Claimed by the Cyborg (Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance Book 5) Page 8

  The fading noise of the skimmer indicated it had gone away.

  Romoso’s height rendered communication between the two sides of the mountain spotty at best, which was why she always escaped to night side when she needed to relax or recover. Nobody could contact her easily. And if a message did get through, she could pretend she’d never received it. If her father decided to command her return now, he would have to send a skimmer with a messenger.

  She wasn’t ready to go home, to face her responsibilities, her renewed grief.

  Even before her duties had mounted, she’d favored night side over all the other palaces. She felt more at home than at any other place on Xenia. Upon her return from Terra, she’d spent months in seclusion here.

  Perhaps, when she became empress, she would move the official residence. The council would protest, but she would do it anyway. She couldn’t control who she bonded with, but she could decide where she lived. So be it! Moving the residence would be her first imperial decree.

  Little consolation.

  She sank onto a carpet of moss and buried her face in her hands.

  Why did March have to come? Following through with the bonding would be so much harder now.

  He was nothing like she’d remembered—yet still everything. Cynicism marked his face, and his body had honed and hardened with solid muscle. In his eyes she’d seen worldliness, an unfamiliar familiarity with danger. Even his kiss had changed. More than anger had simmered in his touch. His aggression had been so much more devastating to her willpower than if he’d attempted to woo her. He hadn’t kissed her out of passion or want, yet he did still desire her, and that devastated her, too. She craved him, ached for him with every cell of her being.

  For all his differences, he’d tasted the same. Like man and sex, wishes and dreams, joy and deliverance. Body and mind had caught fire, and she hungered for him. In those seconds, she would have renounced the empire. His mouth had crushed her lips, his tongue had attacked, but in his anger she’d discovered his pain. She’d hurt him beyond measure, and she could hardly bear it.

  Then he’d pushed her away and left without a good-bye. The way she had done to him?

  She could not remain with him so near, so she’d fled. Wasn’t that what she always did? But if any hope of repairing her shattered composure existed, it would be at night side.

  Naimo would recover, she was certain. Her father had suspected foul play, but Julietta found that hard to believe. Who would want to injure Naimo and Kur, and for what reason? The only one who wished to prevent the bonding ceremony was her! The investigation would prove that food poisoning had caused their illness. For the banquet, chefs had prepared many alien delicacies in addition to traditional foods. Perhaps an alien concoction had sickened them. Maybe it wasn’t poisoning at all—but food their bodies weren’t able to metabolize.

  Besides, the seer had been born with the second sight. The old woman would not have chosen Naimo as her mate if he was going to meet his end on their bonding day. But it mattered not whether she bonded with Naimo or some other when the one her heart yearned for was denied to her.

  Had her father or mother ever wanted another the way she desired March? Both her parents had taken other lovers, but their inconsequential affairs did not affect their union. That was the Xenian way. Life mates found other partners for sexual variety and recreation. It was normal, expected. Bonding was bonding, and sex was sex. Two different acts.

  She had never been with anyone but March. Had no attraction to anyone but him. Could not imagine allowing anyone else to touch her.

  Julietta raised her head and wiped at her eyes. Somehow, I must get through this. I must do what I must do.

  She rose to her feet and rubbed at the moss stains on her knees. A few leaves clung to her hair, and she plucked them out. If she were at the main palace, she’d have to sneak in before anyone saw her. The future empress must act with decorum; she did not soil her clothing by sitting in the moss like a child.

  Emerging from behind the tree, she shielded her eyes from the day star with her hand and scanned the vacant sky. Not a skimmer in sight. Yacuni grazed in the field of grass and flowers. Across the lea, the night side palace sparkled. Except for servants, it remained unoccupied. Her father had visited once; her mother twice. Neither of them liked night side, which afforded her the greatest freedom she could have on Xenia.

  Julietta started through the field.

  For now, she could postpone the inevitable. But the next skimmer or one after that would bring the messenger with a summons.

  * * * *

  The skimmer bobbed on an updraft and banked to the right. A cathedral of stone and glass rose out of the terrain. It caught the light and sparkled like a bright beacon surrounded by bucolic beauty. All of Xenia was pretty, but this edifice was spectacular. Of all the palaces he’d seen, March favored this one, though he couldn’t say why.

  “Can we land?” He had an urge to see it up close.

  “Visitors are only allowed to view it from the air.”

  He leaned forward. “Get as low as you can,” he said. A few workers tended the gardens, but the hustle and bustle that surrounded other residences was absent here. Beautifully preserved and tended, it seemed abandoned, lonely, mournful almost. March shook his head at the fancy. Buildings, even grand ones, did not have feelings. “Is it occupied?”

  “The night side palace, one of thirty imperial residences, has never been occupied full-time. It is used only as a getaway retreat.”

  The skimmer made a quick circle of the residence then turned back toward the mountain. “That is the conclusion of the tour,” the computer said. “We will return to morning side and the main palace.”

  Chapter Eleven

  She got halfway across the field when a yacuni calf trotted up and butted her. Still a newborn, its feathers hadn’t sprouted yet, and its skin was wrinkled and leathery. It blinked big, long-lashed eyes and nudged her again.

  “Hey, little one!” she said and stroked its head, rubbing the nubs of budding antlers. The waist-high baby sniffed at her and then nuzzled her arm. Julietta laughed. “No, I’m not your papa. You need to find him! Are you lost? Where’s your papa?” Once the female antelope gave birth, her job was finished. Yacuni males nursed and nurtured the offspring until they could fend for themselves.

  The buzzing skimmer she’d hidden from had frightened away the herd, scattering the animals. They’d since returned to the lea, but most likely the little one had become separated from his sire. She swept her gaze over the field, scanning for a male who might be storming her way, but the animals had resumed grazing and paid her no mind. Yacuni were gentle and docile, except during birthing season, when the nursing hormones caused the males to become fiercely protective of their calves—and unpredictable and dangerous.

  “Shoo, now! Go find your papa,” she said, and resumed her hike toward the palace.

  She’d taken no more than a half dozen steps when the calf butted her in the small of her back. Julietta turned around. “No,” she said gently and pointed toward the herd. “Go.” She gave the calf a gentle push. Several male yacuni with massive antlers stopped grazing to stare at her. Plumed tails twitched with suspicion. Her heart picked up a beat. Avoiding eye contact, she remained still. When they resumed eating, she released a shaky breath.

  The calf stared at her with soulful eyes.

  She inched backward, holding her outstretched hands palm up. “Stay,” she whispered. She’d put a couple of meters between her and the baby when it toddled toward her again. She couldn’t allow the calf to follow her to the palace. A nursing newborn, it was too young to be away from its papa for more than a short time. “No! Go back to your herd.” She stomped her foot to scare him away.

  The baby pranced around her in a circle as if they were playing.

  A yacuni snorted.

  Out of the pack emerged a massive male, fully feathered, his razor-sharp rack at least two meters across. He snorted again, blowing foam o
ut his nose. She’d swear she read malice in his eyes.

  The little one’s papa. Oh Xenia. Her stomach dropped to her toes. On shaky legs she backed away to distance herself from the calf. It followed her.

  Oh, baby, no. Don’t do that.

  Papa tossed his head and then bugled. Baby sprinted back to the herd. Papa lowered his head and charged.

  Julietta screamed.

  * * * *

  No one need know he’d hacked into the skimmer’s computer. March forced the flyer to land in a slight clearing among the wood, where it would be mostly hidden. Before he returned to the imperial palace, he would erase all traces of his hacking and overwrite the chronometer to cover the time lapse.

  He’d take a quick jog to see the palace up close. The emperor had sent him on a sightseeing tour—he may as well see something! He’d be gone an hour, tops. Besides checking out the structure, he could get a closer look at the yacuni. A herd of them grazed in the field where only a few sparse trees sprang out of the tall grass.

  He’d just emerged from the woods when he heard an animal bellow, followed by a woman’s scream.

  In the lea, a massive yacuni charged after a woman running for a lone scrubby tree. The stunted tree would offer no safety at all; the animal would plow right over it and gore the woman with its antlers. His cybervision calculated a separation between the servant girl and beast as a mere hundred meters, and the animal closed the distance. She didn’t have a chance.

  “Hey! Hey!” March shouted to get the beast’s attention and sprinted across the field with hyperspeed. Nanos and oxygen powered his cyborg legs. If he could intercept the yacuni, redirect its attention, he could fight it off, and allow the woman to get away. “Hey!” He emitted a shrill whistle.

  The animal didn’t slow, but the woman glanced back. The world dropped at his feet to see Jules’s terrified face. It shattered when she tripped and went flying, hitting the ground.

  “No!” He pushed himself faster.

  He reached her seconds before the yacuni. He hauled her to her feet and half shoved, half threw her out of its path. “Run! Go!”

  He dodged, but the yacuni caught him, piercing him with his antlers. Searing pain shot through his abdomen. Bulked up by nano-infused muscle, he was no lightweight, but the animal tossed him over his back as if he were no bigger than a rabbit. He flew through the air and slammed into the ground. The shock of impact ricocheted through his body, but March vaulted to his feet.

  Jules ran toward him, waving her arms.

  What was she doing? “No! Get out of here!” he yelled. “Get out of here!”

  The yacuni faced him now. With murder in its eyes, the animal pawed the ground, preparing for another assault.

  Blood soaked his shirt. Nanos rushed to the injury sight, but he hardly noticed. He blocked Jules from his mind and trained his full attention on the beast.

  Head down, it charged.

  Seconds before impact, he leapt to the side. The enraged animal raced by, the thunder of its hooves shaking the ground. It spun around and came at him again. This time, as he sidestepped, he grabbed the antlers and vaulted onto its back. The beast went wild, bucking and twisting, whipping its head. March jerked back to avoid being gored in the face. The violent kicking jarred his bones, but he dug his knees into the feathered flanks and clung to the antlers. At the first opportunity, he would snap its neck.

  “March!” Jules cried.

  Why the hell hadn’t she left? “Get out of here!” he shouted. If the animal succeeded in unseating him, it could go after her.

  Every time he got a grip with the proper leverage, the animal would rear its head back, trying to impale him. Robotic nanocytes could speed heal many injuries, but they couldn’t restore eyes that had been gored out of their sockets. Jumping onto the animal had been like grabbing a tiger by the tail. Once you had it, you couldn’t let go. If he’d had a photon blaster, he could have stunned it, but without one, options were limited.

  Ready to wrench its neck, he got a good grip on the horns and—

  “Don’t hurt him! He has a baby!” Jules yelled. “Please, don’t hurt him.”

  Don’t hurt him? This wasn’t some sporting exhibition, like a Sha’A’la!

  “I don’t have a choice.” If she’d hightailed it to the palace, like she should have, he might have been able to leap off. He could outrun it, but Julietta couldn’t. “Go to the palace.” Maybe he could hold it off long enough for her to get there.

  “I won’t leave you.”

  “Jules, please.”

  The yacuni snorted with rage and stomped its feet. Foam dripped from its mouth. Most of the rest of the herd were grazing, but a few animals lifted their heads to watch. If multiple yacuni attacked, they wouldn’t have a chance.

  Jules kicked through the tall grass.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Searching for a stick or a stone. Maybe I can hit it on the head and knock it out.”

  No killing. Concussion, okay. “Listen to me! Go to your pal—”

  She ran to a stumpy tree to break off a branch. Now was the best time to kill it, while she was occupied. He reached for a lower offshoot on the antlers. A sharp snap to the left should do it.

  A bleating baby yacuni galloped over on wobbly legs. It looked naked and defenseless without its feathers. If its sire died, would the other animals in the pack take care of it? The big one bugled, panic ringing out in the bellowing cry. Go away, go away, it seemed to say. Warning off the little one? Like he’d tried to warn off Jules? The baby obeyed as well as she had, which was to say it didn’t. It pranced around, and panic rose in the adult. Blood vessels in the animal’s thick neck bulged.

  Oh fuck. He didn’t have the stomach to kill the beast in front of its offspring, in front of Jules who dragged a skinny tree limb that wouldn’t do anything to a full-sized, enraged yacuni except anger it more. Except…

  He could try one thing. If it didn’t work, then he’d be forced to kill the animal.

  He learned forward and hugged the animal’s neck and pressed against the bulging veins, cutting off the blood flow. The animal thrashed and kicked. It fought hard for several minutes, but then its legs caved and it went down, falling to its knees. It bellowed weakly. Eyelids drooped and fluttered. March continued to squeeze.

  Finally, it keeled over, unconscious, and he leaped off before it hit the ground. The young yacuni ran over and nuzzled its sire.

  Julietta stared.

  The animal’s legs twitched in a sign of recovery. March grabbed her hand. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” They ran.

  * * * *

  When she would have slowed, March urged her on. Julietta’s side hurt from the sprint by the time they reached the promenade. He released her hand, and they both stole a glance at the field. Papa and baby were no longer in sight, having merged with the herd.

  March had saved her.

  “I thought yacuni were supposed to be docile,” he said, not winded in the least.

  “They’re very docile—” she gasped, breathless.

  He snorted.

  “Until birthing season. Then they become dangerous.” She pushed her hair back and peered up at him. As long as she lived, she’d never forget March riding the yacuni while it bugled and bucked. How he’d managed to hold on, she’d never know. Anyone else would have been killed. She’d feared he was dead when the yacuni had butted him and he’d sailed overhead. She couldn’t believe it when he’d jumped up.

  “Thank you. You saved my life.” She touched his chest and found it damp. Sweat, she assumed, until she removed her hand and found her palm stained red. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’m okay.”

  His black shirt had camouflaged the injury. “No, you’re not. You’re bleeding. Let me see.” She reached for the hem of the garment. He hadn’t been struck, he’d been gored.

  He moved out of reach. “I’m all right.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re bleeding.” She craned her neck a
nd spotted a servant tending flowers. “Get the healer!” she shouted. “Quick! My friend is hurt!”

  “Yes, Princess!” The servant dropped his hoe and sprinted for the palace.

  “No!” March called out. “Cancel that.”

  The servant halted.

  “Get the healer!” Julietta motioned.

  “No, stop!” He countermanded her order again.

  The poor servant looked confused. But she was the future empress. Her command would be law soon enough. She started to motion the man to continue.

  March grabbed her hand. “It’s a minor scratch. I don’t need medical assistance.”

  She would have ignored him and proceeded with her order, except he smiled, a beguiling, almost teasing grin. It was so much like the way he used to look at her that her heart stopped.

  “Princess?” the servant called out.

  March shook his head. “Really. I’m okay.”

  Against her better judgment, she capitulated with a sigh. “Cancel the healer.” She stared into March’s eyes. Everything else about him had changed, except the Terran sky and that grin.

  Heat, longing, and arousal surged from the inside out, urging her to wrap her arms around him and never let go. But an embrace wasn’t offered. His posture was rigid.

  He jutted out his chin. “You should go in.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I have to return to the other palace. I was sprung for a few hours for a tour.”

  “Sprung?” She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Your father ordered me to stay close until the investigation into Kur and Naimo’s poisoning is concluded.”

  His explanation reminded her of the harsh reality and the duty still awaiting her. She did not wish for harm or illness to befall either brother, but the tragedy had granted her a reprieve. Despite her aversion to the bonding, if she could miraculously heal both men, she would—but she couldn’t. Only their own bodies, assisted by a healer, could do that.