Alien, Mine (12 page)

When Sandrea discovered who her last opponent was she whirled on Kulluk.

“Raise our bets, Sergeant.”

“You’re sure? Legonox is quite an accomplished player.”

“Definitely,” she snarled. “I’m going to take him to the cleaners and then hang him out to dry. I’m going to rip his head off and shit down his throat in record time. Nobody insults General Mhartak in my presence and gets away with it. Besides, the honour of Alpha Squad is on the line.”

Kulluk’s gaze assessed her and no doubt recognized the passion of retribution burning in her eyes. “You understand this game will also be contested on how much time each player uses to execute his or her plays?”

“I do.”

“So what are you thinking? Under forty moves?”

“Sergeant, I want this so bad I reckon I can do it in under thirty.”

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

“Thirty it is.”

It took her twenty-seven.

Sandrea sat at the table, dropped all pretence of being a witless idiot and went for the throat. She placed pieces in a rapid and seemingly random manner, her speed pressuring the sergeant. She built traps and raised structures with what appeared to be erratic abandon. On her last move she placed a pyramid at the very apex of the board, peak-to-peak with one that already stood there.

As expected, it toppled, causing a cascade effect. Pieces showered down and off the board, falling at odd angles into the traps Legonox had built, altering their focus and dragging his foundations down.

The warm fuzziness of a successful put-down swept through her when the pieces stopped flying and the sergeant’s careful constructions lay like scattered debris flung off the board. Her cube had conquered all three levels. She flipped him the bird and gazed unflinchingly into his hostile glare.

“How’d we go, Sergeant Kulluk?”

“I believe, Miss Sandrea that you have been successful in ripping off his head and shitting down his throat.”

She eyeballed Legonox and allowed the triumph of a very nasty smile to stretch her lips. Then she looked up at Kulluk. “Kinda makes me glad you’ve got a loaded gun.”

“Sorry I’m late, Doc,” Sandrea said as she walked into the med-lab for her appointment for exploratory scanning and nose mapping.

“They’re calling you Queen of the Cube already,” Drengel greeted.

“Beginner’s luck. Did you bet on me?”

“Of course, thank you. And from what I understand I’m one of the few winners.”

She chuckled. “My pleasure. What do you want me to do?”

“Sit here. Good, now just tip your head back. That’s it. Inhale. Good.”

Drengel set her to smelling scents while he recorded the behaviour of her olfactory system. They were at it for most of the afternoon with the physician hmming, and
ah
ing.

“Nearly done,” he finally said. “What does the evening hold for you?”

“The guys are . . . what did they say? Oh yeah, going to show me a good time tonight. Should be interesting.”

“The guys?”

“The three privates from Alpha Squad and Corporal Shrenkner.”

“Don’t let them get you into any trouble. These military types can drink like fish.”

“Not to worry, Doc, I don’t do total inebriation. I like to be in control too much and I absolutely loathe the morning-after ramifications. Are you coming with us on the
Vega
?”

“As a matter-of-fact, I am. Thank you, that should do for now.”

Mhartak dropped to the lounge in his quarters, a scowl twisting his lips. The unlit gloom of the cabin matched his mood.

He wanted a very private celebration with Sandrea, but it seemed like he would have to make a damned appointment to see her. First the meeting with Drengel, and now he discovered Alpha Squad had claimed her time with an engagement this evening.

Hungry demands throbbed through his body, pleasure craved to be amplified by the touch of her hands, her lips. He groaned, then let his head fall back to the cushions and closed his eyes. Images danced in his imagination, forming into Sandrea beside him on the lounge. He took her healed hands into his.

“Do they cause you pain?” he asked, sliding a gentle thumb over her wrist.

“No.” Her reply came as a breathless whisper.

“So if I do this”—he leaned forward, invaded her space and pushed her pliant body into the cushions—“you feel no pain?”

Sharp bliss etched his body where it met hers.

“No, Eugen,” she croaked.

“And this?”

He captured her wrists and brought her hands to his shoulders.

“Uh-uh.”

“This?”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. Her soft skin convulsed below his lips as she swallowed.

“No,” she moaned.

He lifted his head and stared into her wide, welcoming eyes.

“Then, I dare hope, this too will cause you no discomfort.”

He covered her lips with his. Volatile hunger charged from confinement. Her mouth opened and his tongue plunged in, drinking from hers with a thirst only she could quench. He slid a hand around her waist, pressing on her lower back, and impelling her closer. Her breasts crushed against the corded muscle of his chest. Erotic sensation danced with hot-soled shoes through his body.

Her hips writhed below him and his responded, thrusting into hers again and again, seeking an ease to the throbbing hunger pounding in his sex. She wound a hand to the back of his head and clung, pushing her body into his with fervent demand.

Her need inflamed his and his hands clenched and tore the material from her body. His tongue reached for the lush, ripe globe of her breast, and grazed over the rough texture of fabric.

His eyes flickered open, assimilating the darkness. His head twisted left, then right. The remains of a cushion littered his chest, and he was alone.

A violent, painful shudder rippled from his engorged sex through his body, and he collapsed further into the lounge.

g’Nel-in-Paradise, if I don’t claim Sandrea soon I may very well go insane.

Sandrea gazed down at her chest and grimaced. The red dress fit everywhere but her chest. The bodice was so lacking she was practically falling out of it. No, scratch that, she
was
falling out of it.

“Damn!”

“What’s the problem?” Kendril called from the main cabin.

“If I go out like this, I could be arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Not on this space station.” Kendril appeared at her open door swathed in a light-blue and mauve, floaty, gossamer-like cloth.

“You look gorgeous, Shrenk’.”

“Thanks.” Her friend’s eye-ridges rose as she eyed her exposed flesh. “It is a bit . . . revealing.”

“Ya think?”

“Perhaps . . .” Kendril disappeared and returned a moment later. “Here, try this.” She offered a square of exquisite lace.

“It’s beautiful, Shrenk’. What is it?”

“A Tomel. Angrigan mothers give them to their daughters when they come of age.”

“Oh, Shrenk’, I can’t wear that, it’s too precious.”

“You will not only honour me by wearing it, but my mother also.”

She hesitated. The genuine care in Kendril’s eyes moved her.

“Thank you.” Sandrea carefully folded the lace and tucked it into the bodice.

“Perfect,” Kendril admired. “Shall we go?”

Sandrea tapped open the door to find Kiresel, Dovzshak, and Ragnon dressed in civvies and exuding hotness. They raked a glance over her and groaned. Dovzshak rolled his eyes.

Ragnon’s gaze ran up and down her and his lips pursed. “Should be an interesting night.”

She frowned. “This is not acceptable?”

“You’ll do.” Ragnon took her arm and guided her down the corridor.

Half an hour later, they stepped into a busy, but not yet crowded bar.

“Incoming,” Ragnon warned.

She glanced around. A Magran approached, his keen interest focused on her.

“Good evening,” he greeted.

His eyes observed her with something more than disinterested appreciation. She sent him a dismissive nod in hopes of discouraging his advances. Kendril volunteered to get drinks and disappeared into the mob lining the bar.

“May I introduce myself?” the Magran asked, eyeing her breasts.

Can’t see how I can stop you or I would.

“I am Tygren Oll, I’d be delighted if you would call me Ty. You really are very beautiful.” His gaze didn’t flicker from her chest.

Yeah right. Time to head this one off at the pass.

“Why thank you,” she accepted graciously. “I am quite flattered however . . .” She paused as though mustering her next words. “Are you familiar with the term ‘Boy Toy’?”

The Magran brightened. “Well, yes.”

“Oh good.” She nodded. “These are mine.” She swept her hand in a graceful arc to indicate the three male Angrigans.

“All
of them?” Oll seemed surprised and a touch daunted.

“Well, yes.” She slipped an arm through each of Kiresel and Ragnon’s. “You see human females have . . . appetites.” She slid a glance upward at her ‘Boy Toys’, hoping they’d caught on.

Apparently you didn’t get into Alpha Squad without being quick on the uptake. Ragnon wore a very male grin from ear-to-ear and Kiresel stared at the Magran as though calculating the most efficient method of ripping his throat out. She turned to Dovzshak who had adopted an aggressive, protective stance behind her. His arms crossed over his chest displayed very impressive bicep development. She realized he was almost as large as Eugen. She disengaged an arm and ran a finger from Dovzshak’s shoulder down to his elbow.

“Why don’t you find us a table, sweetie?” she cooed.

Dovzshak flexed his shoulders at the Magran, then turned a charming smile on her.

“As you wish, my petal,” he obliged.

She turned back to Tygren Oll. “Won’t you excuse us, Mr Oll?” she murmured politely, and swept away in the arms of Kiresel and Ragnon.

Kendril found them chuckling and deposited drinks on the table.

“I expected to see a Magran,” she observed. “How’d you get rid of him?”

“I told him the guys were my consorts,” Sandrea said.

Kendril threw her head back and laughed. “Funny, that’s just what I told some groper at the bar about you.”

Surprise widened Sandrea’s eyes, then she chuckled.

“Aren’t we a happy little family then?” she smirked. “Cheers.” She clinked her glass with her companions’ and took a taste of her drink. The sweet, fruity flavour reminded her how thirsty she was and she drained the glass.

“Easy,” Kendril cautioned.

She looked at her. “Um, why?”

“That’s strong alcohol.”

She focused inward, searched, and found no evidence that she had just skulled something high octane.

“You sure?”

Kiresel picked up her empty tumbler and ran a tongue over the dregs. “Yep.”

She did another quick internal check. Nup. Nothin’. Nada. No burn, no tingle, no buzz. She shrugged. “My shout?”

“You bought this round,” Kendril said and upended her glass.

“I thought you said it was strong stuff?”

“It is. I am not consuming alcohol. Somebody has to maintain a level head and, besides, I can’t stand the taste of the stuff.”

“I know, knew, know someone like that,” Sandrea grumbled in exasperated confusion. She did still know them. They were just several billion to the nth power miles away. “I think I need a drink. Make it a double.”

Kendril rose, took orders, and struggled into the fray.

“Here comes trouble,” Dovzshak warned.

She glanced around. “Where?”

“B Company Lieutenant,” he replied out the side of his mouth as a well-dressed gan strode up. All three of Alpha stood.

“Relax, gentlemen, I am only here to congratulate Ssileela Fairbairn on her flawless performance today.” He held out a hand. “Jaxzen Sarens.”

She stared at it for a moment, considered the remote possibility it was a viper, then wrapped her hand around his forearm. The soldier gave her arm a gentle squeeze, then released his grip. “May I sit down?”

“Please do.”

“That really was a masterful performance today.” He grabbed a vacant seat from a nearby table and straddled it. “All of it.”

“So you didn’t buy my bimbo act?”

He gave a rueful nod. “Unfortunately I did, at least for the first two games. My fault. I should have known any . . . guest of General Mhartak’s would not be so shallow. I did recoup some of my losses in the last match. May I take up some of your time in a Cube discussion?”

“I’d be delighted.”

During their conversation, snatches of speech drifted to her as Ragnon fielded questions aimed at him from others in the bar.

“Yes, they’re real,” he said, and then, “No, you can’t touch them.” A moment later, “No, not even for that much money.” A short while after that she heard Dovzshak growl, “She doesn’t
need
any more,
we’re
enough.”

Eventually, Jaxzen stood and offered a hope that they would meet again. Sandrea proffered her hand and bid the man goodbye.

“So, Shrenk’”—she turned to her friend—“are we having fun yet?”