Operation Hydra (6 page)

He grabbed her suddenly, his warm hand cupping her bare breast. Krysta gasped and tried to twist away, but his other arm banded her waist. “Is this what you want? You want my hands on your body, don’t you? You provoke me so I’ll touch you.”

Krysta found it hard to swallow past the dryness in her throat. His hand seared her skin. Was he right? Did she continue to be difficult so he would touch her? Even now she could feel her nipple tightening against his palm, tingling as it hardened. Her lips trembled and she closed her eyes.

“It’s natural, Krysta.”

She wanted to believe that so badly. He pulled his hand away and she bit her lip to keep from whimpering.
No, pull open the jacket. Touch me more!

“Look at me,” he coaxed.

That was the last thing she wanted to do. He would see how badly she wanted him and laugh at her weakness.

“Look at me.” It was a command. Quickly mustering her defiance, she opened her eyes.

“I want nothing more than to take the next lunar cycle and explore every sexual fantasy you’ve ever had, but I have to return to my ship. You know Hydran better than I do. Will taking you with me
create
more danger for Belle and the other occupants or is it safer to return you?”

Speak the words and you’ll never have to face Hydran again.
She trembled. Temptation washed over her. Oh, to be safe, to be cared for. Dragging her hair over her shoulders, she sadly shook her head. “I can’t desert them. Take me back.”

* * * * *

Trey stared out the wide viewport, failing to find comfort in the velvety blackness of space. Even the alien constellations lacked their usual appeal. Tonight they were just stars. As near as the Mystics could determine, there were two hundred and fourteen Ontarians being held prisoner by Operation Hydran. How could this have happened?

He’d been honored when his brother’s wife, Charlotte, asked him to lead the rescue mission. The information she’d supplied had been sketchy at best, but he’d found the Center and managed to infiltrate Operation Hydra. No easy task under the best of circumstances. But the scope of the mission had just exploded. Simple logistics doomed him to failure. His ship wasn’t big enough for two hundred refugees.

The buzzer announced Vee’s return. Trey told the door to open. The Mystic entered the room, his movements so graceful he seemed to float. His ankle-length white hair had looped itself loosely around his neck twice and twisted into an intricate knot.

“What did she say?” Trey asked.

An interdimensional portal was needed to communicate with Ontariese, so Trey had no choice but to depend on one of the two Mystics who had temporarily joined his crew.

“She is not coming,” Vee said with his characteristic directness.

“What?” The word exploded from Trey. “Hydran is breeding his own colony of Ontarians, for a purpose we can scarcely imagine. How can the High Queen of Ontariese
not
respond to this crisis?”

“Ye misunderstand. Shar Lott has every intention of responding. But in six passings of the moons, ye shall be an uncle for the fourth time. Thy brother hath forbidden her to attempt an interdimensional journey. Her assistance shall be conducted from Ontariese.”

Trey thought of the life Tal was building with Charlotte, feeling more than a little envious of their happiness. He pictured Charlotte’s understated beauty, his twin nieces, and rambunctious nephew. Tal was right to protect them. If he had a life mate who was with child, he would do everything in his power to keep her from harm.

“Fine,” Trey grumbled.

“Thy father has offered to —”

“No!” Trey said so vehemently they both laughed.

Much to the relief of many of the new Ontarian High Council members, Prefect Roe dar Aune had retired two years before. Trey loved his father, and tried hard to respect him, but Roe’s inflexibility made him a hard man to like.

“So, we’re on our own?” Trey asked thoughtfully.

“I sent the information we have compiled to the Symposium. They will analyze it and have suggestions waiting upon my next transmission.”

“How did this happen?” Trey stomped back to the viewport. “Only three Ontarians were sent through the portal to this location, and that was less than one hundred cycles ago. How can there be so many?”

“I do not know.”

Four very frightening words.
Trey traveled extensively and Vee, through his connection with the Symposium, had compiled a broader scope of knowledge than anyone Trey had ever encountered.

“How do we find out?”

Vee inclined his head.
“A far better question.”

“Why don’t you and Gerr just zap us inside, I’ll strangle Hydran and then —”

“Ye have been trained as a diplomat, Trey dar Aune.” There was an edge to Vee’s reminder. “Do ye really want to go to war?”

“Yes!”

Again Vee inclined his head, but Trey suspected he was hiding the amusement in his emerald green eyes.

“Energy patterns of those with Mystic abilities —”

“Differ from those without,” Trey finished for him. “Yes, I know. That’s why I’m playing games with Dr. Hydran. He can’t prove I’m anything other than what I say, and each time I torment Krysta he’ll be all the more convinced.”

“Ye have not actually harmed this young woman, have ye?”

Insulted by his doubt, Trey crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “Would you ask my brother that question?”

Vee was Tal’s mentor. Another relationship Trey envied. But in this case, it was only the closeness for which Trey longed. He found Vee arrogant and myopic.

“Tal is a Master-level Mage.”

“And I’m not even a Mystic.” Trey rolled his eyes. Add condescending to the list. “So, you’re proposing we just continue on? That I use my guise as Mr. Darrin to leech information from Hydran.”

“Ye will learn nothing useful from Dr. Hydran.”

“Then, I need to devise reasons to spend more time with Krysta.”

Vee shot him a knowing look. “Have ye been successful in convincing her ye are a lecherous explorer?”

He had fallen into the role a bit too easily for his conscience to accept. He ached for her still and felt guilty as hell. “She is utterly convinced I’m a lustful cad.”

* * * * *

Standing in the middle of one of the observation rooms, Krysta stared straight ahead, refusing to speak. The guard on duty in the lobby escorted her to the room and went to fetch Dr. Hydran. She hadn’t been allowed to change her clothes or see Belle, but a quick pulse assured her that her sister slept comfortably, unaware of Krysta’s return.

Hydran circled her slowly, like the shark he was, assessing her minor scrapes and obvious disarray. “Did he hurt you?” he asked.

Hoping?
She didn’t speak the word. This was a game. A game she’d tired of long ago.

“Did you enjoy his tender ministrations? He’s more intense than the Companion, wouldn’t you agree?”

She arched her eyebrow, but bit back a sarcastic retort.

“So, what did you think of his proposal?”

If she continued to ignore him, he’d hit her, or worse. Thanks to Trey Darrin’s example, Hydran had new tools at his disposal. Hydran hadn’t brought his bodyguards, so she doubted he intended to take that route, but Belle’s illness was still untreated.

“He expects to take me off-world and leave Belle to your tender ministrations. He just met me today, but surely you know me better than that.”

“What I know, Krysta, is you are going to cooperate with Mr. Darrin.
Even if I have to see to it myself.”

His threat made her stomach cramp. What was the connection? “Is he
that
rich? What is he offering you, and why me? I’m not the only healer.”

“No, but you’re the best, and we both know it.”

Krysta quickly averted her gaze. If Hydran only knew! “May I go to my sister now?”

“Why did he bring you back so soon? I told him he could have you for the whole night.”

“I was distracted.” Damn him. Why did he always push her until she lost control? He continually reduced her to a snarling, clawing animal, and she hated it.

“Was he upset? Did he seem —”

“He said he’d be back in the morning. Why don’t you ask him?” She stared into his eyes, determined not to glare. “I did what I was told. I want to see Belle.”

She thought he would say more, but he summoned an orderly. Walking a step behind, Krysta didn’t speak. Why was Hydran so eager to please Trey?

That flash of character she’d seen in the shuttle had been the real Trey, she was sure of it. He wasn’t the man he pretended to be when he was around Dr. Hydran. She couldn’t imagine what he gained from the masquerade, but Trey Darrin was a fake. The orderly scanned open the door to ward B and Krysta went immediately to her sister’s room. She called out to Belle telepathically as the privacy panel slid aside.

“Are you all right?” Belle asked.

Krysta sat on the edge of the narrow bed and smiled. “I was about to ask you that.”

“You look horrible.”

There was hardly enough light in the small room to see anything. Belle was referring to the intangible part that only Belle could sense. “It’s been a rough day.”

Belle smiled. “Well, you heal me. Then, we’ll figure out what to do about your gloom.”

Krysta nodded and turned her concentration inward. She gathered energy into the center of her chest and gradually released it through her hands. Her fingers hovered over her twin, skimming, moving, but never actually touching.

As with the little girl that morning, Krysta meticulously cleansed her sister, searching, stubbornly seeking. The vision erupted out of nowhere, trapping Krysta within its vivid world. She tried to fight it, conceal the onset as part of the healing.

He couldn’t find out! After all these years, Hydran couldn’t find out. Her hands trembled and she moaned, rocking back onto her heels. Abruptly, she broke contact with Belle, hoping the jarring withdrawal would alert her sister to the problem. Belle stumbled out of bed and pulled Krysta to her feet.

No! Get the elders!
Krysta couldn’t tell if Belle understood. She could no longer see her or sense her. She was consumed entirely by the vision. The tiled floor heaved and bucked, as if buffeted by some unseen force. She gasped and spread her arms, bracing with her legs, trying to balance. A deep rumbling built, until the room echoed with the inhuman sound. Frantically searching for a foothold or retreat, she saw only swirling colors and an endless void.

As if torn by ruthless fists, the floor parted, revealing a raging sea. Transfixed, Krysta stared into the murky waters. Something moved about beneath the tossing waves. A dark, bulky figure dipped and dived, then shot from the water with a mighty roar.

Krysta screamed and raised her hands, instinctively shielding herself from the monster. Gray-green scales glistened along the serpent’s body, but each of its nine heads was a grotesque combination of reptile and human. It lunged. Krysta screamed again, staggering back, while it hissed and spat.

She felt hands shaking her and voices calling from far away, but the vision wouldn’t release. The serpent roared, the sound different now, sad, filled with pain and disappointment. A ridge formed down the center of its long, undulating throat, becoming more pronounced, higher and wider.

The pointed tip of a sword slid out from inside the serpent, splitting the ridge open from the top down. A man appeared in the hideous gap, his features concealed in shadow, his sword raised triumphantly. With one last anguished roar, the huge creature sank into the sea, leaving only the man.

He stood suspended above the water, the waves splashing against his legs. His right hand held the sword and he extended his left toward Krysta. For just a moment the shadows cleared and she saw his face. Krysta felt her heart leap, pounding painfully against her ribs. What did it mean?

Her head spun. The image receded. She struggled to reclaim the vision, but her legs gave out beneath her. Unseen hands lowered her to the floor, while her voice rang out strong and clear:

The serpent will split from the inside out.

The Hydra will fall; there is no doubt.

When the Hero at last sets aside his disguise,

The time’s drawing near — turn your eyes to the skies…

The swirling scene faded and Krysta surrendered to the darkness.

Trey briefed his officers before he returned to the Center the next morning.

“You cannot use Mystic abilities of any kind until we’re ready for the final offensive,” he explained. Vee and Mage Gerr inclined their heads in unison and Trey chuckled. Dark, brooding Gerr was the perfect contrast to Vee’s ethereal grace.

Trey turned to Dro Tar. He had recruited her for a special assignment fourteen cycles past. Her sharp wit and creative thinking had so impressed him that he put in a royal order requisitioning her services upon graduation from the City of Tears. Her temperament and personality were totally incompatible — and wasted — in military service. Trey just couldn’t allow it to happen. Cyrus, the Ontarian overlord, granted the request and Dro Tar had served him faithfully, if unconventionally, ever since.

She refused to wear anything resembling a uniform, her quarters were lavishly decorated according to her mood, and her fascination with all things Earthish now bordered on obsession. But Trey enjoyed her company and trusted her abilities. Today’s “uniform” was a pair of faded blue jeans and a tee shirt sporting the slogan:
We’ll get along just fine as soon as you agree to worship me.

Her head of shaggy, gold-tipped brown hair bobbed rhythmically and her fingers tapped against the edge of the table. Apparently her audiocom was programmed for music — again.
Something rather rambunctious, if her body language was any indication.

“High Queen Aune is using the flawless performance of this ship to pressure Lord Cyrus into releasing the prototype ahead of schedule.” As he spoke, Trey activated his control grid and found the channel Dro Tar was using. He spiked her volume and watched her dance.

“What the…” She shook her head, jerked the audiocom out of her ear, and threw it on the table, scowling furiously.