Rebel Heat (22 page)

Now
. His hips pumped frantically his lips hovering over hers.
Let me feel you come around my cock.

The graphic command left her no choice. Her body arched and her core rippled, triggering his release. They clung to each other, shuddering and groaning as the world spun away. They hung together in velvety silence for one endless moment then plummeted back to reality.

“Wow.” She shivered then laughed as tingling aftershocks sparked through her body.

“A little better than average?”

She laughed again and eased one of her hands out from under his. “Does your ego really need to hear it?” She brushed his hair back from his face. “We are amazing together. It’s not you or me. It’s
us
.”

He grinned, clearly thrilled by the conclusion. “I’m glad you’re finally starting to understand.”

A buzzer sounded and Nazerel looked toward the workstation. “Answer call, audio only.”

“Sorry to interrupt your training session.” No one could have missed the amusement in Zilor’s tone. “But Garin has a surprise for you.”

“What sort of surprise?”

“Report to Garin’s quarters and he’ll explain. We missed you at breakfast.”

The connection went dead before Nazerel could respond.

“What did he mean by ‘training session’?” When Nazerel only grinned she had her answer. “They think you’re ‘training’ me?”

He gave her a quick kiss then rolled away and scooted off the bunk. “Does it matter what they think? We know the truth.”

“We do?” She scrambled off the bed and raced for her discarded nightgown. “Which truth is that?”

“We’re training each other.”

He disappeared into the utility room before she could object or agree. She slipped the nightgown back on with a sigh. Did it really matter what anyone else thought as long as they were content with the arrangement? Content? Was she content with Nazerel? She wasn’t even sure she liked him. How could he possibly make her content?

But she was warm and sleepy, utterly at peace for the first time in years, maybe decades.

She closed her eyes and reached for his mind.

Yes, my love?
He made the endearment sound playful.

If you promise not to enter my mind without letting me know you’re there, we’ll try this for a while.

Happiness, bright and effervescent, preceded his thought.
Are you sure?

Yes. But I don’t offer my trust often or easily. No spying on me.

The door to the utility room slid open and he stood there in a freshly pressed uniform, hair still damp from his lightning-fast shower. “If I approach your mind, you’ll know I’m there and you’ll have time to shut the door if you don’t want me to enter.”

“Or I will if I knew how to shut a telepathic door.”

“I’ll teach you. As soon as I return, we’ll resume our training session.” He punctuated the promise with a wink that sent heat curling through her body.

* * * * *

Nazerel was halfway to Garin’s cabin when the computer rerouted him to the brig. The distinctly female voice told him of the change and a lighted indicator on the wall guided him toward the new destination. His gut knotted and his breathing hitched as he neared the detention level. What sort of surprise would Garin have stashed in the brig? Ontarians was the obvious answer, but how in the five hells would Mystics have found him this quickly? Everyone who knew of his connection to the Nox family was either dead or incarcerated.

Except for Varrik.

Dread intensified the weight in his stomach. His former best friend had already betrayed him once. Why should this possibility surprise him? His worst fears were realized a few minutes later when a guard ushered him into the open area between the containment cells. Garin stood there, hands clasped behind his back.

“Surprise.” He motioned toward Varrik with a sardonic smile. “Decide what you want done with him or I’ll shove him out the nearest airlock. I really don’t have time for this shit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Garin moved toward Echo, who was in an adjacent cell. “You’re coming with me, so your mate doesn’t feel obligated to perform.” He disabled the force field with a terse command and motioned Echo out.

“Where are you taking her?” Varrik demanded.

“Wherever I please,” Garin snapped. “This is my ship. You are the intruders.”

Varrik’s gaze screamed objections, but he wisely held his tongue. Garin had already explained why he was removing Echo and that was more consideration than Varrik deserved.

Nazerel waited until the door slid closed behind Garin and Echo before he spoke to his one-time friend. “I’m not going back to Ontariese, at least not yet.”

“Running away is a coward’s solution. You’re not a coward.”

Nazerel shook his head and fought back a smile. Varrik knew him too well. Any other accusation would have fallen on deaf ears, but no one called Nazerel a coward. He glanced at the guard standing beside the door. “Wait outside. I’ll call you if I need assistance.”

With only an acknowledging nod, the guard stepped out into the corridor and joined the guard already stationed there.

After the door closed again, Nazerel turned back to Varrik. “I’m not running away. I retreated so I could regroup and form a better strategy.”

“A better strategy for what? It’s over, Nazerel. Sevrin is dead and you must take responsibility for your actions.”

“Which actions do you find so objectionable? Leaving the City of Tears without permission or communicating with the
evil
Rodytes?”

“Rodyte blood flows through my veins too. You can’t pretend I’m a bigot. And you can’t pretend no one was hurt by your presence on Earth. Yes, we know Sevrin’s experiments were to blame for the actual deaths, but how did those females end up in Sevrin’s lab? And a male had to have triggered each transformation. That wasn’t something Sevrin could have done alone.”

“No one on Team South hunted while we were on Earth. Ask Flynn. Ask anyone.”

Varrik paused, clearly confused by the claim. His stance remained tense and watchful, but his gaze softened. “What are you talking about? We were told there was a rotation that ensured each team had the opportunity to hunt.”

“Team South members were excluded from the rotation.”

“Why? Who excluded them?”

“Sevrin. I wouldn’t lick her boots, or anything else she wanted licked, so she lashed out at my team. She was hoping my men would turn on me, but the injustice only made them more suspicious of her and more loyal to me.”

After a long, strained silence, Varrik asked, “Can you give me the names of each man who hunted and what happened to the female or females he caught?”

“Don’t confuse me with Flynn. Investigating this mess is your job, not mine.”

Varrik accepted the statement with a stiff nod. “You still violated your contract with the Overlord.”

“A contract I neither negotiated nor signed,” Nazerel sneered. This conversation was so overdue it was pointless. “It was never my desire to be part of the world above, but you dismantled our world so you could remain with your mate. I accept that. I don’t agree with it, but I understand the consuming need to keep one’s mate at one’s side.”

Varrik had the audacity to laugh. He ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. “Let me guess, Morgan? Does she know she’s your mate or does she still consider herself your prisoner?”

“We’re talking about me, not Morgan.” He couldn’t let thoughts of Morgan soften his heart or overshadow his resentment. Varrik had escaped this reckoning for much too long and this setting was likely as advantageous as Nazerel was ever going to receive.

“Hate me for dismantling our world if you must, but at least be honest with yourself. Our world needed to be dismantled. The Sacred Customs were tools used by the elders to control their tribes. Our men deserve more than a life of mindless subjugation.”

“Maybe that’s all the Customs were to you, but to me they were much, much more.”

After heaving a sigh of exasperation, Varrik squared his shoulders. “We can spend the next year debating the merits of the Sacred Customs and it will change nothing. The world below is gone.”

“Thanks to you,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

“And it should not be reborn,” Varrik stressed.

He relaxed his jaw enough to speak clearly. “I agree.”

That seemed to surprise Varrik. He took a step closer to the containment field. “I didn’t set out to kill South. Your father left me no other choice.”

Nazerel clenched his fists, needing a physical outlet for the sudden flash of anger. Varrik hadn’t “set out to kill” Nazerel’s father, but Varrik hadn’t denied being the cause of South’s death. “You accused Elder North and Elder South of betraying our people. It’s curious that North—your uncle—is still alive while you had ‘no other choice’ but to kill my father, the only person who could have disproved your accusations.”

“Why was he on the Rodyte ship if he remained loyal to our world?” Tension deepened Varrik’s voice, adding a menacing growl to his tone.

Moving closer to Varrik’s cell, Nazerel found the command to lower the containment field on the tip of his tongue. The Sacred Customs not only allowed murder to be avenged, they demanded a life for a life. But this was Garin’s ship. When Varrik breathed his last, it would have to be at Garin’s command. “My father was captured by the Rodytes just like you and Echo.”

“And yet we found him in a comfortable cabin while we had been locked up and restrained.”

Nazerel had heard it all before. He’d watched the vidfiles of the tribunal and read the transcripts, searching for any inconsistency that would exonerate his father or at least cast doubt on Varrik’s story. He’d found none. The entire performance had been a carefully constructed lie, or Varrik had been telling the truth. For the first time, Nazerel allowed himself to admit that he wasn’t sure which alternative was accurate.

“I have only your word for any of this,” Nazerel snapped.

“For most of our lives, that would have been enough.”

The reminder only irritated the raw patches in Nazerel’s soul. Their past closeness was the primary reason Varrik’s betrayal hurt so badly. “And then you met Echo.”

“Why would I lie? Why would Echo? She had nothing to gain by spreading falsehoods and everything to lose. Lying during a tribunal is a serious crime.”

“You needed the location of the Shadow Maze and you murdered my father to get it!” Varrik had no intention of changing his story. This was an exasperating waste of time.

“Scan me. Look into my mind and learn the truth.” It was part challenge, part plea.

Nazerel glared at him. “I know the true scope of your powers. You can easily manipulate memories.”

“And you’re skilled enough to sense that sort of manipulation. Go on. Let’s end this once and for all. Or aren’t you interested in the truth?” The plea faded from his demeanor until only challenge remained.

Not sure why he was prolonging this futile conversation, Nazerel said, “This better not be some sort of trick. We still have Echo.” It was an idle threat and likely Varrik knew it. Still, Nazerel felt compelled to say something.

Even with his nanites boosting his natural abilities, Nazerel wasn’t able to penetrate the containment field, so he issued the command, decreasing the strength by twenty-five percent.

Varrik flashed through the barrier and grabbed Nazerel by the throat. “Never threaten my mate. I will not tolerate—”

Nazerel punched him in the face, snapping his head sharply to the side. Then he dragged Varrik’s hand away from his throat and propelled him backward with a burst of energy. “Get back in that cell! You’re not in a position to demand anything.”

Varrik’s only response was a fast, uppercut that Nazerel barely dodged. Another energy pulse sent Varrik stumbling backward, but he recovered quickly and charged Nazerel.

This confrontation had been brewing for months and now both men were fully engaged. Their nanites augmented their strength and speed, but they’d known each other their entire lives. Their arms and legs flew so fast their bodies blurred, yet few of their blows connected. They ducked and waved, twisted and lunged in a dizzying, semi-violent dance.

Nazerel faked with his left then put the full power of his body behind his right fist. Anticipating the first punch, Varrik jerked to the right and his nose collided with Nazerel’s knuckles. Blood gushed from both nostrils, coating Varrik’s face and Nazerel’s hand in a torrent of red. With an enraged cry, Varrik kicked Nazerel’s legs out from under him then followed him down to the floor. Varrik drew back his arm, but before he could land even one punch, he was dragged off Nazerel by three guards who must have been drawn by the commotion. A forth stood a short distance away with his pulse pistol aimed at Varrik’s head.

“Don’t kill him,” Nazerel ordered. “I’ve just begun to question him.

“Why is he out of his cell?” the one with the gun wanted to know.

The rings in Varrik’s eyes erupted with blue fire. Understanding the significance of the change, Nazerel scrambled to his feet and caught Varrik’s attention. “Don’t hurt them. Your quarrel is with me.”