firmly. "I
have to do this myself."

They hovered anyway, convinced she couldn't—which only

made her more determined to do it. Instead of looking
relieved when she'd managed to stand using only the crutch
for support, they only looked more angry and upset and
doggedly followed her step for step as she took her first
practice run with the crutch. Every time she wobbled, they
threw their arms out to catch her until she was a nervous
wreck and cussed them out and tried to run them off—tried,
because they refused to leave or to stop following her around.
She finally returned to her sleeping spot and settled again,
more because they were getting on her nerves than because
she was already tired—although she was.

She waited to try again when she was alone in the cave.

When she'd decided she'd gotten the hang of it, she used the
crutch whenever she felt like getting up and moving around,
but either it still got on their nerves or they just found it
disturbing to watch her hobble around. Every time she got up,
they would tense, as if expecting they would need to dive to
catch her, and then when she'd walk from one side of the
cave to the other and back again, they would watch her for
several moments and then turn and stride from the cave.

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She was relieved at first that they'd decided to leave her

alone and let her work out her muscles to strengthen them,
but she couldn't help but notice that all of them were tense
and on edge when they watched her and then would
disappear for hours.

She didn't have a mirror, which was probably a blessing,

but she didn't need one to know she must look awful, and
unattractively awkward when she tried to walk. She hadn't
seen anything to groom with since the crash and knew her
hair must look like a rat's nest by now. She bathed the best
she could, but she never felt clean because she didn't have
soap and nothing to dry off with afterward or to cover her
nakedness except the same dirty blanket they'd recovered
from the crash almost a week earlier and that was beginning
to smell badly enough she would've considered burning it if it
wasn't all she had to cover up with.

They still looked as fresh and well groomed as ever! Either

they'd found fresh water and were taking advantage of it, or
they were bathing in the sea and maybe finger combing their
hair while it was wet, because it didn't look as wild as hers
felt.

As soon as the men returned and settled to putting

together a meal, Bronte pushed herself up with the crutch
and hobbled over to the fire. "I need a bath," she announced
baldly, addressing Gideon since she knew damned well it
wasn't going to do any good to ask either Gabriel or Jerico.
They'd just go ask Gideon themselves and tell her no if that
was his verdict.

"Gabriel, bring water for Bronte."

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Bronte frowned. "No! I mean a real bath, like getting in

water, not slopping it over me!"

He gave her a look. "There is no bath."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Then where have you

been bathing?"

"In the sea."
"Well, that's where I want to bathe."
"No."
She would've stamped her foot if she'd had more than one

good foot to stand on. "Why not?"

He looked her over. "With the sun on it, your hair will be a

beacon for any trog within seeing distance. And the water is
cold and rough. It will beat against you and you are not
strong enough to stand against it. Until I am sure you are
ready to travel, I will not risk you being seen."

It was almost more irritating that he had a reason for

denying her than it would've been if he'd been unreasonable
about it. If he was just being a tyrant, she could've at least
had the satisfaction of telling him he was an asshole. "It's
almost dark," she pointed out instead. "Once the sun is
down...."

"The water will feel more cold because there will be no sun

to warm you and the sea will still be rough."

She fumed. "I'd be alright if you carried me out. It's only

rough close to the shore."

He gave her a look that was a mixture of amusement and

irritation. "It will still be cold."

She curled her lips in a half smile. "But you can warm me."

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The look he sent her that time warmed her on the spot. He

dismissed the interest her comment had sparked almost at
once, however, shaking his head. "You are a stubborn
woman, Bronte."

"But you'll take me?" she asked, unable to hide her

excitement.

"Yes. I will take you ... And then I will beat you if you get

sick from it!"

"Yes!" she exclaimed happily.
He looked amused. "You like the idea of me beating you?"
She gave him a look.
And then it dawned on her that he was teasing her!
She stared at him a long moment, feeling a smile tugging

at her lips. "That depends on what part of my anatomy you
were thinking about pounding on."

He looked confused for a fraction of a second, then

enlightenment dawned. His gaze slid over her with heated
speculation. "You are not that well," he said finally.

"Bathe first and then eat?" she asked hopefully.
He rolled his eyes, but glanced out the opening of the

cave. The sun was just setting. He set what he was doing
aside. "Gabriel, you and Jerico will stand guard on the beach,"
he said decisively. Moving to Bronte and taking her crutch, he
set it aside and then lifted her into his arms and carried her
out.

"We should wash the blanket, too."
"Tomorrow. You will have nothing dry to wrap in if we

wash it now."

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She wrinkled her nose. "It's starting to smell like

something that's been in an animal pen."

"You will not mind that when you are cold."
She would. On the other hand, he was right. Even with the

almost constant wind off the sea it probably wouldn't dry
before she was ready to sleep and a stinky blanket was better
than no blanket.

The water was cold. She sucked in an involuntary breath

when he'd waded out far enough that it began to lap at her
buttocks. He sent her a piercing look at the sound, but she
resolutely clamped her teeth together. She was beginning to
get uneasy about how deeply he was walking when he finally
stopped and began to lower her slowly into the water.

It was sheer torture. At first it was hard to decide if she

was colder beneath the water or above it. He held her against
his body, though, once her feet had finally touched the soft,
shifting sand beneath the water and after a few minutes she
began to feel warmer. Pushing at him until he gave her a little
more room, she began to rub her hands over her body,
wishing she had soap so that she would feel cleaner. "I will be
so glad when we get home," she said absently.

She discovered when she looked up at him that Gideon

was watching her with a strange look on his face. "What?"

He swallowed hard and looked away. "I look forward to

reaching the city, as well."

She studied his face searchingly. "What's wrong?"
He looked uncomfortable. "We do not have a house," he

said finally. "Gabriel, Jerico, and I have always stayed in the
barracks when we are here. There seemed no reason to have

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more. We will find a house once we return, though, or built to
suit ourselves."

Bronte frowned. Somehow she thought the lack of a house

was only part of what had unsettled him. "Where will we live
until then?"

He gave her that same strange look, but this time he

smiled and moved closer. Lifting a hand, he cupped her
cheek. "We will find a place." He paused. "It seems ... strange
to think of having a home. I had not thought beyond
convincing you to sign with us. I do not think I really believed
you would or I would have planned. I do not ordinarily
overlook such important details."

Bronte smiled and moved closer, settling her cheek against

his chest. "It wouldn't have helped if you had planned. We
would still have to find a place to live," she said, turning her
head to kiss his chest.

He ran his hands over her back, molding her against his

length. For a moment, he merely held her. Finally, he caught
her shoulders to steady her and stepped away. "I am not
certain that I can manage only affection at the moment," he
said huskily, then seemed to think it over. "I can. My cock can
not."

Bronte chuckled, but his comments stirred desire within

her, too—for the second time that day. Undoubtedly, she
thought wryly, she was getting much better. After a
moment's hesitancy, where she wavered between the urge to
tempt him and the realization that she wasn't in any shape to
be having sex even if she did want it, she returned her
attention to scrubbing herself the best she could with her

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hands and then wet her hair and scrubbed her scalp. When
she'd rinsed it out the best she could, Gideon moved around
her until he was behind her, urged her to tip her head back
and used his fingers to sort the tangles as her hair floated in
the water. It was not only surprisingly effective in bringing
order to her wild locks, the water made it easier to untangle
the snarls.

She was shivering by the time they reached the beach

and, as Gideon had said, grateful for the blanket even though
it didn't smell particularly appealing.

"Tomorrow," Gideon said as they finally settled to eat. "We

will leave."

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Chapter Nineteen

Bronte woke to the sound of the men packing the gear

that they'd recovered from the crash. Seeing her stir, Gideon
separated himself from the others and approached her. She
saw he was caring a garment such as they wore and blinked
at it sleepily before sending him a questioning glance.

"It is not much, but better, I think, than nothing," he said

gruffly. "We tore the uniform from you to attend your
injuries."

Smiling her thanks, Bronte took it and struggled to get to

her feet. She saw his hand clench as he watched her and sent
him another questioning glance when she'd finally managed
to stand. "It bothers you, doesn't it?" she asked
uncomfortably.

He lifted his brows.
"That I'm ... such a mess now."
He frowned, a flicker of uncertainty flashing in his eyes.
"That I'm ... awkward and scarred."
"Yes," he said. "It ... disturbs me a great deal that you

were hurt. And more that you do not want my help."

The hurt that had pricked her eased. "You don't think I'm

ugly?"

He sent her a startled look. "No. I think you are beautiful."
She smiled at him tentatively then, wondering if he was

only saying it to make her feel better. But then she realized
Gideon didn't lie. He withheld the truth. He might say only a
partial truth, but he'd never lied to her. "It's not that I don't

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want your help, you know," she said more easily as she
focused on trying to figure out how to put the loincloth on. "I
just need to do as much as I can for myself."

He knelt when he saw she was having trouble figuring it

out, took the loincloth from her, and put it on her, adjusting it
so that it fit snugly around her hips. "I know this ... to regain
your strength, but also because you are strong willed and
want to do things yourself." He frowned. "It made me feel ...
necessary when you needed my help, and not so much now."

When he looked up at her, his gaze snagged on her

breasts. He reached to cup one in each hand, massaged them
gently and then withdrew his hands. "We need to cover these
pretty things, as well," he said, his eyes gleaming with both
amusement and desire. "Else Gabriel and Jerico will be
tripping over their feet."

Bronte lifted her head to look at them when he said that.

Both men were glaring at Gideon. "And you would not?" Jerico
finally said, irritation evident in his voice.

Gideon slid an easy grin in their direction. "Nay! I am more

surefooted than either of you. I would stop to look, and then I
would step."

He frowned as he straightened and looked around. "I think

we must sacrifice a piece of the smelly blanket unless either
of you wish to donate your loincloth and go about with your
cock and balls swinging."

Bronte chuckled. "That might distract me."
Gideon, who'd just reached down to snag the blanket,

looked up at her and grinned. "In that case, mayhap we will
all donate."

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She laughed but shook her head. "I wouldn't want your

pretty things to get sunburned."

"There is that," Gabriel agreed, sounding mildly

disappointed as he turned away at last and focused on stirring
up the fire from the night before to heat food to break their
fast.

Gideon held up the blanket and studied it a moment and

finally tore a section from one end. Removing his sword, he
cut a slit in the center of the piece and helped her slip it over
her head. Bronte stared down at it doubtfully. It covered her,
but it wouldn't long if the wind caught the open sides. Using
her teeth to start a tear, she pulled a couple of narrow strips
from the bottom edge, tied them together, and then tied the
piece around her beneath her breasts to hold the sides
together.

While they ate, Gideon outlined the plan. "You will take

point, Jerico, since Gabriel was last to watch and will not be
as alert. I will carry Bronte and you, Gabriel, will bring up the
rear. We will make better time if we follow the beach as long
as possible, but it is more narrow here than I had thought
because of the cliffs. We will most likely have to climb the
cliffs when the tide comes in."

He looked at Jerico questioningly when he'd finished.
"I did not have much time to study the terrain," Jerico

said. "But I am certain you are right. We will have to climb.
The rocks extend mayhap fifteen or twenty clicks southward
from this point."

"How long do you think it will take us to get to the city?"

Bronte asked.

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Jerico frowned and sent Gideon a questioning glance.
"We do not know this area well," Gideon said. "We have

spent far more time building our city than mapping this world.
There is more of this world unknown than known to us."

Uneasiness settled in the pit of Bronte's stomach. She'd

suspected they must be a long way from civilization or
someone would have found them by now—it'd been a full
week by her reckoning since they'd crashed. But she'd been
certain it still couldn't be that far. They'd recognized the sea.
"We could be a half a world away," she said numbly.

"We could," Gideon agreed, "but we are not. The ship

entered the atmosphere only a little off course."

"Five degrees," Gabriel supplied helpfully, earning a glare

from Gideon.

"...And drifted more as we came down."
"But ... five degrees! So high up that could be thousands

of miles!" Bronte exclaimed in dismay.

Gabriel looked uncomfortable.
Bronte glanced from one man to the other. "You needn't

be glaring daggers and poor Gabriel!" she said tightly. "Don't
you think I would have noticed anyway?"

Gideon's lips tightened. "We do not have precise

calculations."

"Are we even on the same continent?"
"Yes," Gabriel, Jerico, and Gideon said almost at the same

moment.

Bronte studied their expressions for a moment. "How

many continents are there on this planet?" she asked
suspiciously.

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Gabriel glanced at Gideon and decided to hold his peace.
"One," Gideon finally admitted with great reluctance.
Bronte stared at him for a long moment, but finally

subsided with the reflection that knowing before wouldn't
have changed anything anymore than knowing now did. She
was still irritated that they hadn't told her. She supposed it
might be their idea of 'protecting' her.

She swallowed her irritation with an effort. "So if we follow

the coast we're bound to find the city, right?"

"We do not need to follow the coast to find our way. We

will follow the coast because it is less likely that we will be
attacked by the trogs. You may have noticed from their smell
that they are not fond of water."

"It doesn't mean we'll be safer by the water just because

they stink," Bronte said testily.

"We will," Gideon said implacably. "They can not swim and

they are terrified of the water."

"You know this because?"
"We are soldiers. We are too far from the Confederation to

concern ourselves with them beyond maintaining a small
army to defend ourselves from the unlikely possibility of a
random attack. Unless we have business that takes us into
their territory there is little need for our services in that
respect. We are no more welcome to the natives of this world,
but we have taken what we need and now we must defend it
from attack. Many times now, we have dealt with them."

Bronte stared at him in dismay as it sank home that she

hadn't completely appreciated their 'livelihood'. She'd only
been thinking in terms of the dangerous lives they had led,

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hadn't considered that that wasn't something in the past that,
while awful, was no longer a threat. She was going to be
worrying about them every time they left on a mission—
forever. How did women deal with the uncertainty of never
knowing when their man left if he was coming back? "Are
they crazy?"

"They are of low intelligence, extremely territorial, and

ferocious."

She nodded absently, her mind still wrestling with fresh

anxieties. She might've been half dead at the time of the
attack, but she hadn't been so out of it that she hadn't
noticed the trogs were fierce to the point of insanity. Their
stupidity in attacking cyborgs might have been
understandable in the beginning, before they'd had the
chance to figure out what they were dealing with. Obviously
they did know by now, though. They were just laboring under
the impression that they could still take them if they threw
enough bodies at them.

The banter that had lightened her spirits only a little earlier

hadn't lifted them enough to combat the thoughts the
conversation had stirred up in her mind and she didn't feel
nearly as hopeful as they gathered their belongings and
headed out. She had to be carried. As much as she hated the
fact that she was an added burden, it wouldn't help them for
her to be hobbling on her crutch. She would've slowed them
down traveling on her own steam if she'd been whole. As it
was, they would have to travel at a snail's pace with her
walking.

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Knowing that didn't stop it from chaffing her. Knowing they

could have traveled much faster, probably wouldn't be in
nearly as much danger without her, wore on her spirits even
more. "If you could find a safe place to leave me, you could
travel faster without me," she said, tentatively voicing her
thoughts aloud.

Gideon sent her a look that questioned her sanity.
"I'm just saying—if you look at it purely from a logical

standpoint it would make more sense to leave me—go quickly
to find help, and then come back for me."

Gideon's lips tightened. "No."
Bronte looked at him indignantly. He was in his 'unyielding'

mode and once he reached that plain his reasoning was the
only one that counted. "It's just something to consider...."

"It is not."
"Why not?"
"There is no safe place to leave you," he said tightly.
"One could stay with me and the other two go on."
Gideon expelled an irritated breath. "I do not care how

reasonable it may seem to you—or even if it is logical. I will
not leave you. You may argue all you please. I will not change
my mind."

Bronte huffed. "It will take a lot longer to make this trip if

one of you has to carry me all the way."

He gave her an indecipherable look. "It could take forever,

Bronte, and it would not matter. Without you there would be
no reason to journey."

She ruminated over that for several minutes, trying not to

allow herself to take that the way it had sounded. "Oh," she

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said finally as it dawned on her that she had misinterpreted
the remark, "the mission. I forgot."

"You are my woman now. Protecting you is the only

'mission' of any importance to me. I will allow no other
consideration to take precedence over that."

Bronte blinked at him in surprise. A smile curled her lips as

it sank in that he really had meant his remarks the way she'd
thought. Tightening her arms around his neck, she dropped
her head to his shoulder. "That is ... so sweet!" she
murmured.

She felt a frisson of surprise ripple through him.
"Which part?" he asked curiously.
She nuzzled her face against his neck and then gave him a

light peck there. "All of it."

His cheek creased in a smile. "Then why were you giving

me your stubborn face?"

"Because I thought you were just being unreasonable."
"And now I am not?"
"No, you still are. I just like why you're being

unreasonable."

He chuckled. The sound warmed her as much as his

comments had. "I will be certain to make such remarks as
often as possible if they please you so much."

"Only if you mean them."
"I would not say something that was untrue."
"I know. That's one of the things I love about you."
He almost missed a step, but recovered quickly. She was a

little disappointed that he didn't ask her to elaborate. A good
thirty minutes passed in silence before he broke it.

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"There are other things?"
Bronte couldn't prevent a smile, but since she still had her

head on his shoulder she knew he couldn't see it. "What?" she
asked, pretending she had no idea what he was asking.

"You said that it was 'one'?"
Resisting the urge to chuckle, she made a point of thinking

it over. "Mmm," she finally responded. "Yes, definitely one of
them."

"But there are others?" he persisted.
"Mmmhmm," she made the sound of agreement,

thoroughly enjoying teasing him by that time.

He was silent for several moments. "What?"
She was tempted to pretend incomprehension, just to see

how long it would take to provoke his temper, but she
decided she'd teased him enough. "Pretty much everything."

"You can not name anything," he said, his voice so

carefully neutral she realized with dismay that he didn't
believe her and he was disappointed because he didn't. Oddly
enough, though, when she settled to study it over, she
realized she couldn't think of anything specific. It defied a
break down into a list. It was just the way he made her feel
and that was too nebulous to put into words. Everything he
said or did made her feel safe, special, desirable, or beautiful,
or all of those things at the same time. The only specifics that
came to mind sounded far more like lust than affection, and
she didn't want to give him that impression. It finally occurred
to her, though, that it wouldn't just be easier to give him that
kind of list, it would be easier for him to understand.

"I think you're handsome," she offered finally.

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He twisted his head, trying to see her expression and she

lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. Doubt
seemed to war with relief in his eyes as his gaze flickered
over her face. "You do?"

She smiled faintly. "Very handsome."
He looked pleased.
She lifted her head until her lips were near his ear. "And

you have a beautiful cock."

He stumbled again.
"It feels ... wonderful when it's inside of me."
He ground his teeth. "Stop it, Bronte."
She chuckled huskily. "Or what?"
"Or I will throw you down and fuck you senseless."
She laughed. "Promises, promises."
"It is a promise, woman ... When you are better."
That couldn't be soon enough to suit her. She was sick of

being an invalid. As much better as she felt, she was still so
far from completely recovered it had begun to feel as if she
would never feel the same again.

It was exhausting and uncomfortable to be carried. She

shuddered to think what misery she was inflicting on Gideon.
His strength and endurance were nothing short of amazing,
but as strong as he was, as stoically as he endured, she knew
he had to feel the strain and he felt pain just as she did.

Climbing the cliff was a nightmare. She couldn't climb it

herself and Gideon couldn't climb carrying her in his arms as
he had been. She had to loop her arms around his neck and
hang on his back and she didn't even want to think about how
hard that made it for him to climb, quite aside from the fact

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that his arms and shoulders must feel as if they were going to
fall off already from carrying her for hours.

He didn't object when she suggested that maybe Jerico or

Gabriel could carry her a while, which she couldn't help but
think was significant. They'd been walking the rim of the cliffs
for nearly an hour when they heard the sound Bronte thought
was going to figure in her nightmares for the rest of her life.

The screams of challenge were blood curdling.
Jerico promptly set her on her feet and the three men

formed a semi-circle around her as they had before, swords
drawn as they waited for the horde that had burst from the
edges of the forest with the first cry. Bronte divided her
attention between the trogs and the drop at their backs.
There was no fortunate circumstance of discovering a nice
wide path down. The cliffs were nearly sheer at this point not
even offering much in the way of hand or footholds if they
had to retreat. The only option they had would be to leap
from the top and hope they landed in water deep enough to
keep them from dying, and even that was doubtful. She was
certain they must be forty or fifty feet from the water's
surface. If she survived such a fall, her healing leg wouldn't
be able to withstand the impact.

There was no retreat that she could see along the cliffs

either. The rocky ledge still stretched out in both directions as
far as she could see.

Coldness gripped her as she realized they were in a fight

or die situation. The trogs seemed to have no interest in
taking captives and they couldn't flee even if they wanted to.

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As before, Gideon drew the laser pistol and used it to take

out as many as he could. Unlike the first time, however, the
pistol ceased to fire before he'd killed more than a half dozen.
Tossing the now useless weapon aside, Gideon's face was
grim as he settled into a fighter's stance and waited for the
first to reach them.

Bronte glanced down the cliff again as cyborg blades of

steel rang against the blades of the trogs. She was pretty
convinced that she couldn't have climbed down if her leg
hadn't still been in a splint. With it, she had no chance at all.
Jump, she wondered as the battle began to slowly inch
toward her?

She couldn't bring herself to do it and turned to watch in

horror as Gideon, Gabriel, and Jerico swung their blades with
fatal, seemingly tireless precision, facing first one opponent
and then another, shifting each time one of the trogs tried to
dart past them to get to her. Blood flew in every direction,
spouting like fountains from the trogs as the cyborgs hacked
them to pieces, flying off the blades of their weapons as the
swung them over and over until bodies and body parts
formed gruesome piles all around them and the trogs were
falling over their dead to reach the cyborgs.

Bronte surveyed the drop again as the circle closed more

tightly around her, knowing the moment of choice was nearly
upon them.

"Do not even think about it!" Gideon growled.
Bronte jerked all over, more unnerved that he'd spared the

time to glance at her than she was that he'd correctly
interpreted her indecision.

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"Close ranks!" he bellowed directly behind that order.
Instantly, Jerico and Gabriel stepped closer and Gideon

stepped back. "Put your arms around my neck as you did
before!" Gideon snapped as he bent down for her to reach
around his shoulders. "And hold tightly."

She didn't even think to argue with him although she

would almost have preferred to jump without him.

Actually, not. She didn't think she could make herself

jump. At least if Gideon jumped with her she wouldn't have to
make the choice. Throwing her arms around his neck, she
locked them as tightly as she could and prayed she could hold
her grip when they impacted with the water.

To her surprise, he crouched even lower. She bent with

him, holding tighter.

She almost lost her grip when Gideon, instead of whirling

and leaping from the cliff, sprang almost straight up. "Behind
them!" he bellowed as he launched himself skyward at breath
taking speed.

Bronte's stomach didn't just go weightless. It couldn't

decide which way to pitch. They soared over the stunned,
gaping trogs as if Gideon had suddenly sprouted wings.
Almost as if time had slowed, she turned her head to rest her
cheek against Gideon's shoulders and saw Gabriel soaring
beside them, higher, almost spinning as he slashed at the
men now below him as he passed over their heads. Sheer
awe flooded her at the sight ... and then they landed. Gideon
absorbed much of the impact with his legs, allowing them to
bend, and the abrupt stop still jarred Bronte loose. She
sprawled on the ground at Gideon's feet.

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Jerico and Gabriel, unencumbered as Gideon had been,

landed several yards further away, but they whipped around
almost before they had touched down and raced forward as
Gideon bounded over her, landing behind her. Bellowing their
own war cries, they charged the trogs, who'd just discovered
they were now trapped at the edge of the cliff.

She thought the trogs would have fought even more

ferociously if they'd had the time to overcome their shocked
surprise. They didn't. The cyborgs had executed the
maneuver so swiftly and charged that the primitives barely
had time to turn to meet them, and no time at all to realize
how closely they were to the cliff's edge. Three went over
immediately, shoved off by those trying to break their
forward race and turn. Another five fell over as the 'rear
guard' suddenly discovered they were in the forefront of the
battle and tried to avoid being impaled on the cyborg swords.

Within a matter of minutes, Gideon and Gabriel and Jerico

had dispatched the rest, some with their swords and others
by seizing them and pitching them from the cliff.

Bronte lay where she'd fallen, watching them with a

mixture awe, relief ... and pride. As wonderful as she'd
thought they were before, watching the absolute beauty of
their fluid movements, seeing their skill and agility and
strength was like watching the finest of athletes perform
seemingly impossible feats.

And these wonderful, absolutely amazing men thought she

was special!

Luckily for her they weren't nearly as discriminating as

they should have been.

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Her pride and joy dissolved, however, as she descended

enough to notice that they hadn't moved. They were still
laboring for breath, standing, but in a way that she finally
realized denoted determination to remain on their feet. It was
hardly surprising, and yet it made her heart clutch in her
chest. She examined them more carefully with her gaze,
searching for wounds. She could see nothing, however. They
were so spattered with blood there was no way to tell how
much was theirs, if any, but she knew they couldn't have
come off from the encounter totally unscathed.

As remarkable as they were, they'd been injured in the

crash just as she had, and then fought a standing battle
against the trogs, and now another one. Even if they hadn't
sacrificed some of the nanos that helped them heal so rapidly
to save her, the nanos had had far more to deal with in a very
short time than she thought would be 'normal'.

The thoughts had no sooner formed in her mind that the

urge hit her to rush to them and check them to reassure
herself that they weren't badly hurt. She couldn't 'rush'
anywhere, though. She couldn't even get up because she'd
had to abandon her crutch to hold on to Gideon. She tried
anyway. Seeing her efforts, Gabriel looked around for the
crutch and Gideon and Jerico strode toward her and crouched
to examine her.

"You were hurt from the fall?" Gideon asked, looking her

over searchingly.

Bronte's chin wobbled at his concern for her when he'd

nearly gotten killed—they all had. She shook her head.
"You're hurt," she managed finally.

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He stared at her for a long moment. "It is nothing. I am

more tired than hurt."

Even admitting that much told her it was worse that she'd

thought. "If it's no more than a scratch it's too much," she
said, bursting into tears.

Gideon and Jerico exchanged an uneasy glance. "She is

unsettled from the fighting," Jerico said finally.

"I am not unsettled by the fight!" Bronte said angrily,

mopping at the tears with the back of her hand. "Yes, I am!
But I'm upset because you're hurt! Let me see where you're
hurt," she demanded.

Gabriel had arrived by that time. The three men

exchanged speaking glances that annoyed the hell out of her.

"It is nothing more than a nick here and there and you

could not see it for all the muck," Gideon said reasonably.

"I want to look anyway," Bronte said fiercely.
Shrugging, Gideon lifted his sword to sheathe it. As he did,

Bronte spied three gashes along his side across his ribs,
another on his chest and one on his belly. There were more
on his arms and hands and even a couple on his thighs. As
he'd said, they were 'nicks', none of them deep or long but all
of them had drawn blood. Gabriel and Jerico looked as bad—
like pin cushions and even though none of the cuts looked life
threatening, together they'd let a good bit of blood, probably
more than they could afford given the fact that they'd barely
had time to recover from the last blood letting. No wonder
they were so tired. It wasn't just exertion. It was from blood
loss.

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It frustrated her that she couldn't even get up to attend

their wounds, couldn't at least bathe them off and fuss over
them.

"We should go now," Gideon said when she'd finished

examining Gabriel's wounds.

"I think I'll walk awhile," she said. "I'm sore from being

carried."

Gideon stared at her for a long moment and finally

nodded, looking down at the blood and even more disgusting
flecks of flesh clinging to him. "We will bathe in the sea once
we have crossed the rocks."

She hated for him to think she didn't want him to touch

her because of the mess, but she was not going to let any of
them carry her when she could see they were going to have a
hard time carrying themselves. Besides, they would have to
move slowly if she walked and that would give them a little
rest, not as much as actually sitting down to rest, but at least
they wouldn't be pushing themselves to hurry.

Without feeling any qualms about it at all, she began to

complain about being tired as soon as they'd reached the
beach again and asked if they couldn't rest for a while if
Gideon was determined not to make camp yet.

He didn't like it. She could tell he didn't. He kept scanning

the cliffs and the edge of the woods while she scanned him to
make certain his wounds had closed. Finally, he turned to
look at her assessingly.

She felt his gaze, knew as she saw his expression out of

the corner of her eye that it had dawned on him she usually
didn't complain and that he was wondering if she was really

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too tired to keep going. She ignored the look examining
Gabriel and Jerico carefully as they returned from bathing. To
her relief, she saw that most of their wounds had closed.
Gabriel had a long gash on one thigh that was still bleeding
sluggishly. She thought it was the fact that it was an almost
horizontal slash that made it gape slightly.

Tugging him down by pulling on his wrist, she examined it

more closely. It wasn't deep, but the wound needed staples
to close it, she thought worriedly. After looking around
hopefully for something to use, she finally tore a strip from
the front flap of his loincloth, pushed the wound together the
best she could with her hands and then tied the strip of fabric
around his thigh. She didn't think it would hold it together
well, if at all, but it made her feel better to at least try.

He glanced at Gideon when she'd finished and when

Gideon only nodded, sprawled on his back beside her and
closed his eyes. Gideon had said he had the last watch the
night before, she remembered. It was no wonder he looked
so tired when it had been so long since he'd rested. After
studying him a moment, Bronte yielded to the urge to touch
him, stroking his face soothingly. He smiled faintly but in a
moment his face relaxed and he began to breathe heavily
with sleep.

She looked away from him as Gideon settled on her other

side, her gaze going instantly to the cut she'd noticed on him
that was still bleeding. The slash across his ribs wasn't even
as deep as Gabriel's, but because it was almost completely
horizontal gravity was working against the industrious little
nanos. He caught her face in the crook of his hand, tipping

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her face up for his inspection. "It will close," he said finally,
lifting a finger and rubbing at the worried line between her
brows.

Releasing her after a moment, he settled on his side on

one elbow looking up at her. She gazed back at him
questioningly for a moment and finally reached for him,
tugging until he finally settled his head in her lap. He released
a deep sigh, closing his eyes as she stroked his temple as she
had Gabriel's.

After a few minutes, Jerico sat down behind her. His back

bumped hers and she tipped her head to glance back at him.
He nuzzled the side of his face along hers for a moment and
then returned his attention to his watch.

Cramped and uncomfortable as she was, and despite the

ordeal they'd just endured, or maybe because of it, Bronte
felt a blissful peace settle inside of her.

Amusement flickered to life as it dawned on her she was

sitting like a blissful idiot among some of the most deadly
men in the universe. It was a little like sitting in the midst of
a pride of lions and petting them as if they were kittens.

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Chapter Twenty

It was one of those moments when one's mind connects

dot to dot, wandering idly from one thought to another until a
wholly unexpected picture emerges. Bronte was exhausted.
They'd been traveling for more than a week, stopping to
sleep—although no one else got even nearly as much sleep as
she did since the men took turns standing watch—eat, and
occasionally just to rest for a brief time. She knew she didn't
have nearly as much reason for her exhaustion as the men
did—and they didn't even look half as exhausted as she felt.
Occasionally she would walk for a short period to stretch her
legs and give them a break from carrying her, but mostly
they carried her. And she was healing well. She thought if it
wasn't for the splint on her leg she could've walked more and
hardly held them back at all—except she couldn't take the
splint off yet and dragging one heavy, stiff leg wore her out
fairly quickly.

Then, abruptly, while cataloguing her ailments and

wondering why she was so fatigued, it dawned on her that
she hadn't had her period even once since she'd been
captured. Her heart performed a little two-step when the
thought hit her. Mentally, she stopped, rewinding, and then
going back over everything in her mind, but she knew even
before she did that she wasn't mistaken. She was prone to
put that little monthly disability out of her mind as soon as it
wasn't a problem anymore, but she'd been captured with only
the clothes she stood up in—nothing else. She wouldn't have

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had her period and then blithely dismissed it if it had
presented a real 'problem' like it would have if she hadn't had
feminine products to get her through it.

Excitement followed that thought and then died just as

quickly.

She couldn't be pregnant.
She might have been, but there was no way she could still

be pregnant after the crash. She'd been injured too badly,
lost too much blood, and the site of her injury had been close
enough to cause trauma to her reproductive organs, might
even have totally destroyed one of her ovaries. She'd feared
that possibility at the time, she remembered.

She would've miscarried. Even if that metal rod had

miraculously missed everything of vital importance, the shock
to her system would've been enough to cause her to
miscarry.

Her memories directly after the crash weren't reliable.

Probe them though she might, she couldn't recall anything
that indicated vaginal bleeding. Her stomach had hurt,
naturally enough—she'd hurt all over—but there was no way
to distinguish, now, if there'd been anything beyond her
actual injuries causing pain. She couldn't remember anything
like the cramping that she should've experienced with a
miscarriage.

She still hadn't started, though, and it had been weeks

now since the crash.

She didn't know what to make of it, but she found that she

couldn't summon even a flicker of hope that something
wonderful and miraculous had happened to her. Fear

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dominated her mind. All she could think of was the
impossibility of being pregnant and the likelihood that
something terrible was going on inside of her. She'd never
thought she was a pessimist. She was more inclined to go the
other way, but she was a physician and she was a realist in
that respect.

God only knew what the nanos, encountering a ruptured

ovary, had decided to do to 'fix' it. It was bad enough the
nanos had been designed for cyborgs, but hers had been
designed for male cyborgs.

She hadn't considered that before.
"Are you ill?"
Bronte sent Gideon a wide eyed look at that question,

wondering if he'd noticed something she hadn't.

"You have turned as pale as death."
Bronte blinked rapidly at that, her mind scurrying around

for some explanation other than the truth. "I ... uh ... It's
nothing, really. I just had a little dizziness." That much was
the truth, anyway. She felt faint with fright and a sudden
urgency to examine herself to see if she could tell anything
about her abdomen that might explain what was going on
inside of her.

Gideon frowned, studying her face searchingly. "Why

would you feel dizzy if you are not ill?"

There were times, Bronte reflected, when Gideon's sharp

eyes and his ... obsession with her well being weren't at all
welcome. She supposed it was a little of everything, not an
obsession—his sense of responsibility, his orders, and the fact
that she'd nearly died and hadn't recovered the way he

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thought she should—probably the last most of all. He couldn't
be accustomed to seeing anyone laid low for such a long time.

But it was still really annoying at times—especially now.
She sent him a weak smile. "I just remembered I'd left

something on the stove when we left Earth," she said
jokingly.

Typically, that sort of joke went right over his head. He

frowned at her speculatively for several moments. "What
thought would affect you in that way?"

Bronte's jaw went slack with surprise. "It was nothing.

Really," she added when he looked unconvinced. "Do you
think we might be getting closer to the city?"

He gave her a look. "We are one week closer than we were

before," he replied dryly. "Do not change the subject."

"Then do not ask me something I don't want to talk

about," Bronte said testily.

His face tautened with anger. She could see he was

wrestling with his temper. After a few minutes, he seemed to
tamp it. "If something was wrong you would tell me?"

"If I knew something was wrong."
"Then this thing that worries you is something you think

might be wrong?"

When had he become so perceptive?
It dawned on her abruptly that she'd overheard him say

once that he was very good at observing. She hadn't really
given that a great deal of thought, but it occurred to her that
he'd had a very long time to study her, if that was what he'd
been doing, and to begin to understand her.

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Realizing that he wasn't going to give up easily, she

dropped her head to his shoulder. "I'm just tired," she
muttered.

"If it is nothing, then why is it that you do not want to tell

me?"

She released an exasperated sigh. "Just ... leave it alone,

Gideon. Please. When I've worked it out in my head I'll tell
you."

She could tell he was still irritated—actually angry, she

supposed, because she'd teased him about it until she'd
convinced him it must be something really bad.

And the worst of it was she was afraid he was right.

* * * *

One fairly minor skirmish with the trogs, which was minor

because they had only happened upon a handful that were
apparently out hunting, and one week later, Bronte was more
convinced than ever that something was wrong. The lack of a
period she could've dismissed on a couple of counts—weight
loss, trauma, or even mental stress. Something was definitely
growing in her belly, however, and it seemed to her that it
was growing way too fast to be something delightful. She'd
lost a noticeable amount of weight, to her anyway,
everywhere except in her belly. She couldn't tell whether it
was actually larger than it had been before or if it only looked
like it was because she'd lost weight elsewhere. That didn't
matter, though. What mattered was that it should be smaller
like the rest of her and wasn't—which meant it was growing,
but she couldn't tell how fast.

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At the very outside, assuming there was any possibility of

pregnancy, she couldn't be more than two and half months
into gestation because it hadn't been longer than that since
she'd had sex with Gideon the first time. It seemed farfetched
that she could've gotten impregnated then. It only took once,
of course, but the odds seemed astronomical to her that
everything would've come together to make it happen right
then.

After some hopeful consideration she finally decided that

nothing fit to make it a pregnancy. She'd had sex several
times with both Gideon and Jerico, but that had been later on
and she certainly shouldn't have been showing if she was less
than two months.

Poor Gabriel wouldn't even have been in the running if it

was a possibility. She hadn't had sex with him but twice, and
the only time she'd had penetration was right before the
crash.

Not that any of that mattered. The chances were that none

of the three, no matter how hopeful they might be—or she
was, for that matter—would ever have been able to
impregnate her.

She wouldn't have been nearly as frightened if she'd been

any where near civilization where she could get help. But not
only was she not, they had no idea how long it might take to
reach the city. It could be months more and she might not
have months.

It was inevitable that they would notice their 'beautiful'

Bronte was beginning to look strangely misshapen. The top
Gideon had made for her from the piece of blanket covered

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the rounding mound. She had to bathe, though, and Gideon
was convinced she still couldn't bathe alone. For that matter
she was convinced of it. The splint made her so awkward she
was afraid she'd drown if he, or one of the others, wasn't
there to keep the current from carrying her off so she didn't
really make any attempt to assert herself and demand
privacy.

She wasn't certain who noticed it first, but she finally

realized they had when she caught first one and then another
staring at her belly, or rather sliding glances in that direction.
She wasn't so conceited she mistook it for sexual interest.
She would've liked to have thought so. It was hard living
among three extremely attractive men without thinking about
sex, particularly when it was three men she also happened to
be mated with, and with whom she'd thoroughly enjoyed
fucking.

She would've liked to think that the drought brought about

by her injuries bothered them at least as much as it did her.

She was sure it did up until her belly began to change

shape. Then, she wasn't so sure.

For days after the first look she'd encountered, Bronte

pretended she didn't notice them staring at her and they
pretended they weren't staring. It was Gideon, as usual, who
took charge of the situation.

She'd finally decided to remove the splint and check the

progress of her healing. The bone, she discovered, had knit.
She couldn't tell anything for certain without a scan,
naturally, but to her hands it felt whole and she couldn't
detect any pain from pressure that might indicate that it was

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still weak. Cautiously optimistic, she'd finally decided to try
putting a little weight on it to test it further and used her
crutch to stand and walk a little way. There were twinges, but
nothing that seemed to indicate she still needed the splint.

"Are you certain that you should be doing this?" Gideon

asked, rising from the fire he'd built and crossing the sand to
stand next to her.

Bronte looked up at him and then glanced at Gabriel and

Jerico, who were busying skinning and cleaning the animal
they'd killed for food since they'd pretty much run out of the
food they'd brought with them. Neither of them were looking
at her, but she had a feeling this had been a group decision.

They had a way of ganging up on her and then sending

Gideon to play 'bad guy'.

She faced Gideon again. "I'm testing the leg," she said

finally. "It feels healed enough to walk on it."

He frowned, but thoughtfully. "It has had time?"
Bronte chewed her lip. Under ordinary circumstances, the

answer was no. "It seems to have had time," she
compromised.

"This means it should not."
"I think the nanos helped it heal more quickly. I examined

it. I'm not going to risk breaking it again."

He looked unconvinced.
"Alright!" Bronte said testily. "I'll put the splint back on ...

for a few more days. But after I take a bath."

He nodded, satisfied. "I will bathe with you while Gabriel

and Jerico set up the meat to roast."

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Bronte was a little irritated until it occurred to her that she

wouldn't have her splint on and that opened up possibilities.
As much as she appreciated the fact that Gideon had seen to
it that none of them tried to initiate sex while she'd been
recovering, she felt well enough now to test that, too.

Setting her crutch down, she held most of her weight on

her good leg and undressed. Gideon scooped her up before
she could even consider trying to walk without the crutch and
carried her into the water until it was waist deep on him
before lowering her to her feet.

Disengaging herself from his hold, she stepped away from

him when her feet had touched the sandy bottom. The
buoyancy of the water supported her enough she wasn't
concerned about her leg even if she'd been premature in
taking the splint off and she was anxious to clean up and see
if she could coax Gideon into remembering she was a woman,
not just an invalid.

She still mourned the lack of fresh water and soap to

bathe, or even the type of cleansing units she'd had before
she left Earth, though she'd not only gotten used to bathing
with water, she'd discovered she liked it. Bathing in the sea
was different. She enjoyed that, too, but it didn't leave her
feeling clean like fresh water and soap. It was probably the
heavy salt content, she thought, and very likely she still
would've felt sticky even if she'd had soap, but she liked
smelling clean and feeling clean not just thinking she must be
clean if she soaked in water long enough and scrubbed her
hands over herself.

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The water wasn't at all kind to her hair, either. It wasn't as

glossy and soft as it had been before, but she wasn't sure the
water was entirely responsible for that. Her hair was lighter
and she knew that was from the sun. She suspected the sun's
rays had damaged her hair just as it had her skin—lightening
her hair to a brighter, less subtle red and darkening her skin.

Not for the first time, she wondered about her all over

appearance. She hadn't been beautiful before and she knew
damn well nothing that had happened to her had improved
her looks.

It had Gideon's, she thought as she studied him

surreptitiously, and he hadn't even needed it. His skin had
darkened to a more golden color and his dark ash blond hair
had lightened to a paler blond and the sharp contrast had
added a unique appeal all on its own. Like her, he'd also lost
weight, but it had only seemed to give him a leaner more
muscular look all over and it made his face even more
appealing—stronger, more angular, more masculine
somehow—made all three men look even more virile.

He never really relaxed his guard anymore. On the ship, he

and Gabriel and Jerico had seemed to spend most of their
time squabbling and carousing like rowdy teenage boys. From
the moment of first threat, though, they'd gone into rigid
military mode and now, even when they appeared to be
relaxed, they weren't. They never allowed themselves to get
distracted by a difference of opinion as they had before—in
fact, there didn't seem to be a difference of opinion. They
worked together almost as if they were of one mind.

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But then maybe it was just that, as soldiers, they each

knew their role in the scheme of things? Gabriel and Jerico
were the foot soldiers and Gideon the leader they looked to to
decide the best course of action and the best usage of their
skills?

It was outside their roles as military men that they were

adrift and uncertain. What everyone else considered the 'real'
world was chaos and confusion for them and it made them
feel awkward and unsure of themselves because they didn't
know what to say or how to behave.

She liked both sides. Before, she'd felt as if they needed

her. Now, she felt completely protected by them and she
realized with a touch of surprise that they'd created the
perfect symbiotic relationship—from her viewpoint, anyway.
They met all of her needs. She wasn't as certain as she
would've liked to be that she met all of theirs. It was
important to her, though, to do her best to give them what
they needed just as they gave her what she needed.

They probably didn't need the outlet sex gave them nearly

as much now as they had when there'd been too little to
excise all their excess testosterone. Since the crash, they'd
had almost more ways to expend it than they could handle—
fighting for their lives, and pushing their bodies to the limit in
physical expenditure, and having to hunt for food to
supplement their dwindling supplies. It had been a conscious
decision not to approach her for sex out of consideration for
her injuries, she knew, but she thought the other things had
made it easier to exert that self-control.

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She needed it, though. It wasn't just that she wanted it,

wanted to feel the pleasure they could give her. She needed
the reassurance that they still wanted her, still found her
desirable.

She got that assurance the moment she moved closer to

Gideon. The surge of the sea around them bumped them
lightly against one another in an imitation of the sexual act
and his cock rose hard against her in response. To her
consternation, though, he grasped her hips, holding her
slightly away from him even as she tried to initiate sex by
stroking her hands along his body.

Desire filled his eyes, darkening them, but there was a

question in them, as well.

"I do not think you are as well as you believe," he said

gruffly.

She ignored the twinge of irritation that comment elicited.

"Who's the doctor here?" she murmured, leaning closer to
nibble at his chest with her lips.

"If I believed it was the doctor making the decision based

upon skills, I would not doubt, but you have none of the
things you need to test to make an informed decision, so I do
not think it is the doctor making this decision. And, while I am
no physician, I have more experience, I am certain, with
wounds. I know how those wounds should have affected you
and how you should have progressed in recovering, and you
came far closer to dying than I liked or expected and have
taken much more time to recover than I anticipated.

"As much as I would enjoy fucking you until you were

screaming with pleasure, I would far rather wait until I am

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certain that would be the results and not further injury that
would take more time to recover from."

Bronte's irritation mounted. "I feel well enough."
"But you do not know that you are."
Thoroughly annoyed by that time, Bronte let out a huff of

anger and turned away from him. He caught her, pulling her
back against his body and holding her. "It is not that I am not
tempted," he murmured huskily near her ear. "But I can not
trust that I would be as careful of you as I needed to be,
because I can not remain in control of my desires when we
come together. I have tried and all that it has taught me is
that no amount of determination to hold onto my control will
make a difference. I still lose my ability to reason.

"And I am not the only one who wants you or who has a

right to want you. As much as I would like to ignore Gabriel
and Jerico and only concern myself with my desires, we can
not make this agreement between us work if we do not
consider every partner equally.

"If I do not consider the danger to you, I can not expect

them to. And while I might be able to be careful enough of
you to do this, they will also expect to have you, and I trust
them less than I do myself. In battle, I trust them implicitly.
With you, I do not. I know that they would not want to hurt
you, would never deliberately hurt you, but they are
accustomed to being told what they can and can not do."

Mollified, Bronte ceased trying to pull away from him.
Not that it had done any good to try except to let him

know that she wasn't willingly allowing him to hold her.

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It was annoying, though, that he always seemed to be

right, always made her feel as if she was being unreasonable.

Maybe because she was much of the time, but then that

was because emotions tended to be unreasonable and she
couldn't help being governed by them anymore than he could
help that he didn't have them to govern him, but had cold,
hard reason instead.

The temptation to see if she could push him beyond his

control was thrumming through her, though, in spite of the
fact that even she didn't think she was up to having sex with
all three of them.

It was unfair. She knew it was, but she didn't especially

care about being fair at the moment.

While she was considering how little she cared about the

fairness of getting her way at the moment, Gideon stroked a
hand across her belly and cupped the mound there. "What is
this?"

There was no surprise in his voice as if he'd just realized

there was a rounded mound there when there hadn't been
before. He'd taken advantage of her distraction and proximity
to examine what had been bothering him for some time.

Her heart thudded uncomfortably, but this time not with

desire. Bronte swallowed against the sudden knot in her
throat that was a combination of fear and reluctance in
having to face something she didn't really want to face. "I
don't know," she said finally.

"It is not ... right, is it?"

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She gnawed her lip for a moment. "I don't think so," she

admitted reluctantly. "But as you pointed out, I don't have
any way to check."

There was anger in his voice when he spoke again. "When

did you think that you should tell us?"

She broke his hold on her and turned to look at him

angrily. She'd been scaring herself with horrible possibilities
for weeks and the anger and accusation in his voice broke the
dam she'd been trying to hold. "When I knew something to
tell you!" she snapped.

His lips tightened. "You believe you do know!" he growled

accusingly. "Can I not even trust you to guard your health?
To uphold the terms of our agreement and keep us informed
of things that affect all of us?"

It made her angrier that he was right—again—that she

couldn't even defend her behavior. They did have the right to
know if her health was an issue that could affect all of them,
and she had been willing to risk sex when she had no idea
what was going on inside of her beyond the fact that she
didn't hurt anymore. She just hadn't wanted to think that
having sex might cause more damage than her body could
take. "So I'm in breach! Throw the damned contracts away
for all I care! You might as well, because I'm pretty damned
sure the crash destroyed any chance I might have had to
have children and I probably can't have sex either because
I'm totally fucked up! You could hire anybody to do what I
can do now!

"And I don't care if it was unethical not to tell you before.

You know now. I've told you in plenty of time to just throw

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the damned contracts away and you won't even have to go to
all the trouble of taking me to court for breach!"

She would've loved to have delivered that speech and then

stalked away without giving him any opportunity of a
rebuttal. Unfortunately, there was no stalking anywhere when
she was breast high in sea water.

Particularly since Gideon, as furious as he was, wasn't

about to let her try it. He did let her have the last word,
though, mostly, she thought, because she'd so thoroughly
pissed him off he couldn't think of anything to say. Scooping
her up into his arms despite her furious resistance, he stalked
to the beach, set her oh so carefully on the sand, and then
strode away. He didn't stop until he'd reached the edge of the
woods. She didn't think he would've stopped then except that
everyone's attention was caught by a sound all of them had
begun to think they would never hear again—the sound of an
engine.

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Chapter Twenty One

Bronte was so stunned when she turned toward the sound

and saw a craft heading directly toward them, or at least
toward the beach, that she simply stared at the thing dumbly
as if she'd never seen one before. Jerico brought her back to
awareness by dropping the blanket around her shoulders and
pulling it snugly around her.

The look of censure in his eyes took her aback. "There will

be men on board."

Bronte blinked at him in surprise. It was the first time he'd

behaved the least bit jealous or possessive toward her and it
hadn't occurred to her that he felt that way about her—not
that she'd realized she was still stark naked. She'd been too
shocked to think. "I was just surprised," she said
uncomfortably. "I didn't think...."

His gaze flickered over her face. Some of the tension left

his expression. "I will carry you into the edge of the forest to
dress."

Nodding jerkily, Bronte took the clothes he handed her and

looped her arms around his neck when he bent to pick her up.

As little time as it took to cross the beach and dress, the

craft landed while she was dressing. She heard the engine die
and moments later the voices of strangers. She couldn't see
anything. She hadn't gone far into the woods, but Jerico took
care to block her from the view of the men exiting the craft
and that ensured that she couldn't see either.

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He examined her critically before he picked her up to carry

her back. That look unsettled her almost more than the first.
She'd always thought of Jerico as the 'easy going' one. She
didn't know what to make of this heretofore unseen side of
him until she noticed the speculative gazes of the men they
approached.

It would've been easy to guess they were military only by

their bearing, but the uniforms certainly seemed to cinch the
identification. The discussion, whatever it covered, was over
by the time she reached the men. Without a word, she was
carried into the craft. Jerico settled her into a seat and helped
her with the restraints and within a few moments everyone
was aboard and the craft rose from the beach.

Her stomach knotted with terror the moment she felt the

craft rise. She hadn't had time to consider how frightening it
would be to climb into another ship of any description after
their crash. It was probably just as well, she thought wryly,
and yet she hadn't even had time to brace herself, or to try to
focus on 'good' thoughts, or give herself a pep talk. All she
could think about as she heard the engines roar to life and
then rev until she could feel the vibrations running through
the ship was those minutes that seemed like days when
they'd been falling. Struggling against hysteria, she focused
her panicked mind the best she could on trying to breathe
slow breaths, curling her fingers into the arm rests.

Jerico had left her once he'd adjusted her safety harness.

She glanced around hopefully for Gideon or Gabriel and
discovered that neither of them were seated close to her
either. The stern, unyielding faces of complete strangers was

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all that met her gaze. Reluctant to allow anyone to notice how
terrified she was, Bronte turned to look through the viewing
window near her seat, but looking out the window didn't help
at all. Her panic rose as the craft did, threatening to engulf
her. She could hear fragments of conversation around her as
the men who'd found them questioned Gideon and the others
about the crash. The noise of the ship itself, however,
combined with the roaring of blood in her ears and her
rasping breaths to chop bits and pieces from the dialogue and
that made it impossible to follow what they were saying even
if she could've focused enough of her mind on the
conversation for the task.

Once it reached the goal altitude, the ship skimmed the air

so fast the world outside the window blurred sickeningly. She
closed her eyes against the dizzying sight, struggling against
nausea as well as fear then. She began to cramp after a while
from the rigid tension that held her entire body.

It wouldn't take long, she told herself. No matter how far

they still were from civilization, it couldn't possibly take very
long when they were traveling at such a speed and directly
toward their destination rather than having to follow the
winding course nature allowed them to follow. Soon, she
could be really clean again, sleep in a bed instead of on the
sand, shivering half the time even with a man on either side
of her to help to keep her warm.

She would have access to medical equipment even if there

were no doctors to help her—she knew if they had a city, they
would have to have some sort of medical facilities.

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Those thoughts eased her stress over the flight more than

thoughts of creature comforts had. Soon, whatever it was
that was wrong with her, she'd know, and not knowing was
more scary than knowing would be, she assured herself. Even
if knowing still meant she couldn't do anything about it, she
thought it was the suspense and the unknown that was most
frightening.

It was night by the time they arrived. That wasn't

surprising since they'd already stopped to make camp for the
day and prepare a meal as they usually did before dark
because once they'd begun to have to supplement their food
by hunting, they'd also had to have fire to cook it, and Gideon
didn't allow fires after darkness fell. It had been dark, though,
for several hours by the time she saw the lights of the city.

Four hours, maybe, flying? It could've been as little as two,

she supposed, because she was a nervous wreck and not in
any condition to judge, but even if it hadn't been but two,
that meant they'd still been probably a thousand miles from
civilization, weeks more of walking if they hadn't been picked
up.

It must have been a military patrol, she decided. She

hadn't heard them say, but it didn't seem likely they'd been
out looking for them.

Then again, they might have. They could've found the

crash site and have been looking for them since. If they'd
found anything to indicate there were survivors and decided
to look, Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel had left a trail of trog
bodies behind them as evidence of their passing. It couldn't
have been too hard to track them.

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She was so weak with relief when the ship finally landed

she didn't think she could've walked if she'd had to. To her
dismay, however, it wasn't any of her men who helped her
from the craft. Instead, one of the soldiers scooped her up
and leapt from the craft, catching her so by surprise she only
had time to look around for Gideon and the others, to catch a
fleeting glimpse of them and then the door closed and the
craft rose again.

"What's happening? What's going on?"
"You are in need of medical attention. I am taking you to

the med center."

Bronte peered at the man in the dim artificial light. She

couldn't tell much about him beyond the fact that his profile
was lean and uncompromising. Cyborg, she thought, feeling
her stomach tighten into a little harder knot. "But ... what
about the others? My companions, Gideon and Jerico and
Gabriel?"

"They will be debriefed."
Bronte stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Debriefed?"
He didn't volunteer anything at the questioning lilt to the

word, didn't even glance at her.

"What does that mean?" she tried again.
"Questioned."
"About what?"
"The crash."
"Oh." Anger displaced some of Bronte's uneasiness.

"They're not even going to let them rest first?"

He looked directly at her for the first time and Bronte's

stomach executed a little flip flop, partly from surprise, but

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mostly because he far more handsome than she'd expected.
Were any of the cyborgs not handsome, she wondered?

She must have been brain dead when they'd put her on

the ship not to have noticed him before.

But then, she hadn't really looked at any of the men.

Jerico's display of jealousy had been enough by itself to
discourage her from looking with any interest, but she'd
known if Jerico felt that way then Gideon and Gabriel certainly
would be and she hadn't wanted to arouse their sense of
possessiveness. And, once she'd gotten on board, she hadn't
been able to focus on anything but her fear of flying.

"They are soldiers. They know what to expect."
She wished she did. Beyond what he'd told about the med

center, she had no idea what to expect. Her companions
hadn't enlightened her, but she hadn't particularly worried
about it because she hadn't expected to be separated from
them.

Realizing she wasn't likely to get anything from him that

was going to ease her mind, she allowed her curiosity to
divert her and looked around. It was too dark to tell much
about the city. There was some artificial lighting along the
streets, but only a sprinkle here and there that illuminated
small patches of building and street, signs mostly and there
weren't very many of those. In some ways, it looked very
little different from any other city she'd ever seen—except the
notable dearth of artificial lighting and signs, and the fact that
there didn't seem to be a great many people moving about
the streets.

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Maybe it was later than she'd thought? Or maybe it was

just that this particular area wasn't frequented that much at
night?

The buildings, not surprisingly, were all new looking and

yet she noticed as she began to focus on her surroundings
that most of the structures had a good bit of ornamentation
about them—surrounding doors and windows, edging the roof
lines and, in the cases of multi-storied buildings, delineating
one floor from the next—more reminiscent of ancient
structures she'd seen in the cities than modern architecture.

It struck her as odd, at all, that they would've modeled

their structures along the lines of centuries old Earth
architecture instead of the sleek, practical, and ultra
conservative modern buildings of the times and stranger still
when it dawned on her that the architects of the city were
cyborgs. She would've thought they, being creatures of logic
far more than humans were, would've been more inclined to
build strictly utilitarian structures. It couldn't be avoided that
they hadn't, that, by some odd quirk, they'd gone to great
lengths to beautify everything around them.

Otherwise everything was as neat and orderly as she

would've expected, and yet far more so than one would see in
a city built and occupied by humans. There were no stray bits
of trash here and there—discarded containers or partially
eaten food tossed aside, no overflowing trash containers, no
stray animals wandering around to scavenge ... or homeless
human scavengers.

There were no detectable defects in workmanship in

anything that she saw—no slightly off kilter curb or leaning

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signs. The streets, curbs, and sidewalks were arrow straight
from what she could see, the buildings too—the lines of
windows, and doors, and walls were absolutely perpendicular.
Even the ornamental designs were absolutely symmetrical—
every leaf, flower, curlicue, and animal carved in relief was
even, precise.

There were no vehicles along the roads, no sign that the

roads were used for vehicles. She supposed they must have
them, else why the roads? But undoubtedly the roads were
primarily for servicing vehicles, not personal ones, because
she didn't see any and even if it was late, it seemed that she
would.

Aside from that, the craft had set them down at the edge

of the city. The soldier had already carried her several blocks.

Her mind had wandered from that thought to wondering

where the base was that Gideon and the others had been
taken to when she noticed the soldier turn and head directly
toward a building several stories taller than the others around
them. This one had the definite characteristics of a med
center. Wide sliding doors opened to a brightly lit waiting area
that was deserted except for the man she could see seated at
a desk just inside.

The man looked up disinterestedly as the doors opened for

them, did a double take and then stood up. "This is the earth
doctor of children," the man carrying her announced as the
receptionist came around to greet them.

She supposed he was a receptionist. He was dressed in a

medic's uniform—no name tag.

"A human?"

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The soldier turned his head to her and allowed his gaze to

flicker over her face. "Yes. A human female, injured."

Bronte was about to object—she was mostly healed, after

all—but she didn't doubt she was suffering some malnutrition
from their limited diet, exposure since they'd had no shelter,
exhaustion, and god only knew what else.

He didn't ask her name or give her his any more than the

soldier had. Obviously they weren't prone to waste a lot of
time with frivolous social chatter. "I'm Dr. Bronte Nichols."

Both men stared at her blankly, almost as if a dog had

suddenly talked. If she hadn't already guessed that neither of
them hailed from the Hunter class, she knew it then. "And
you are?"

"Medic Brent MCS78206."
"Master Sergeant, Caleb CS95031."
Bronte looked from one to the other in surprise as they

both spoke almost at the same moment.

"I will take her to the examination room."
"I will take her," Caleb responded coldly. "I am ordered to

keep her within sight."

Uneasiness moved over Bronte as the two men stared at

one another. There was nothing challenging about the
expression of either, and yet she had the distinct feeling there
was a latent battle of wills in progress. Finally, the medic
turned, passed through another set of double doors, and led
them to a room just a few yards from the entrance.

"You will undress," Medic Brent informed her as he passed

the examination table and moved to the control panel of the
scanner at one end.

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It was standard medical procedure and yet the moment

Bronte realized that Caleb had every intention of monitoring
the proceedings discomfort settled over her. She stared at
him for several moments after he'd settled her on the
examination table and withdrawn to a position near the door,
assuming 'parade rest'. He stared back at her unblinkingly.

Mindful of how angry Jerico had been at the possibility of

anyone else seeing her naked, Bronte looked around a little
hopefully for a hospital gown. There wasn't one. There wasn't
even a sheet on the examination table.

She saw when she turned to look at the medic that he was

waiting for her to comply. "There aren't any gowns?"

He exchanged a look with the sergeant, seemed to

consider it for a moment and then replied, "No."

She wasn't ordinarily terribly self-conscious, particularly

not in respect to a medical examination. She was abruptly
acutely conscious of the defects of humans in general and her
in particular, however. The cyborgs, due to superior genetics,
were as perfect as the city they'd created, virtually flawless.
She'd been a long way from perfection before the accident.
She shuddered to think how far she was from physical
perfection now and she didn't especially want to expose it for
them to examine it.

Somehow, though, she didn't think she had a choice, and

beyond that she knew she needed medical attention.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she focused on removing her

makeshift garments and lay down on the table, staring up at
the ceiling and trying to block out the certainty that both men
were looking her over with eyes that missed nothing.

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The medic set the scanner and took up a position in front

of the vid as the instrument began its trek down her body.
Surreptitiously, Bronte watched his face, although what she
thought he might give away of his thoughts she had no idea.
Professionals in general were trained to keep their thoughts
to themselves to keep from alarming a patient unnecessarily
so it wasn't at all likely that the medic would give anything
away even if he saw something. And, considering he was a
cyborg, it was only that much less likely he would be horrified
by anything he saw.

The scanner stopped at her toes. "First scan complete,"

the computer announced. The scanner began the back scan.

Bronte's thoughts shifted abruptly to the one thing that

had been worrying her for weeks. Try though she might to
keep her thoughts from affecting her, she felt her heart rate
pick up with anxiety a split second before the computer
announced it.

"You have nanos," the medic said. There was no noticeable

nuance of surprise in his voice but the fact that he'd
announced it at all meant he was.

Bronte swallowed with an effort against the dryness in her

throat. "Yes. I was hurt in the crash. Gideon, Jerico, and
Gabriel all contributed some of their nanos to keep me alive."

"They have repaired the damage from the crash."
They'd also, to her certain knowledge, repaired her

defective eyesight. When he stopped the scan over her
abdomen, she waited for him to tell her what else the little
bastards had been up to once they'd run out of things to fix.

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Despite her certainty that he wouldn't give anything away,

he did. She just wasn't certain what his expression denoted
as he studied the screen with frowning intensity. "Gestating,"
he finally said slowly, flicking a glance at Caleb.

Bronte followed the direction of the medic's gaze, stared at

the taut faced soldier a moment and looked at the medic
again while that slowly sank in. "Are you sure?" she
demanded, tensing to sit up to look at the monitor herself and
then forcing herself to relax again.

The medic looked at her strangely. "I am certain. There

are three. This makes it difficult to ascertain time elapsed."

Bronte stared at him blankly. "Three what?"
His face went taut, his lips tightening. "Cyborg/human

fetuses."

Bronte thought for several moments she would faint. She

closed her eyes as the shock rolled over her in a cold wave.
Instead of fainting, however, she burst into tears, sobbing
loudly in spite of her efforts to stem the excess of emotion. It
was ridiculous, she knew, to get so emotional over relief, but
she'd worked so hard to convince herself that she had to face
the likelihood that something was terribly wrong with her it
was as if the abrupt lifting of her certainty of horrible death
had broken the dam holding back everything she'd tried not
to feel. "I don't understand," she wailed when she finally
managed to find her voice. "The crash ... how could I still be
pregnant when I was hurt so badly? I was sure even if I had
been that it would've been terminated by the injuries."

Needless to say, the medic couldn't answer that question

any better than she could. She discovered, though, when

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she'd mopped the tears from her eyes so that she could see
that the medic and the soldier had retreated to the hallway
outside the examination room. It occurred to her abruptly
that they probably thought she'd come unhinged from
everything that had happened. She tried harder to regain
control over her emotions but it seemed beyond her. The dam
had broken and she had no control over the emotions pouring
out.

She more than half expected the medic to dash for a

sedative, but then she realized that probably wasn't
something they would keep on hand. They weren't human.
She doubted they'd ever dealt with hysteria. Eventually, it
leveled out on its own. She wasn't certain if that was because
she'd exhausted the pent up emotions or if it was the
realization that the two cyborgs were discussing her, but
when the soldier abruptly turned and disappeared, she
leashed the tears and began to regain some semblance of
calm.

Apparently heartened by that, the medic re-entered the

room. Grabbing up her clothes, he thrust them at her and
then pulled the scanner away so that she could sit up.

Revolted as she was at the necessity, she used one edge

of the material to mop her eyes and nose since no one had
thought to give her a tissue. She almost started crying all
over again at the sense of misuse that caused her.

She was among cyborgs, she thought miserably. No one

was going to understand or empathize with her situation.

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The medic waited until she dressed herself—or maybe he'd

just been waiting until she appeared calm enough to
understand him.

"The injury to the supporting structure of the leg has left

that area weakened, but there is new growth of cells there
and it appears that it will grow stronger as these cells reach
maturity. There is also a great deal of new cell growth in the
other area of injury, and the new cells have also not reached
full maturity. These will also be weak until they do mature
fully. There is some overall dehydration which will require
drinking liquids to replenish."

Bronte nodded, feeling pretty much divorced from

everything around her as her emotional turmoil left her.

The soldier reappeared in the doorway. "I am to take her

to her quarters if she is not in need of medical assistance."

The medic nodded. "I can not see anything to indicate that

her natural healing abilities and the assistance of her nanos
require interference. They are slow to do their job, but they
are performing adequately. She will need to use caution in
the use of the leg until it has grown stronger."

Bronte couldn't help but think he sounded almost

disappointed.

Caleb approached her. His gaze was on her face, but he

spoke to the medic. "She should not be allowed to walk to her
quarters then?"

Bronte glanced at the medic. "I need to walk on it to build

up the strength."

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He considered it. "Short distances only to begin with. If

you are building strength, then you must use it only a little at
first."

That, apparently, settled it as far as Caleb was concerned.

He scooped her off the table. Exhausted from her outburst,
Bronte struggled with the urge to slump against him for a few
minutes and then decided she was just too tired to care what
he would think about it and dropped her head to his shoulder
as they left the medical center again.

She was too tired to think, either. All she wanted was

privacy, a bed to lay down on ... maybe a bath and food, but
she wasn't as interested in either of those at the moment as
she was the bed and time alone, and that was the limit of her
interest in her quarters.

He took a new direction when they left the medical center.

This one passed through a section of the city where people
were stirring, she discovered.

They stared. She didn't know if it was because the soldier

was carrying her like a child, or if it was because they knew,
somehow, that she wasn't a cyborg ... or because they didn't
pass any women at all. Uneasiness pierced her apathy,
however, when she noticed and she tightened her arms
around the man's shoulders, hiding her face against his neck,
wishing she could vanish altogether.

By the time she'd decided they'd passed beyond inspecting

eyes and lifted her head to look around and see if she was
right, they'd traversed the blocks of the business area and
entered a residential section. Halfway down the block, the
man turned onto a precisely perpendicular walkway lined

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with, of all things, flowers, and was approaching a smallish
structure that looked like it must be a single family unit
dwelling. It looked too big for one, and too small to
accommodate living quarters for more than three or four
individuals.

Mounting several steps, he crossed an open, sheltered

area and entered.

Bronte looked around curiously when he set her on her

feet.

"These quarters were assigned to you," he said, lifting his

head and glancing around to encompass the large room with
his gaze. "This room is set aside for entertaining guests and
relaxation."

He paused long enough for her to examine the furnished

room briefly and then strode to a doorway opposite the
entrance. Feeling strangely detached and bemused, Bronte
followed him.

"There are two sleeping chambers," he continued. "One on

either side of the hallway and a private bath off of each of
those." He gestured toward the doors on either side of the
short hall, waited until Bronte had peered in both doorways
and then continued to the rear of the structure. "This area is
for food preparation, dining, and relaxed entertaining."

Bronte looked at everything he pointed out, trying to

absorb what he was telling her.

"A male doctor was anticipated so although care was taken

to provide comfort, it is not likely this will suit your needs, but
it is all that is available at the moment. When you choose
mates, they will provide a domicile large enough to

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accommodate a family unit. The office where you will work is
in the med center. You will be allowed time to rest, but it is
hoped that your health will allow you to begin working within
a few days."

Her mind snagged on the comment about mates. She'd

already opened her mouth to inform him she'd contracted
when sudden doubt stopped her. If he didn't know that when
he seemed to have been well informed of everything else,
then Gideon hadn't told them yet.

The argument she'd had with Gideon just before they were

rescued abruptly flooded her mind.

She hadn't meant it, though. She'd only said it because

she was afraid they wouldn't want her anymore if they found
out something was wrong with her.

They had to know she hadn't meant it!
"Are you hungry?"
The question distracted her from her thoughts. She met

his gaze for a long moment and looked away, glancing around
the food preparation area. "There's food?"

"The domicile was fully prepared for your arrival. There will

be clothing for you in the larger sleeping chamber. I will
prepare food while you bathe and dress."

She didn't know why he'd want to do that, or why he

would've been ordered to do so, she supposed, but the
suggestion that she bathe and change hit fertile soil. Nodding
absently, she turned and moved carefully back down the
short hall. She didn't realize he'd followed her until she'd
pulled the makeshift top off and turned around to discard it.

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A jolt went through her when she saw him standing in the

doorway of the bath.

He looked her over frankly and then crossed the room to

inspect the window. "Unattached females are generally
quartered in a secure location," he said by way of explanation
as he turned to her again.

That statement, as coolly as it was delivered, carried

connotations that pierced her apathy. "Am I safe here?" she
asked uneasily.

"Yes. I am to guard you and to report any unauthorized

attempts to enter your quarters. We are only ten minutes
from the barracks. Assistance can be summoned quickly if
deemed necessary."

Oh that was really comforting! "Why would you need

assistance?" she asked uneasily.

"I should not."
She crossed her arms over her breasts as it finally filtered

into her mind that his gaze hadn't lifted to her face since he'd
turned to look at her. The movement seemed to break the
spell. He met her gaze. "Why do you think you might need
help?"

"I do not."
Frustration joined her anxiety. "What threat are you

guarding me against?" she tried again.

"Hopefully none."
"Why do I need a guard at all, then?" she demanded,

beginning to wonder if he wasn't there to protect her at all
but rather to keep her prisoner.

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He tilted his head curiously. "Because you are a female ...

and you are a person of primary interest to the people
besides."

Trying to communicate with the cyborgs was a little like

beating one's head on a brick wall. They spoke absolutely
directly to every question without elaborating one iota and
actually providing any information. Either they just didn't
grasp the subtle nuances beyond the specific question, or
they deliberately ignored them.

"Are you going to stand over me and watch me while I

bathe?" she demanded testily.

Something flickered in his eyes. As quick as thought, she

saw a flash of desire, and then it was extinguished just as
abruptly. "I can if you wish it."

Her lips tightened. "Well, I don't wish it!"
He nodded and strode from the bathroom.
She waited until she heard sounds from the food

preparation center and then removed the loincloth and
examined the bathing unit. Like those on the ship she'd
grown accustomed to, this also used water. After adjusting
the temperature, she stepped beneath the spray and simply
stood allowing the water to pelt her for a while before she
finally, reluctantly, looked around for soap to wash with. The
scent was delicate, cleaning smelling and pleasure welled
within her as she took up the bathing cloth provided and
scrubbed herself thoroughly and then washed her hair.

As good as it was to feel really clean, the longer she

stayed the more drained she felt of emotion and energy. She
was almost tempted to curl up on the floor of the unit and go

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to sleep. Rousing herself finally, she shut the water off and
got out. Too weary to make much of an attempt at drying,
she patted the drying cloth over herself haphazardly and
wandered back into the sleeping chamber to look around for
the clothes Caleb had mentioned.

There was a clothes locker built into the wall next to the

bath that was large enough to walk in to. About a dozen
medical uniforms had been hung in a neat, precise row—and
all of them were big enough it didn't take a great deal of
thought to figure out they'd been meant for a man—her
father. There were other garments folded neatly on shelves.
Deciding it must be underclothes, she took the garments out
and examined them.

There wasn't much to them, she discovered, but it was

easy enough to see that one triangle of fabric was intended to
cover her genitals and the double 'patch' like garment was for
her breasts. She was studying the swatch of cloth she was
apparently expected to cover her femininity with when Caleb
returned to check her progress. She covered herself with her
hands instinctively when he appeared in the door way.

"Uh ... these don't look very familiar," she said

uncomfortably.

"They are designed to enhance the womanly figure. This

goes here," he said plucking the triangular shaped garment
from her hands and pointing to her mound. "This covers these
pretty things."

Bronte's jaw went slack with stunned surprise when he

casually reached out and cupped a breast in either hand. He'd
already withdrawn his hands, however, by the time she

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recovered enough from her shock to consider slapping his
hands away. "I will help you."

Bronte snatched the garment out of his hands. "I don't

think so! I can figure it out by myself—could, if I wanted to. I
think I'd just as soon wear the uniform without them."

"The uniform will not fit. It is male clothing in any case.

These were brought when we reported that a female doctor
had been brought instead of a male as expected."

Bronte's eyes widened. "I'm expected to wear only this?"
"There are skirts, as well," he informed her pulling one

from the shelf and displaying it.

She could've read a book through it—both sides! "What is

that for?"

"Allure."
Somehow, if everything the men had told her was true,

she doubted the women needed to worry about enhancing
their femininity by going around the next thing to naked!
They could've looked like ... trogs and she was pretty sure the
males would still have been just as interested. "I think I'll
wear the uniforms anyway," she said mutinously. "My men
wouldn't like me wearing anything like this," she added
pointedly, tossing the skimpy garments back on the shelf and
grabbing one of the uniforms.

"Your men?"
She didn't look at him. She was too busy climbing into the

jumpsuit. Caleb was a gorgeous male. There was no doubt
about that, and she could see he was way more interested
than just a little. She didn't want to tell him about the
contracts because she was worried that they might get into

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trouble, and because she had this awful fear that Gideon
might have taken her seriously when she'd suggested he
throw the contracts away. But he needed to know that she
was taken and off limits.

"I contracted with Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel before we ...

uh ... crashed."

He was frowning, she saw, when she finally glanced at

him.

"There is food," he said instead of acknowledging what

she'd told him or responding to it in any way beyond the
frown, which could've meant anything.

She didn't know why it unnerved her.
She decided she wasn't really up to another attempt to pry

information out of him, though. It would be better anyway,
she decided, to talk to Gideon and the others about it before
she ran her mouth and, possibly, got them into trouble—or
embarrassed herself. She needed to talk to them and make
sure they hadn't taken what she'd said literally.

He'd fixed food for both of them, she saw when she'd

followed him back into the preparation area. Two plates full of
steaming food, two place settings, and two glasses awaited
them on the dining table. Taking the chair he pointed out, she
studied the abundance doubtfully, wondering if he thought
she needed that much food.

It tasted surprisingly good. She wasn't certain if that was

because she was so hungry, because she'd had nothing but
reconstituted food or unseasoned wild game for so long, or if
he was just a very good cook, but it was delicious and she ate
far more than she'd thought she could. By the time she'd

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eaten all she could hold, all she could think about was
crawling into the big bed waiting in the sleeping chamber.

Thanking him, she got up and did just that.

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Chapter Twenty Two

"Guard!" Gideon bellowed when he ran out of patience.

"There is news about my woman?"

The man standing at attention at the door that led from

the cell block ignored him.

"Asshole!" Gideon ground out. The man turned to glare at

him at that and Gideon parted his lips in a feline grin that
lacked any humor. "I did not know that was your name!"

"We have been here ten hours!" Jerico snarled. "There

would be news by now about my woman!"

"You do not have a woman!" the guard said coldly, curling

his lips at them in a way that made all three men surge
against the door as if they could reach him.

"Do not be an asshole!" Gabriel growled. "They took her to

the med center to check her. Just tell us that Bronte is
alright!"

The guard went back to ignoring them and after a few

moments, Gideon pushed away from the door and began
pacing. Jerico and Gabriel alternated between threats and
bribes for a while longer and finally gave up, as well. Moving
to the stacked bunks at one end of the general holding cell
the three of them occupied, they sat down to watch Gideon
pace.

"I have never cared for the brig," Jerico said after a while

to no one in particular. "It seems to me that they go to a
great deal of trouble to make the cells as uncomfortable as
possible. I can not imagine why anyone would manufacture

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beds designed to be uncomfortable. Does this seem logical to
you?"

Gabriel stared at him thoughtfully. "The brig on Ben-Tavo

was not half bad," he replied after a few moments.

Jerico frowned. "That one was a pigsty!" he spat. "You are

thinking of the one on Ralo."

Gabriel glared at him. "I know which one I am thinking of!"
"Well you are light here," Jerico retorted, tapping his head,

"from too many blows to the skull plate! That one was worse
than the brig on Paq-312!"

Gabriel punched him in the mouth. Jerico reeled

backwards, caught himself, and sat up again, spitting a
mouthful of blood on the floor.

"Knock it off!" Gideon ground out. "We agreed not to bring

up Gabriel's head wound and he is entirely recovered so there
is no point in doing so!"

Jerico looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I still think it

is Ralo that you were thinking of," he muttered after a
moment.

Gabriel frowned. "Why do you think they have put us in

the brig, Gideon?"

Gideon stopped pacing and stared at him for a moment.

"We wrecked the ship, Gabriel."

Gabriel's brow cleared for a moment before he frowned

again. "That is not at all reasonable. We were not doing
anything we should not have. It was an accident."

Gideon shrugged. "I had thought it likely that we would

end in the brig for convincing Bronte to contract with us, but

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they have refused even to acknowledge that, so it can not be
that."

"You did not say that before!" Gabriel said indignantly.

"Did he tell you that we would have to spend time in the brig
for his plan? Because I am sure he did not tell me!"

Jerico thought it over. "I do not recall that he did, but that

is hardly the point, Gabriel! We almost always end in up the
brig when we follow Gideon's plans. You know that!"

Gideon stopped pacing and turned to glare at them. "We

almost never end up in the brig because of my plans!"

Gabriel and Jerico exchanged a speaking glance.
Gideon's lips tightened. "Name one!"
"Now," Jerico and Gabriel said in unison.
"Besides now," Gideon said irritably.
Jerico and Gabriel frowned thoughtfully. "There was the

time on Lockmead when you thought that it would be a good
idea to borrow the Major's vehicle to visit the whore house in
the village so that we could see what it was like to have a
woman pleasure us for a change," Gabriel said presently.

"And the time when you suggested that we see what

getting drunk was like and ended up clearing the bar...."

"Never mind," Gideon ground out, stalking to the door of

the cell again. "Guard! Three months pay! Only call the med
center and see what they have found out about my ...
Bronte!"

"Three months!" Jerico exclaimed.
Gideon didn't glance at him. "One each."
"You might ask!" Gabriel said indignantly.

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Gideon turned to look at him. "You do not want to know

about Bronte?"

"Yes, but...."
"Six!" Gideon offered when the guard didn't even turn

around.

The guard turned to look at him that time.
"We have four each coming to us. Just find out what the

med tech discovered."

The guard's lips curled. "You crashed the ship—one of the

fastest we have. They are not going to pay you."

Gideon frowned and turned to look at Jerico and Gabriel.

"Do you have any credits saved?"

"I have a month," Gabriel offered.
Gideon looked at Jerico. Jerico shrugged. "I do not have

more than half a month."

Gideon's lips thinned. "What have you spent your money

on?" he demanded.

Jerico gave him a look. "You know that I was courting

Rose."

"And look where that has gotten us!" He turned to the

guard again. "Four months credit," he offered.

"You are wasting your breath," the guard said. "You are to

have no outside contact at all until they have finished
debriefing you."

Gideon stared at the man in disbelief for several moments

and finally slammed his fist into the door. Turning away from
the door, he began to pace again.

"It is her belly?" Jerico asked after watching him for a

while.

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Gideon stopped to stare at him absently for several

moments. "She was afraid," he said finally. "She would not
tell me what she was afraid of."

"You think it is something very bad?" Gabriel asked.
"She would not be afraid unless it was!" Gideon snapped

angrily.

"You do not think the med tech could fix this problem?"

Gabriel pursued worriedly.

Gideon considered it for a moment. "Yes," he responded

after some thought, looking mildly relieved. "She was not as
worried. She believed that it was something that could be
repaired, and she would know. I am certain of that. She will
be alright," he muttered to himself.

"You may be easy in your mind then," Jerico said.
Gideon glared at him. "I would be easy in my mind if I

knew. I do not like only thinking a thing is something but not
knowing!"

"Logically...."
"Do not speak to me about logic, Jerico!" Gideon growled.

"Not when it concerns Bronte! You know she can not be
trusted to do the reasonable or logical thing! One can only
trust logic when it pertains to things that have no will to
behave illogically! And even if not for that, there is always
chance.

"What were the odds, do you think, that we would be

struck by a meteor that would do so much damage to the
ship? One in a million? One in ten million? Or that the
proximity censors would fail? Or the alert? I am not certain
which failed, only that there was no warning and no reason

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that either should fail at all! It is no wonder that they believe
we are responsible for the crash."

"I do not like leaving her alone," Gabriel put in after a

time.

"I do not like that she may not be alone!" Jerico retorted

heatedly.

Gideon seized him by the throat and hauled him off the

bunk. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

Glaring at him, Jerico tried to pry his hand lose. When that

failed, he punched Gideon in the gut. Taking advantage of
Gideon's slackened grip, he slammed his forearm against
Gideon's and broke his hold altogether. "I mean that she is
out there and we are in here and we can not prevent anyone
who pleases from courting her!"

"She would not consider them. She is contracted with us!"

Gabriel said angrily, bounding off the bunk himself just as
Gideon, who'd abruptly remembered that Bronte had
suggested breaking the contract, slammed his fist into Jerico's
mouth.

Jerico staggered back several feet, caught himself and

swung at Gideon. Gideon ducked and Jerico's fist connected
with Gabriel instead. Within moments the three of them were
trading insults and fists. The stamp of a dozen running feet
penetrated the red haze of battle moments before the cell
door was jerked open. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel exchanged
a brief look of triumph and, their eyes filled with unholy glee,
turned on the guards detached to break up the brawl.

The melee lasted a good twenty minutes, but since the

men had already expended a good bit of energy on each

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other and the guards outnumbered them two to one, the
outcome wasn't unexpected. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel were
dragged from the general holding cell and tossed into
individual cells.

Jerico wavered on his feet for several moments after he'd

been thrust into his cell and finally fell face down on the
narrow bunk. "This is good," he muttered against the
mattress. "Now that I am relaxed, I believe I can sleep."

Gideon settled on the edge of his bunk, massaging his jaw

with one hand and his bruised mid-section with the other.

Gabriel looked around his cell and finally staggered to his

bunk and fell in it. After a few moments, he muttered, "I
would sleep better if I could cuddle Bronte."

Gideon turned his head to glare at his friend across the

way but finally decided to ignore him and lay down on his
own cot. Staring at the ceiling, he tried not to think about
whether or not Bronte had meant it when she'd spoken of
breaking the contract.

* * * *

Bronte roused every time she heard the unfamiliar tread

close by. Sometimes, if she couldn't see who it was, she'd lift
her head and look around. If it took no more than cracking an
eyelid, though, she didn't bother to move. She was too
groggy to feel like wrestling with why Caleb might feel the
need to check on her, or to check the windows, but since she
recognized him she wasn't alarmed.

She was thoroughly disoriented by the time she woke.

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As she drifted lazily between total awareness and the urge

to go back to sleep, she realized she felt better than she could
remember feeling in a very long time. She just didn't know
why. Her mind began to churn with memories, though, and
finally brought her fully awake.

The room she found herself staring at looked completely

unfamiliar, and she allowed her gaze to wander over the
unrecognizable features and furnishings until she finally
recalled ... everything.

She wasn't dying from some life threatening growth in her

belly brought about by confused nanos. She was pregnant!

A tentative joy budded inside of her at the thought before

it wilted under the sudden realization that the medic had said
three.

Maybe she'd misunderstood him?
That was taking the good news just a little too damned far!
It would explain why she'd had a noticeable bulge so

quickly, though.

He'd definite said three, she thought, trying to decide

whether that was good news or not. She'd wanted a baby—
emphasis on a—not a—litter!

She couldn't believe she'd been so caught up in her relief

to discover the news wasn't what she'd expected that she
hadn't really registered what the medic had said about the
babies.

Her lips curled slightly. Gideon, Jerico, and Gabriel were

going to be stunned.

The smile fell. They hadn't come back from the barracks

yet. It seemed to her that they would've had time, that they

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would've been anxious to find out about her. Surely, they
would've finished talking to whoever they had to talk to and
come to the med center and found out where she was?

It was daylight outside. She couldn't begin to judge the

time of day, but it didn't look like weak early morning light.

"You are awake?"
Jolted from her thoughts, Bronte sat up, discovering in the

process that she didn't have a stitch of clothes on. Grabbing
the cover, she yanked it up and eyed Caleb suspiciously. "I
don't remember undressing!"

"You did not."
He didn't even have the grace to look the least bit

embarrassed or contrite!

"Then how did I get undressed?" she demanded.
"I undressed you."
She gave him a look, wondering how she could possibly

have slept through that. Jog her mind though she might,
however, she couldn't really recall anything after she'd eaten
except crawling into the bed. "Why did you do that?"

He tilted his head curiously. "You did not wish to wear your

uniform to sleep?"

Her lips tightened. "I would've taken it off if I'd wanted it

off!"

He nodded. "This is an Earth custom? It seems

unnecessarily restrictive."

"It is not an Earth custom—at least ... Well, some people

sleep in sleeping clothes."

"Do you?"
"Ordinarily not."

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"Then this is no problem."
"It is a problem!"
"Why?"
"Do you always undress women while they're too out of it

with exhaustion to defend themselves?"

A slow grin curled his lips, making it impossible, despite

her irritation, to ignore the fact that he was really
exceptionally handsome. He was fair, though, like Gideon,
and she decided it was because he reminded her of Gideon.
Not that he looked anything like Gideon, but he was fair. "I
have not had the opportunity before."

"I thought you were supposed to guard me?"
"Yes."
She frowned at him. "Did they tell you just to help yourself

and do anything you wanted to?"

His dark brows drew together thoughtfully, as if he was

vaguely confused by her question. Finally, his brow cleared.
"No. But they did not say I could not look."

Bronte pursed her lips irritably. "Well! I hope you enjoyed

it!" she said indignantly.

"I did, thank you."
She reddened, trying to decide whether to laugh or throw

something at him. She decided it would be better to ignore
him. Flopping back onto her pillow, she pulled the cover over
her head. "How long did I sleep?"

"Twelve hours, seventeen minutes ... more or less."
Bronte sat up again and stared at him. "I was asleep that

long?" she gasped, staggered by the information.

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"More or less. You roused, but you did not wake. There is

food. Medic Brent said that I must see that you eat and drink
as much as you can and rest. You have rested. You must eat
now."

She didn't want to eat now. She'd been asleep for twelve

hours! Gideon and the others should've been back by now.
"Where are my companions?"

He frowned. She wasn't certain if it was because she'd

called them her companions and he didn't like it, or if there
was something he didn't want to tell her, but she was afraid it
was the latter.

"They are being debriefed."
That had to be wrong. "Still? Do you know that? Or do you

just think they must be?"

He crossed the room and opened her clothes locker,

studying the clothing inside. "I know this," he said coolly,
selecting the feminine garments she had ignored the night
before.

"I'm not wearing those!"
"All women wear these ... unless you wish to return to the

med center to work?"

"I want to go and find my companions!"
"You can not. They are being held."
That sounded worse than the debriefing. "Held?"
"Yes."
"Define held, damn it!"
"They are prisoners until it is decided whether command is

satisfied with their report or not."

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Bronte stared at him in dismay for several moments before

she could even think of anything else to ask. "What for? Have
they been charged with something?"

"Yes," he answered, handing her the clothes he'd selected

for her.

Bronte glared at his hand for a moment and finally

snatched the clothes from him. "I'm going to see them. I
need to talk to them."

"You will not be allowed to speak with them ... or to enter

the brig to see them."

Bronte wrestled with that information for several moments

and finally drew a shaky breath, trying to fight down her
anxiety and think. "Is it about the crash?"

"That is one thing."
"But ... that was an accident! Something hit the ship! How

could they be blamed for that?"

"Command will decide if they are to blame."
"I was there! I know what happened. Couldn't I talk to

whoever is in command and explain?"

"You will be called upon to do so."
Relief flooded her. "When?"
"I do not know. When they are ready, they will summon

you."

She wasn't happy with that. She wanted to go right that

moment and clear everything up.

She needed to talk to Gideon and make him understand

she hadn't meant it about breaking contract.

Well, she had, but it wasn't because she didn't care. It was

because she did. She'd been nearly as afraid that she

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wouldn't be capable of being a true companion/mate to them
as she had been that she was dying. She'd been afraid that
they'd be as disappointed in her as she was in herself. And
she'd thought it would be much better to break the
agreement herself than to hold them to it when they might
not want to be held, or to force them to break it themselves
because she wasn't capable of holding up her end of the
agreement.

Aside from that, she missed them. They'd been her

constant companions for months and far closer with her, even
though they hadn't been able to have sex, since the crash.
They'd slept close to her every single night, sharing their
body heat to keep her warm and comfortable. They'd tended
to her as if she was child, carried her, fed her themselves
when she was too weak to manage it on her own, bathed
her—helped her 'go' even though she'd hated not being able
to manage on her own.

It didn't matter anymore if they weren't capable of feeling

the same things she could. It didn't matter if they couldn't
actually feel love. They felt loyal, protective, and responsible,
and they acted accordingly. It might not actually be love, but
it felt like it. It was close enough to make her love them.

She ate because her body said she needed food even

though her spirit said she didn't and because she realized it
was more important than ever to make sure she had a good
diet.

Even if they were hurt and angry with her, she knew

they'd forgive her when they found out about the babies.
They wanted a family.

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Two of them were bound to be disappointed, though, she

realized, feeling her hopefulness plunge, and that was most
likely to be Gabriel and Jerico—certainly Gabriel. They'd only
had full penetration the once right before the crash, and she
was sure she must already have been pregnant then, several
weeks along at least, and that meant only Gideon or Jerico
could've fathered the babies.

It was strange that she had three. It was possible, but it

seemed unlikely that she would've released three eggs at
once. She hadn't been trying not to get pregnant, but she
hadn't taken anything to increase her fertility because she
hadn't even been dating anyone when they'd taken her. The
interference of the nanos must have caused the cells to
divide, she decided, which meant she'd lost one. Cells always
divided evenly.

She could still lose more. It was going to be very crowded

and they were going to be vying for what they needed. She
could lose all of them.

She tamped that thought. She wasn't going to borrow

trouble again! The med tech would've said something if
there'd seemed to be anything wrong.

She wondered if she was far enough along to determine

paternity, and then wondered if she should find out even if
she could. Who ever had fathered the babies would want to
know, but she hated the idea of disappointing the other two—
especially Gabriel. He always seemed to get the short stick,
no matter what.

She decided to go to the med center when she'd finished

eating. She didn't especially feel like working yet, but she

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didn't think she could just sit around twiddling her thumbs
and worrying about her companions' plight without going
crazy.

It was also a good excuse to get rid of the 'alluring'

women's clothes Caleb was determined for her to wear.

The men's med uniforms had disappeared, she discovered,

removed by Caleb no doubt while she was out of it and
replaced with uniforms closer to her size, which explained
some of his comings and goings while she was trying to sleep.

He insisted on carrying her. She reminded him that she

needed to walk and that she could judge for herself when
she'd had enough. He informed her that she was doing plenty
of walking around her quarters and would be once she got to
the med center and that was enough. When the med tech
said there was no further reason for concern, then he would
not interfere.

She let that go. He wasn't going to be around long enough

for that to be an issue. As soon as she was called to testify,
she'd explain everything and they'd let Gideon, Jerico, and
Gabriel go and then she wouldn't need a guard. She'd have
them.

She really hadn't intended to do anything at the med

center except examine the offices set aside for her use and
try to find out how she could get them to allocate what she
needed for it. Like her personal quarters, though, she found a
fully equipped office, right down to a receptionist and med
assistant—both male, which didn't surprise her.

What surprised her was that there were several women

waiting with babies.

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They all had the same complaint—the infants were weak,

unable to talk or walk, uncoordinated, so stupid they drooled
on themselves, toothless, and, in fact, incapable of doing
anything at all as far as they could see besides crying and
relieving themselves. They weren't even capable of feeding
themselves.

She thought the first report was a hoax, or a strange joke.

She realized very quickly, though, that these women were
cyborgs. They didn't joke, especially not about something as
appalling to them as what they'd reported.

After informing the mother that the baby was not only

amazingly strong for an infant, but exhibited every sign of
being exceptionally intelligent, she had the woman wait and
went and checked her other patients.

There was nothing wrong with the babies, at all.
The problem was with the mothers.
When she'd finished examining all of the babies, she

brought all the women back into the reception area and
conducted a brief parenting seminar. She wasn't prepared but
she explained the basics of care, handling, and feeding their
infants, explained that it was normal that infants were
helpless, not an indication that something was wrong with
them, and told them to come back in a week and she would
have a place readied where she could give them more
training.

When the women had finally left, she informed her

receptionist to see what he could do about finding additional
room for future parent training sessions and asked him if he
knew how to contact any women who were expectant

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mothers since she thought it was important for them to learn
as much as they could before they had their babies.

She was almost surprised the first babies had made it at

all considering the women didn't seem to have any clue of
what to do with them, but she supposed it was because the
babies, like their parents, were exceptionally strong and
intelligent.

It couldn't be avoided that the cyborgs had thought they'd

needed a specialist for their babies because they thought
something was wrong with them, when, in fact, there was
nothing wrong them and they would probably never need her.

The babies, she had discovered when she examined them,

had nanos of their own to protect them from pretty much
anything that could be thrown at them, and if the nanos
couldn't 'fix' whatever problems arose, she doubted she would
be able to.

She hoped the cyborgs weren't going to decide they had

no use for her when they realized that all she could contribute
was teaching the mothers the proper handling and care of
their infants.

It didn't seem to be anything they were going to realize

very quickly. Every day she went to her office she found more
women waiting for her, some expectant and others carrying
infants. And not just women and babies. The new or
expectant fathers arrived with the mothers and infants—
great, hulking dangerous looking brutes that looked far more
panic stricken than the women did whenever an infant was
thrust at them.

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Obviously, though, they either took fatherhood very

seriously, or their women expected them to take fatherhood
very seriously and they couldn't bring themselves to deny
their women whatever they wanted. The entire household
arrived to be instructed on the care of the smallest member
of the family unit, which meant that she quickly had three or
four times as many men than women and had to make
arrangements for parenting classes three times a week, and
then five to keep the groups small enough to give them
individual instructions.

Caleb watched her as assiduously as her companions had,

although he was obviously there to guard her from other
males, not the threat of trog attack. She knew he must have
orders, but she couldn't help but think he stretched the
parameters of those orders whenever it suited him.

He could've guarded her from outside her office. Instead,

he spent most of his time in the waiting room, except when
she and her assistant went into any of the examining rooms.
Then, she would discover him standing directly outside the
room when she came out again. She didn't know if he had a
particular reason for distrusting her male assistants or not.

There was no shortage of women for them to lust over in

her office. There might have been a shortage overall, but not
that she could tell.

For that matter, she didn't think the problem was one they

were going to have to worry about within a generation. The
ratio of male to female seemed pretty even, or at least not
nearly as uneven as the current situation reported to her.

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And she saw no reason to doubt that part. Not only was

every woman who came to her escorted by at least two men
and usually three or four, but on the streets, she almost
never saw a woman at all.

As busy as she was from the moment she decided to 'just

get started' by getting her office in order, Bronte couldn't
keep her thoughts at bay when she returned to her quarters
at night. Days dragged into a week and Bronte went from
anxious to beside herself with worry.

"What could possibly take so long to investigate?" she

finally demanded of Caleb.

"They have gone to the crash site to try to determine the

cause of the crash."

Bronte gave him a look. "The cause of the crash was

something breaking the tail section off!"

She thought for several moments that he would do as he

usually did and just allow her to stew over it.

"The proximity alert should have set off a warning in time

to avoid a collision."

Bronte stared at him, trying not to think of all the times

the men had brawled across the ship and the possibility that
the thing could've been damaged during one of those fights.
She didn't believe it was possible. Gideon might have been
very lax about things on board the ship, but none of them
had been any where near the control center at any time.
"Don't they ever malfunction?"

"Occasionally, but very rarely."
Bronte frowned. She wasn't about to mention any

possibility that might explain it that would make it seem any

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of the men had had anything to do with it—especially when
she didn't believe for a moment that they had.

Even if she had thought they'd damaged it she wouldn't

have said so.

"We were shot at when they took me," she said finally.
"The chances of a laser blast..." he began.
"No!" Bronte said, cutting him off. "Missiles. The military

was firing on us. At least two exploded close enough to send
a concussion through the ship. I thought the ship was going
to blow up."

This time his frown was more thoughtful. "I had not heard

that. That could have caused some damage, perhaps enough
for intermittent failure that would be hard to detect. It might
also have compromised the integrity of the hull, which would
explain why the meteor that struck caused such extensive
damage despite the shields."

Pleased and relieved that he, at least, seemed to be

considering that her companions weren't at fault, she looked
at him with more charity. "What else have you heard?"

Something flickered in his eyes. He seemed to debate with

himself for several moments. "They have produced no
contracts. It is likely the council would have dismissed it even
if they had, however. They were not ordered not to try to
coerce you into contracting with them because it was not
anticipated that they would seize a woman, and yet they were
well aware that they were not honoring the letter of their
command and that they would be ordered to stand down if it
was known that they had taken a woman. They failed to
protect you as they should have, even if the crash was

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completely accidental and through no dereliction of duty.
They did not care for you as they should have or you would
not have been in such poor health when you were finally
turned over to us. And they raped you."

Bronte had been staring at him with fear, disbelief, and

growing anger as he produced the charges against them, but
the last was outrageous enough to leave her gasping. "They
did not rape me!" she said angrily.

He tilted his head, studying her through narrowed eyes. "I

saw myself that you were hysterical when you were told that
they had impregnated you."

Bronte felt so weak with sheer horror that she thought for

several moments that she would faint or be sick. "You told
them that?"

"The med tech reported it," he said tightly. "I did not.

Though I would have had he not."

Her chin wobbled. "He was wrong! That wasn't it at all! He

didn't understand! Oh god!"

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Chapter Twenty Three

How to explain to people who didn't experience the

ravages emotions could visit upon you that they'd completely
misinterpreted hysterical relief for hysterical trauma? Another
woman would've understood. She thought maybe even the
cyborg women would've been able to understand the mood
swings associated with pregnancy. Compound those with
what she'd been through and surely any woman could
completely relate to that kind of breakdown. Even if they
were better at controlling themselves, they'd understand the
need to let it out, the difficulty of holding all that in.

If she'd tried to explain it to a human man he wouldn't

have understood.

She thought the cyborg males were even less likely to

understand.

It didn't help that they didn't seem to experience fear and

had no reason to understand health issues since they didn't
really have those either.

How was she supposed to have known they'd interpret it

that way? It hadn't occurred to her—at all—or she would've
said something before, tried to do something about it. She
certainly hadn't said anything to make them think any of her
companions had hurt her in any way!

She'd thought they were being held for fairly basic

questioning procedures. She hadn't liked it. She'd thought it
was going on far longer than it should have, but she'd still
thought it was the sort of thing pretty much any pilot and

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crew would be subjected to if they'd crashed such an
expensive and hard to replace piece of equipment.

"It wasn't that!" she said tearfully. "It wasn't anything

they'd done—at least not with the intention of hurting me! I
would've died in the crash if they hadn't given me their
nanos. There was nothing else they could've done except just
let me die. I knew that, but I also knew the nanos weren't
designed for humans. When the wound healed but the knot
started growing in my stomach I thought it was something
horrible wrong with me and I was scared silly. But all I could
do was worry about it. I couldn't do anything, and they
couldn't do anything to help me if it was a tumor of some
kind.

"And when I found out it wasn't something horrible at all,

but babies, I just ... lost it—lost control of everything I'd been
trying to be strong about. I know you probably don't
understand and it probably sounds crazy, but it's true.

"Can't you go to them and explain that? I don't care what

you tell them. Tell them I'm crazy! Tell them I'm stupid! Tell
them it's because I'm pregnant and pregnant women just go
to pieces for silly things that don't mean anything. Just don't
let them think they hurt me, because they didn't!"

He listened, but she didn't think he believed her. She knew

he didn't when he spoke. "You are afraid of them."

"I'm afraid for them," she disputed angrily, "not of them!

This is a nightmare! Please! Can't you talk to someone and
try to get this straightened out? It's just a misunderstanding."

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He shook his head. "I will try, but I must tell you that it

will do no good. They will summon you to speak when they
are ready to hear more, and not before that."

A mixture of hope and dismay filled her. "But they will let

me speak? They'll give me the chance to straighten this out?"

He sent her a wry glance. "They will question you until

they are satisfied that they have the truth ... Just as they are
questioning your companions now and examining the
wreckage. They are well aware of the human propensity for
lies and deceit. They will not merely listen and accept
whatever you choose to tell them."

That sounded ominous and it scared her more, but she had

told him the truth. They'd never done anything she didn't
want them to.

Well, maybe they'd gone just a little overboard with

teasing and she hadn't actually liked that, or rather she
hadn't liked them teasing her and then withholding the
release, but she'd still enjoyed it right up until they'd left.
She'd forgiven them for that when she'd finally understood
the big lugs thought they had to go to those lengths to
convince her to contract with them.

As she worked the first shock off she remembered Caleb

had said they hadn't produced the contracts. Had they
disposed of the contracts because of the argument and now
had nothing to back up a claim that she'd been willing? Or
had they disposed of the contracts because they thought she
was the one accusing them of all those things?

She wasn't allowed to see or talk to them. They might

have been too angry to talk to her even if she'd been allowed,

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but as it was she certainly couldn't even try to work things
out.

She shrugged that off. It didn't matter. It was something

they could work out after they got out of the brig. All that
mattered was convincing their superiors that they'd done
everything they should have and nothing they shouldn't have.

She would have to control her wayward emotions, no

matter how afraid or upset she got when they questioned her.
They weren't going to be impressed, at all, if she broke down
and cried. She could see Caleb just thought her emotionalism
was more proof that they'd traumatized her, not proof of their
innocence.

* * * *

"Do you think that Bronte is alright?" Gabriel asked for

perhaps the hundredth time.

Gideon gritted his teeth and held onto his temper with an

effort. "I do not know any more than you do, Gabriel."

"Yes, but what do you think?"
Gabriel scrubbed a hand over his face and turned to pace

his cell again, two paces across and three back. When he
reached his cot, he threw himself down on it. "They took her
to the med center. They will have treated her," he said finally.

"Why did you argue with her that last day? What did you

argue about?" Jerico demanded from his cell on the other side
of Gabriel's.

Gideon swallowed against a hard knot that felt like a fist in

his throat. "I was angry and she became angry. I do not recall
why."

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"You can not have forgotten unless your memory chip was

damaged in the crash," Jerico snarled angrily.

"It will do us no good if we are at each other's throats,"

Gideon growled. "We are already accused of a complete lack
of discipline!"

"This is worse than being confined on the damned ship for

months on end!" Jerico said irritably.

"Aye, else I would have knocked your teeth down your

throat long before now," Gideon snapped.

"You may have tried!"
"What I do not understand is why she has not tried to

come to see us," Gabriel put in. "She must still be angry with
you."

Gideon sat up abruptly, dropping his feet over the side of

his cot and caught his head in his hands. "I accused of her of
being in breach because she would not say what she thought
was wrong and she said that I should break the contract."

Neither Jerico nor Gabriel spoke for several moments.
"She did not mention that she would break with me and

Jerico, though, did she?" Gabriel asked.

Gideon dropped his hands and slid a narrow eyed glare at

Gabriel in the cell across from him. "Gabriel, I will strangle
you with my bare hands.... "He broke off abruptly. "It would
not matter what she had said if that twice damned tablet had
not broken! Now she is angry and we do not have the
contracts!"

"I do not believe they tried to recapture the missing data!"

Jerico put in, instantly diverted by his anger over that matter.
"I would not put it past them to have tampered with the

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tablet and destroyed the documents before we could record
them with the hall of records! They took one look at our
beautiful Bronte and decided that she would suit them!"

"They will guard her."
"But not for us. They will guard her from us!" Gideon

growled.

A prolonged silence fell. "I miss cuddling with her," Gabriel

said morosely. "I had not thought I liked it that much but now
I can not think of much else when I try to sleep. It is like
something is gone that should be there."

Gideon shot from his cot and began to pace again.
"Do not start that again, Gabriel!" Jerico snarled. "Or I will

help Gideon throttle you when we get out of here!"

"They will not allow her to come," Gideon said finally.
"Why would they not?" Gabriel demanded indignantly.
"Because we have claimed and we have no proof," Gideon

retorted tiredly, returning to his cot and settling on it again.

"If you are right, and it is not that Bronte does not want to

see us, then mayhap we can convince her to sign with us
again when we get out," Gabriel said hopefully.

Gideon dropped an arm across his eyes. "Mayhap—if we

have not already lost her before they allow us to leave."

* * * *

It was all very well to tell herself that she must be calm,

cool, and collected when she finally got her chance to speak
for her men. It was another matter entirely to spend the
better part of two weeks agonizing over the situation and the
disaster she'd be facing if she failed and then still be calm.

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She thought she might have handled it better if they

hadn't brought Gideon and Gabriel and Jerico into the
chamber wearing prison uniforms and manacles. Seeing them
at all was enough to throw her completely off kilter, but to
see them like that, as if they'd already been convicted of what
they'd been accused of, made her long to leap from her seat
and rush from the room to cry her eyes out.

Because she could not cry in front of the investigating

committee, she told herself angrily.

By the time she had regained her self-control enough to

venture a peek at them, all three had been seated and were
staring stonily at the men presiding over the hearing.

Caleb, seated beside her, divided a look between her and

the men. She refused to meet his gaze when she felt him
studying her, but she knew what was running through his
mind. He thought she wouldn't look at them because she was
afraid of them, not because she was afraid she would ruin
everything.

She was afraid the men sitting in judgment on them would

think the same thing, but at least they would still doubt.

Maybe if she leapt to her feet and ran to embrace them,

she thought a little wildly? Wouldn't that prove she wasn't
afraid of them? And if she wasn't, then nothing they'd thought
could be true?

Or would they just think she'd lost her mind?
She calmed somewhat when they began by asking her

questions about the crash. She'd thought through everything,
over and over, carefully piecing her memories together until
she was certain she could answer all of their questions

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without getting rattled. She had decided, after Caleb's nasty
remark, that she would be very careful to tell the absolute
truth in every instance.

Unless things seemed to be going badly and then she

would lie through her teeth and tell them whatever sounded
good.

There were three men sitting on the committee—the three

highest ranking of the entire colony according to Caleb—
who'd been kind enough to point out that this was the one
and only opportunity to settle the matter, one way or
another. They looked hard, and cold, and completely
uncompromising.

She had a bad feeling that being human wasn't going to

make points with them.

It was first time since she'd arrived that she'd felt

completely alien. The fact that they were all cyborgs had
never been far from the back of her mind at any time, and
yet watching them go about their daily lives with the same
focus on their personal concerns as the citizens in any other
city she'd been lulled into a sense of only being a stranger in
a new city, hadn't felt like a complete outsider until now.

"How long after the first sound of the proximity alarm

before the meteor struck?"

The question jolted Bronte out of her self-absorption and

she looked at the man who'd asked the question wide-eyed
for several moments while she scrambled to focus.

If he hadn't been so scary looking, she thought he

would've been very attractive—he was certainly handsome,
but dark in a way that went beyond dangerous—which

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actually didn't surprise her. He was a national hero to the
cyborgs, high commander of their armed forces now—Reuel,
the first to go rogue according to legend and the one who'd
united the rogues and formed them into a fighting unit that
could have wiped out the human race if he'd been so inclined.

It had to say a great deal for him that he'd led them here

instead, far enough from the people that were their enemies
to have a chance of peace since there was no chance of
peaceful co-existence.

"I don't have an internal clock," she stammered, and then

wished she hadn't reminded them she wasn't like they were.
"But no more than a few moments, certainly. Gideon had only
had time to ask the computer the direction and velocity when
it hit."

"There was no alarm prior to that?"
"No."
"The alarm was disengaged."
"Then, when it went off the one and only time, and that

was to make it possible for Gideon and Gabriel and Jerico to
communicate with one another."

"Master Sergeant Caleb has reported to this committee

that you stated the ship came under fire at the time it left
Earth."

Surprise flickered through her that he'd gone to them as

he'd promised. She fought the urge to glance at him. "Yes."

"But there was no damage?"
"Not that I was aware of," Bronte said pointedly, resisting

the urge to offer Caleb's theory, hoping he'd done so when he
mentioned it to them.

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"But you believe there could have been?"
Bronte shrugged. "I'm a doctor not an engineer. All I know

is that both explosions were very close and the concussions
caused violent tremors in the ship."

"Was there an attempt by the captain and crew to extort a

commitment from you to contract with them on co-
habitation?"

The man to Reuel's right barked that question out at her,

catching her so completely unguarded that she couldn't
prevent a rush of blood to her cheeks. "Not that I was aware
of," she lied. She'd promised herself she wouldn't and yet she
found she was extremely reluctant to discuss something that
intimate and personal in such a setting.

"No promises? No threats? But they did discuss the

possibility with you?"

Bronte's stomach coiled into a knot and tried to strangle

her as the one question she thought most critical was
dropped in her lap. "They asked me if I would contract with
them, promised all the sort of things men usually promise a
woman, and I said yes.... And we did contract," she added.

She relaxed a little when they didn't pursue it. Instead the

man to Reuel's left, the High Councilor, Damon, asked her to
recount her capture and, when she'd finished, asked her to
tell them about her captivity on board the ship.

She hadn't anticipated the line of questioning and

stumbled over her testimony because she wasn't certain what
to say that would make it sound as if they'd been doing what
they were supposed to and at the same time unthreatening to
her. They couldn't have been ordered to hold her in a cell, she

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reasoned, because there wasn't one, and yet she was uneasy
about telling them she'd had the run of the ship from the
beginning. She compromised by pointing out that she'd never
been left alone, at any time.

Lie number two.
Kane, whom Caleb had said was the head of the

Department of Socio-Economic development, went back to
picking apart the claim that there'd been a contractual
agreement between her and the crew, which led Bronte to
hope that Gideon and the others had acknowledged the
contract.

Assuming Caleb hadn't also told them she'd said they were

companions.

Reuel drew her back to the crash.
Damon followed by asking at what point she'd been

informed of the reason she'd been taken.

They went round and round, jumping from one subject to

another and then back again to ask her the same questions
over and over, each time subtly changed, but still the same
question until she began to wonder if they were even listening
to her answers.

Caleb had warned her they would pick everything apart

until they were certain they had the truth. She didn't care if
that was what they did because the truth was they hadn't
done anything wrong, but she was worried that the 'truth'
they arrived at wouldn't be the real truth.

And yet the longer they questioned her the more tired she

was and the more unnerved and fearful until it became harder
and harder to respond carefully and make certain that none of

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her answers could be twisted to mean something she hadn't
intended.

After hours of questioning, when she'd finally reached a

point of exhaustion and shattered nerves that she couldn't
focus at all any more, they began to pelt her with one
question after another so rapidly that she didn't even have
time to think of a response, let alone answer, before they hit
her with another one. Terrified she'd say the wrong thing, she
stopped answering at all, glancing from one man to another
with each new question, but merely staring at him while she
tried to formulate an answer.

"Why were you so distraught at the med center if you were

not mistreated in captivity?"

"Why would you willingly agree to contract with your

captors unless they had threatened you with harm?"

"They turned off the proximity detector because they were

preoccupied with non military matters, were they not?"

When they finally halted the barrage of questions, Bronte

merely stared at them, trying to sort them in her mind and
decide which to answer and how to answer them. Finally, she
turned to look straight at Gideon and Gabriel and Jerico for
the first time, meeting each of their gazes for several
moments. She'd failed them. She knew she had. "I'm sorry,"
she said when Gideon met her gaze.

"You do not answer to them! You have no need to fear

them. It is clear they are guilty on all counts and they are
unlikely ever to be released again."

Bronte turned to look at Damon, and then Reuel and Kane,

her fear and distress instantly transformed into rage. "You ...

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assholes!" she yelled at them, coming to her feet. "I am not
afraid of them! I love them and that is why I agreed to
contract with them! And you should be ashamed even to
question their loyalty or their integrity! You can lock me up,
too! Or send me home, because there is no way in hell I'm
ever going to trust any of you or willingly do a damned thing
for any one of you!"

Reuel's eyes narrowed on her. "You are overly emotional

because you are human ... and you are gestating. Otherwise,
I might take exception."

Wondering how her companions had taken that

announcement of impending fatherhood, Bronte glanced at
them quickly. Gabriel and Jerico were merely staring at her
blankly and she wasn't sure if they'd even caught that part.
Mostly, she was fairly certain, they were just so stunned and
appalled that she'd called their respected leaders assholes
that they couldn't think beyond that. Gideon was another
matter. His gaze was riveted to her belly and there was no
doubt in her mind that he was reeling. She just couldn't tell if
he welcomed the announcement or not.

"If you care for your companions as you claim," Reuel

went on, "how could you have so little concern for their off-
spring?"

"That's as unjust as any of the rest of this!" she said

angrily. "How can I set the needs of my babies above the
needs of my companions when it's the same thing? They need
their fathers! I need them! They did not disobey any of their
orders. They didn't do anything wrong!" She swallowed
convulsively, studied them hopefully and then, in desperation,

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changed tactics. "Alright! You were right! It was me! I
realized as soon as I'd had time to consider the situation that
I'd be much better off with them to protect me than without
them and I set out to seduce them into contracting with me."

"All of them?"
She nodded vigorously.
"Even though it is not the custom on Earth to have

multiple partners in co-habitation?"

"Right! I didn't know that part then, so I was thinking

about getting one to commit to the agreement but I figured
any one would do, so I focused on all of them and figured if I
could convince one maybe he could get rid of the other two
and take me home."

"Which was it?"
"What?" Bronte asked blankly.
"You were trying to get one or all to commit to a contract,

or you were trying to convince one to take you home?"

"Whatever worked."
"You would say anything to protect them, would you not?"
Bronte swallowed convulsively. "Which truth do you want,

damn it! Because obviously the real truth just won't fucking
do for you!"

Reuel settled back in his seat. She couldn't tell from the

gleam in his eyes if he was amused or on the verge of
blasting her with his temper. He jerked his head at Caleb.
"Escort her out while we consider her testimony."

She wanted to protest, but she realized she'd done enough

damage. When Caleb caught her arm to lead her out, she
merely threw an apologetic look at her companions. It was a

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big world, she reflected as he led her outside of the building.
Maybe she could figure out a way to help them escape?

Assuming, of course, they weren't ready to throttle her for

totally botching her attempt to get them off already.

"That was not well done," Caleb growled when they had

reached the sidewalk.

"You think?" Bronte snapped angrily.
"Did you set out to insure that they would be found

guilty?"

She narrowed her eyes at him instead of bursting into

tears, which was what she felt like doing. "Yes! That's exactly
what I set out to do. I wasn't satisfied with the fact that
they'd already decided to crucify them for nothing!"

He studied her in silence for a moment. "It is true that you

love them?"

Her chin wobbled threateningly. "I know it probably

doesn't seem like it when I screwed everything up, but I do.
You have no idea how good they were to me or to what
lengths they went to to protect me out there!"

He frowned. "But that was after you had contracted with

them, according to what you said."

She bit her lip. She hadn't considered that. "I was already

in love with them," she said with a touch of surprise. Tears
filled her eyes. "It was the craziest courtship, I'm sure, that
was ever devised! I don't know what I'm going to do.... "She
broke off as she averted her gaze from his and saw them
emerging from the building. For a moment her heart seemed
to stop. When the three of them stopped on the steps,
scanned the people gathered on the street and sidewalk and

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finally settled on her, however, she whirled away from Caleb
and dashed toward them.

Doubts plagued her—that they'd be angry with her—but

she ignored the warning bells clamoring in her head. Gabriel
met her first, rushing toward her with his arms out to catch
her in his embrace. She hugged him back tightly. "They let
you go?" she exclaimed when she drew away.

"Yes!" Jerico said chuckling as he dragged her from

Gabriel's arms and embraced her, covering her mouth in a
kiss that made her feel hot, wet, and tingly all over. She
smiled up at him dizzily when he released her and finally
turned to Gideon.

His expression was taut, and uncertainty quivered through

her. "Are you still angry with me?" she asked hesitantly.

He shook his head, pulling her close abruptly and holding

her so tightly against him she could hardly catch her breath.
"I was never angry, Bronte," he murmured against her hair,
"only afraid that I would lose you."

She drew away from him finally and looked up at them. "I

missed you so much!"

Gideon studied her solemnly. "It is true that you are

carrying our baby?"

She smiled at him wryly. "I'd planned to make the

announcement a little more intimate than that," she said
irritably. "But, yes! I am—I'm carrying all of your babies! I'm
so proud I feel like I did it all by myself!"

Gideon frowned. "All? You have one of each in your belly?"
She chuckled. "Yes—not something I could do. I think your

nanos decided to protect their 'own'. It's the only thing that

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makes any sense, because I did have a paternity test run so I
could tell you positively who had fathered the babies when I
found out I was carrying three and that's what came up—
each one of them carries the DNA for each of you!"

The three grinned at each other uneasily, then Gideon

frowned. "This is many at once," he said slowly. "This is not
as it should be, is it?"

"It's not common," Bronte said. "But it happens—never

like this, of course, but I can handle it."

Gideon looked unconvinced. "You are certain this will not

... harm you?"

"I'm not questioning my adoptive nanos anymore. I'm

stronger and healthier than I ever was before. I'm carrying
three babies, each by a different father, and they're strong
and healthy in spite of the fact that I was nearly killed. And
they are part cyborg, not just carrying your human DNA.
They will take care of everything. All we have to do is wait
and while we're doing that, I'll make sure you three learn how
to take care of them because there is no way I can handle the
care and feeding of three at one time!"

The three men exchanged a horrified look at that, but they

didn't argue.

"We should go at once to arrange the contracts and this

time make certain that they are properly registered so there
can be no question!" Gideon announced. He studied her face
for a moment. "You will do this?"

She gave him a look.
"Will you do this?" he asked.

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She smiled. "Yes!" She turned to look at Gabriel

questioningly.

"Will you contract with me?" Jerico asked as Gabriel

opened his mouth.

Gabriel glared at him.
"Yes!" Bronte responded. Chuckling at the look on Gabriel's

face, she captured his cheeks between her palms and went up
on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. "Absolutely, yes, Gabriel!" He
grinned at her, folding his arms around her when she
would've escaped and kissing her thoroughly. His expression
was somber when he finally lifted his head. He swallowed
audibly. "I love you, Bronte. I have missed you more than
you can imagine."

Bronte felt her color fluctuate. Warmth filled her. "I love

you, too!"

She glanced uncomfortably at Gideon and Jerico when she

finally pulled away from Gabriel. They were glaring at Gabriel
indignantly and she couldn't help but chuckle.

"We should go now and sign the contracts," Gideon

growled, sending Gabriel one last resentful glare.

"Yes! Right now!" Bronte agreed, and then abruptly

remembered Caleb. He was standing where she'd left him,
watching the four of them. She hesitated and then moved
toward him. "Thank you for taking such good care of me!" she
said when she reached him.

Glancing up at her companions, she tried to urge them to

thank him, as well, but saw they'd bristled and were glaring
at him.

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"Anyway!" she said brightly. "I appreciate everything! We

should go!" she told her companions. "I'm going!"

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Chapter Twenty Four

As delighted as Bronte was that she had a home where

they could live until they could make other arrangements, she
knew even before they'd gotten there that it was going to be
seriously crowded. She just hadn't fully appreciated the size
of her men!

When they'd all crowded into the living area, Gideon,

Jerico, and Gabriel stood looking around with varying degrees
of doubt and displeasure. Bronte felt a mixture of eager
anticipation and nervousness as it descended upon her
abruptly that they were well and truly bound ... and alone.

"I should show you everything!" she announced brightly.

"There are only two bedrooms and two baths, but I think we
can make do until we find something bigger," she chattered
uneasily as they crowded behind her in the tiny hallway that
connected the two rooms.

"We should prepare a feast to celebrate," Gideon said

pensively as they all stood in the hall and glanced into the
rooms.

Instantly diverted by their stomachs, Jerico and Gabriel

brightened and headed into the food preparation area. "I am
sick of prison food! That is certain!" Jerico said, leading the
way.

Before she could follow them, Gideon hooked an arm

around her waist, dragged her into the room she'd been using
and closed the door firmly behind them. "That was...."

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"...Clever of me," Gideon finished for Bronte as he settled

on the bed with her and nuzzled his face against her neck,
dragging in a deep breath of her scent and expelling it with
gusty enthusiasm. "Can I help it if they are so easily
diverted?"

Bronte looked up at his smiling face as he lifted his head to

study her. Her throat closed with sudden emotion as she lifted
a hand to stroke his face. "I was so afraid I'd ruined
everything and I'd never get the chance to tell you how much
I love you."

His expression tautened. Doubt and relief warred in his

deep blue eyes. He frowned uncertainly as he stroked her
cheek in return. "You did not say that only to convince them
to release us?" he asked slowly.

She looked at him questioningly, feeling her heart swell in

her chest until she could scarcely breathe. "Why would I say
it and not mean it?" she asked gently.

His frown deepened. "I do not know. Because you thought

it was what we needed to hear?"

"Did you ... need to?"
His face twisted with anguish. "I know you believe we do

not have the capacity to feel as you do ... even as the others
of our kind do. But all that I could think of at first when they
took you from us was that I was ... lost, that I should be
taking care of you and I did not know how I would exist if I
did not have you to take care of. I could not get it out of my
mind ... because all Gabriel and Jerico would do was say what
I was thinking myself. I do not want you to believe that I am
only repeating what I have heard others say, heard you say. I

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feel love for you, Bronte. I know what it is. And I am afraid
that you do not feel it for me because I am ... what I am."

"I love you because you are what are, Gideon—the most

wonderful thing that ever happened to me in my life.

He dipped his head to align his nose with hers, staring at

her eye to eye. "This is truth?"

"From the bottom of my heart!" Bronte said, smiling. "Can

we fuck now?"

His head rocked backwards in surprise. She waggled her

brows at him and he chuckled. Leaning away from her, he
skated a hand down her body lightly until he'd cupped her
mounded belly. "This will not hurt you? Or our babes?" he
asked doubtfully.

She studied his face lovingly. "This is one of the many

reasons I love you, and why I don't doubt that you love me,
too. No, Gideon, it won't hurt either me or the babies ... but
I've almost forgotten what it was like and need you to remind
me."

He reminded her with a kiss first, hot, sweet and then

urgent and demanding and all the while he caressed her body
with magic fingers and palms that brought her to the brink of
madness and held her enthralled. And when he'd removed his
uniform, and settled against her again, he caressed every
inch of exposed skin until she was burning and breathless and
then tormented her by slowly peeling her clothes from her
and lavishing her with the feel of his mouth and tongue on
her breasts and mound. She gasped, moaned, writhed
beneath him with exquisite pleasure, fighting the growing
excitement that threatened to spill over.

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"Now, Gideon! Please!" she begged, pulling at him.
He slipped his arms beneath her shoulders, propping

himself on his elbows to watch her face as he probed her
body with his cock, found her opening at last, and entered
her. "I told you once that I could make you beg for me," he
murmured hoarsely as he delved her body, pressing slowly
into her until he filled her. "I did not know then that you could
make my body beg for yours also, that I would begin to crave
the feel of you so much that I would feel sick with wanting
you."

Her body thrilled at his words, quickened with urgency,

tightened around his flesh convulsively. She groaned, arching
her head back against the bed as she began to quake in
climax. Uttering an echoing moan of ecstasy, he began
thrusting faster as her climax triggered his.

They were still drifting on a blissful cloud of release when

the door opened. Bronte cracked an eye and then lifted her
head when she saw Jerico and Gabriel in the doorway, rigid
with anger, both wearing expressions of misuse.

"Is the feast prepared already?" Gideon asked groggily.
"Oh, Gideon! You really shouldn't provoke them!"

* * * *

The smell of raw timbers mingled with the lingering scents

of their picnic luncheon as they lazed around the blanket
they'd spread beneath the shade of a large, spreading tree
that would shade the front of their home once they'd
completed it. Full and completely relaxed, more than half
asleep, Bronte lay with her head in Gideon's lap, watching

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him stroke his hand over the mound that jutted from her
abdomen. It had certainly blossomed, she thought with quiet
pride.

It was the abrupt tension in Gideon that first alerted her.
Struggling to lift her head as both Gabriel and Jerico

stiffened and slowly came to their feet, she saw that Caleb
was striding boldly toward them along the narrow drive that
led up the construction site. It was just as well she did,
because Gideon surged abruptly to his feet, as well.

Grunting, feeling like a turtle turned on its back, she rolled

onto her side and pushed herself to a sitting position,
watching the men worriedly.

Caleb halted while he was still several yards distant from

them, his gaze flickering to her briefly before settling on
Gideon.

"You have a reason for being here?" Gideon growled

challengingly.

Caleb's face hardened. "Yes. To challenge you to a test of

fighting skills."

Surprise flickered in Gideon's eyes.
Bronte's heart leapt into her throat and tried to choke her.
"There is a purpose to this contest?" Gideon asked coldly,

the challenging growl of his voice suggesting he knew the
answer already.

Caleb's gaze moved to Bronte. "If I best you, then you will

allow me to court Bronte."

"She is our companion," Jerico said, his voice as cold and

bristling with threat as Gideon's.

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Caleb faced him unflinchingly. "There are only three of

you. She can accept a fourth."

"There are plenty of others who could also accept a

fourth!" Gabriel snapped. "And more who have no more than
two!"

Caleb's hard jaw clenched, bringing a muscle there taut. "I

want Bronte."

Bronte felt her face heat as his gaze met hers for a long

moment and then flickered over her, lingering almost as long
on her belly. Indignation filled her. "Well! If you're hanging
out for a brood mare, this one is already well bred!"

Amusement flickered in his eyes. For a split second a pair

of dimples appeared in his cheeks. "I will not say that
breeding you has never entered my mind," he retorted, his
voice husky with promise—and no sense of self-preservation,
"but you have far more to offer a man than only that. It is
you that I want. As your man said, I could have looked
elsewhere if I was only seeking a breeding mare."

Mollified, Bronte smiled back at him before she thought

better of it. Her men, she discovered, were studying her
through narrowed eyes when she glanced at them guiltily.
She shrugged apologetically.

"Mayhap instead of a challenge of skills, I will slay you and

feed your corpse to the carrion feeders," Gideon ground out.

Caleb's face tightened. "And mayhap I will kill you and

take your place!"

"Let's don't do this!" Bronte exclaimed in dismay, trying to

struggle to her feet.

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Ignoring her, Gideon, Gabriel, and Jerico exchanged a long

look. Gabriel shrugged, turning to look Caleb over with
interest. "You are not a Hunter?"

Caleb's face reddened with anger. "I am not," he ground

out.

"I did not think so. What do you think, Gideon?"
"I believe that I will see if he is all mouth," Gideon said

coldly, pulling his sword from the sheath strapped to his back.
"And then we will see if he worthy of our Bronte."

"God! Not the swords, Gideon!" Bronte exclaimed in

dismay.

He turned to study her for a long moment and then fixed

Gabriel with a hard look, jerking his head toward the half
finished structure behind them. Nodding, Gabriel strode to
Bronte, scooped her into his arms, and began to bear her
away at a brisk stride. "I will show you around our home."

"I don't want to see the house!" Bronte said angrily,

feeling her heart clench in fright as she heard the clang of
blades behind them. "Make them stop!"

"When I have you safely in the house," Gabriel promised.
"Now, Gabriel! I mean it! Put me down! I'll stop it!"
"This is why Gideon told me to take you into the house,"

Gabriel said chidingly.

"He didn't tell you anything!" Bronte hissed angrily.
"I knew what he meant."
"I know you knew what he meant! You three are always

doing that! I don't suppose it occurred to any of you that this
might not be what I want?"

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"Then you can send him on his way when Gideon is done

with him."

Bronte glared at him. "It's bad enough that the three of

you are always pounding on each other! Now I have to look
forward to you hacking at each other with swords?"

"We would not use swords against one another."
"Just against anyone that might decide they want to join

us?"

Gabriel shrugged. "There is always the possibility that

someone will challenge us so long as we are only three and
there is a place for another. I never was easy in my mind that
we were only three."

Bronte gaped at him. "You were expecting this?"
"We had thought that he would come sooner. It was clear

that he wanted you ... to us, if not to you."

Her shock didn't last. "But ... this is no way to settle the

dispute! Someone will get hurt ... badly. I've seen the way
you all swing those swords!"

"That was different. There was no doubt that that was a

fight to the death when the trogs attacked. This is merely a
contest to judge his skills as a fighter. We must be certain
that he is not only willing to protect, but as capable of
protecting you as any of us. He is a good man, but he has not
had the fighting experience that we have. He was among the
last produced and we had already been fighting for many
years before he came."

Bronte's eyes narrowed. "Why did you ask him if he was a

Hunter if you know so much about him?"

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"Because the Hunters were the last. I could not be

certain."

"What do you have against the Hunters?"
He caught her gaze as he settled her on her feet at last.

"Aside from the fact that they were designed to kill us?" he
asked wryly. "They believe they are superior to us," he added
angrily. "And I do not want to share you with someone you
might love more than me."

Bronte searched his face, knowing it wasn't that the

Hunters thought they were superior but the fact that the
cyborgs felt inferior. "I couldn't love anyone more than I love
you," she said gently. "Don't you know that?"

He stared at her with a mixture of uncertainty and

tentative hope. "You do not think so?"

She shook her head. "I know so. After all we went through

together, no one could break the bond we forged."

He hauled her roughly against him and kissed her

ruthlessly. She smiled up at him when he lifted his head at
last. "Now will you go stop them?"

He smiled back at her. "No."
"Damn it, Gabriel!" she snapped, pushing at him and

trying to go around him.

He chuckled, hooking his arm around her waist, carrying

her full circle before he released her. "I love you, Bronte ...
but, no."

Grinding her teeth, she pushed his hands away and paced,

trying to peer over his shoulder to see what was going on. He
kept pace with her, blocking her view. "I can not stand the

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suspense!" she said finally. "Go and make sure Gideon isn't
hurt!"

The scrape of a booted foot on the foundation heralded the

end of the battle.

"Oh ye of little faith!" Gideon quoted wryly.
Letting out a gasp, Bronte rushed around Gabriel and fled

to Gideon, trying to examine him for injury. He grabbed her,
hauling her upward for a gusty kiss that quickly turned far
more hungry than merely affectionate when she surged
readily against him and kissed him back with fervor. Heat
spread through her rapidly as he explored her mouth with his
tongue and her body with his hands with equal thoroughness.

"Tease," she murmured without heat when he broke the

kiss almost reluctantly and lifted his head. Nuzzling her face
against his hard chest, she settled her cheek over his heart,
savoring the warmth of his embrace as much as his kiss.

When she finally opened her eyes, she saw that Caleb had

followed Gideon to the house. He was watching her and
Gideon together, his expression unreadable. She met his gaze
for a long moment and then examined him for injury.
Relieved when she saw that he had no more than a few small
cuts, she pulled away from Gideon and looked up at him
questioningly.

He nodded at Caleb almost cordially. "He has an excellent

sword arm."

Bronte lifted her brows at him, but turned to look at Caleb

again as Gideon moved away from her. Caleb smiled at her
almost bashfully, and then glanced uneasily at the other men,

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who'd retreated only a short distance to watch, Bronte
discovered, mildly annoyed.

Caleb cleared his throat. "I would like.... "He stopped,

frowned as he reconsidered and started again. "Would you
consider contracting with me?"

A mixture of amusement and irritation flooded Bronte.

These men had no subtlety at all! "You're very sweet, and
very handsome," she said slowly. "I will consider it, but ... I
like to be courted!"

Caleb looked confused and happy and uneasy all at the

same time.

Bronte turned to look at her men, a slow smile curling her

lips as she met their gazes one by one. "You should ask them
how to court me. They are very good at courting. I loved the
way they courted me."

Gideon's eyes gleamed with promise as he met her gaze

and held it. "I would love to court you until the hour I breathe
my last breath, Bronte."

The End

If you are connected to the Internet, take a

moment to rate this eBook by going back to

your bookshelf at www.fictionwise.com.

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