The Ophelia Prophecy (2 page)

“Come with me,” he ordered.

Like hell
, was the reply conveyed by her expression.

No time for this
. Pax lunged for her.

A moment later he was flat on his back, staring at blue sky, trying to reactivate his diaphragm.
What the fuck?

He turned his head, watching the woman run along the water’s edge.

“Want me to catch her for you, Brother?” Iris taunted over Banshee’s com.

Growling in irritation, he jumped up and bolted after her.

What Pax lacked in the more exotic of his family’s genetic advantages, he made up for in strength. The woman was stronger and faster than she looked, but he caught her in less than a minute. She shrieked as he hoisted her over his shoulder.

“Hurt me and I’ll hurt you back,” he menaced, curving his arm over her hips.

Her teeth sank into the soft skin just below his ribs.

Pax seized her around the waist and dumped her onto the sand, falling on top of her. Blood smeared her lips—
his
blood. He caged her between his legs, gripping her wrists in his hands. He wouldn’t underestimate her again.

“I warned you.”

Pax dropped his face to her neck, breathing deeply. He’d only meant to confirm she wasn’t transgenic—modified DNA didn’t always manifest in obvious ways—but instead he got a nose full of something else. His Manti senses told him that mating with her now would very likely produce offspring.

His nose grazed her cheek without any conscious impulse of his own. Her chest rose and fell with her panicked breathing, her breasts moving against him, making everything worse. He pressed against the leg she’d raised between them, hardening so fast it hurt.

She gave a horrified cry and writhed against him, waking him from the trance of arousal.

You’re not an animal!
Pax strained for control. He understood the biology. He knew that pheromones were to blame, and the inherited mutation that enhanced his sensitivity to them. But his understanding did nothing to decrease his drive.

Through no fault of his own—through the fault of humans, in fact—he
was
an animal. At least part of him was, and sometimes his preternatural urges and abilities flared beyond his control.

He sucked in ragged breaths as he fought his body, fought his instincts. But god, the
smell
of her … He released her wrists and rolled her onto her stomach, ducking his head to inhale the scent at the nape of her slender neck, just below the hairline.

She was human, no question. And that was unfortunate. Because through the red haze of arousal he could feel his body
tuning
to her in a way that it should not. The shock of this discovery weakened him—for only a moment, but it was a moment too long.

The woman braced her arms and legs against the ground and heaved her body upward. The unanticipated movement toppled him, and she scooted away and scrambled across the sand.

But she made it no farther than the pair of black boots that planted themselves in her path.

Pax followed the line of the new arrival’s long and lean body, his eyes meeting hers. Iris frowned.

“Aren’t you the one who told me agitation makes a female more likely to chew off the male’s head?”

Sighing, he let his head fall back in the sand. “She’s human, Iris.”

“I wasn’t talking about
her
.”

*   *   *

The impulse to run fired impotently. Asha’s limbs had frozen with shock.

She suddenly understood the resurrection of archaic terminology like “changeling” and “fae.” For those who didn’t know, didn’t understand, or chose not to believe what these beings really were—next-generation byproducts of unsanctioned but well-funded biohacker projects—it probably seemed the only plausible explanation.

The inhabitants of Sanctuary lived a cloistered life. As an archivist, Asha had seen hundreds of images, but images were easily enhanced. Exaggerated.

But Iris was … devastatingly real.

Her exquisite face—small and pointed, dominated by large, pearlescent green eyes—was framed by a rigid, shield-shaped hood as brightly green as summer grass. The hood merged with her shoulders, and what was below, Asha had thought at first to be part of her costume—a set of elongated wings, the same color and texture as the hood. They lifted and settled, adjusting slightly with every movement she made.

As Iris strode toward Paxton, Asha noticed the Manti woman’s arms, slender and tapered like any woman’s—except for the row of spikes running from elbow to pinky finger.

Humanity referred to its enemy generically as Manti, though genetic experimentation had involved DNA from a variety of species. But Iris
was
mantis. Darkly alien—darkly
other
—with a beauty born of nightmares.

According to legend, a single creature like this one had triggered the fall of humanity. And yet at the moment it was the male Asha feared most.

Asha shifted her body slowly, crouching as she considered her next move. Paxton detected the motion, and his gaze cut her direction. She noted the rise and fall of his chest, his still-labored breathing. She had no idea why her body was suddenly capable of amazing feats, but she didn’t dare run from him again. She wouldn’t give him another excuse to grab her.

The Manti woman knelt beside him. “You’d better rethink this, Brother. God knows I hate them, but I don’t want to see you…”

As Iris hesitated, Pax’s gaze slipped from Asha.

“Think of your mother,” Iris urged him.

His eyes flashed. “Do I ever
stop
thinking of her? I’m not Father.”

“I know.” Iris’s hand crept up, fingers combing through his short, dark hair. Some of the tension in his face released. “I know you don’t want it. But if she’s on the ship with us … Can you control it?”

His features grayed in the bright sunlight, but he said, “I can control it.”

The sister frowned. “I don’t like this. Your head is still clouded with
mating
.”

Asha’s heart took flight over the sand, wondering why the rest of her didn’t follow. She remained frozen, hoping her new talents included blending against the beach like the ship.

Iris rose, wings nestling close against her clothespin form. She held out a hand and pulled Paxton to his feet. The siblings were nearly the same height, and both taller than Asha.

“I need to find out what she knows.”

Iris started for the ship, resigned. “What are we going to do with her?”

“I want you to lock her in your quarters.”

Iris stopped, turning slowly. “You better be joking.”

“Just
do
it, Iris,” he grumbled.

Her frown deepened and she gave a curt nod. “My lord.”

He rolled his eyes at her servile tone and glanced at Asha. “Go with Iris,” he ordered.

“Don’t do this,” Asha pleaded, her voice choked with fear. “I don’t know
anything
.”

But she did know something. She knew if she got on that ship she’d never see her home again.

BANSHEE

When Iris turned her scowl Asha’s direction, Asha rose to her feet before anyone else could lay hands on her. She was no match for Paxton alone, and she was certainly no match for the pair of them.

She started toward the loading ramp, her enemies trailing behind her, and ascended into the mouth of the monster. The Manti had learned from and quickly surpassed their human creators, using extreme biomimicry techniques to develop technologies that were both functional and fantastic. The ship was a perfect example.

Inside it was cool and dark, like a cave in the desert. Chill-bumps rose on her arms, creeping up between her shoulder blades to her neck.

After a few steps she stopped, forward momentum arrested by her instincts shouting that she should not be here.

“Keep moving,” called Paxton from the ramp.

“She needs more light,” muttered Iris. “Banshee?”

A pair of luminescent bursts brightened the corridor on either side of Asha, startling her. The light gave her skin a greenish cast, like Iris’s.

Paxton drew up even with his sister. “Give her some clothes and confine her. I’ll get us out of here.”

Iris lifted an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting she should wear mine?” Her form-hugging crepe dress was completely open at the back to accommodate the unique aspects of her physique.

Paxton simply frowned and motioned for them to follow.

Asha kept close to Iris as they continued down the corridor, ship vibrating rhythmically beneath her feet like a contented cat. The light circles traveled alongside her, revealing the green, veined pattern of the membrane that covered every surface.

Paxton stopped in front of a more rigid-looking plate, running his palm along the surface. A watery pulse sounded, and the plate swung in an upward arc away from a doorway.

Asha hovered just inside while he crossed the room to a trunk at the foot of what seemed an overlarge bed for such a small ship. She marveled at how unruffled he seemed by the fact he was naked. She felt completely exposed even in the flimsy white dress.

He rummaged a pair of dark, form-fitting pants from the trunk and pulled them over his hips, then tugged a green mesh shirt over his head. The fabric of the shirt had a pattern of alternating solid and transparent leaves that revealed ribbons of chest and abdomen—and somehow managed to be more suggestive than his nakedness.

He finished by shoving his feet into boots and sticking his fingers in his eyes.

“I hate these damn things,” he grumbled, pitching something into a bin on the floor.

Paxton looked up at Iris, and Asha gasped. His eyes were no longer brown, but the same pearlescent green of his sister’s, though more human-sized and deeply set. The light eyes—contrasted against olive flesh and heavy, dark brows—blended an alien quality with his intense good looks.

It occurred to Asha that he’d gone to some trouble to pass as human—the colored lenses, the symmetrical scarring on his torso hinting at the possibility some part of him had been removed. But why?

Paxton ran a hand through his hair. “How long was I gone?”

“Let’s talk later,” Iris replied. She crossed her arms and studied his face. “I was worried.”

The softness in the look he gave his sister was hard to reconcile with the dark, desperate hunger of the man who’d attacked Asha. Even as the thought crossed her mind his gaze shifted to her, and the predatory intensity returned. She pressed her back against the wall, hoping Iris’s maternal attitude toward her brother would continue to shield her as well.

“Take what you need,” Paxton said, waving at the trunk. “Secure her out of my sight and meet me on the bridge.”

He started for the door, and Asha slid along the wall, out of his path.

“Last chance, Pax,” called Iris, and he stopped and turned. “This decision has consequences.”

Paxton fixed his eyes on Asha. “I know it does. But it’s too late to second-guess now.”

Asha shivered and pressed harder against the wall, preparing to spring to Iris’s side. Another watery pulse sounded, very near her ear, and she did just that. But Iris—startled by the sudden movement—gave a sharp hiss, and her wings rose perpendicular from her body.

Asha hung between the siblings. She clenched her fists at her sides, bemoaning the lack of defensive positions in this house of horrors. Noticing Paxton’s attention focused on the wall, she followed his gaze and saw several lines of text had materialized where her body had rested.

INJURY ANALYSIS

Left wrist: Stress fracture with contusion

ALERTS: Elevated adrenaline and progesterone levels

Asha touched her throbbing wrist—the pain had been no more than a peripheral distraction until now. A pale blue smudge spread over the flesh at her pulse point.

Hurt me and I’ll hurt you back
—a flag for the file her brain was compiling on Paxton. He didn’t make idle threats.

Though the Manti’s grip could certainly have caused the bruising, the break had probably happened when she levered his much larger form off her back. How had she managed
that
? Probably had something to do with “elevated adrenaline.”

Paxton’s frown deepened. “Do you think you could—?”

“I’ll look at it,” Iris sighed. “You know you’re bleeding, Brother?”

“And someone’s taken a hammer to the back of my skull.” He rubbed the spot again as he turned for the door. “I’ll be on the bridge.”

When he was gone, Iris reached for a clasp at her neck, and Asha watched her lift the rigid hood from her shoulders, placing it on the bed. Then she removed two leather sleeves from her belt, and she fitted one to each forearm, strapping them into place to cover the spikes. The fact that the spikes
were
part of her physiology erased any relief Asha felt about the hood.

Iris knelt next to the chest, sifting through Pax’s clothing with her long, delicate hands. She was an amalgamation of two vastly different life-forms, and yet her movements were controlled and graceful. Harmonious. It was easier to imagine her a displaced member of some ancient, highly advanced civilization—only Asha was the one who had been displaced.

Maybe the damage was all inside. Many had speculated about the long-term psychological effects of transgenic experimentation, but there’d been no new research since the Bio Holocaust. There was no one left to
do
the research.

If there was such a thing as a Manti expert, Asha was it—the only archivist who focused almost exclusively on the genesis of the Manti, and the Bio Holocaust that eventually wiped out their creators.

“This will have to do,” said Iris, handing Asha a shirt and pants.

The shirt was made of a stretchy black fabric and fit well enough. The pants were lightweight and loose, barely clinging to her pelvic bones. She cinched them tighter with the drawstring, groaning at the pain the effort caused her, and rolled the legs to keep from walking on them. She breathed a little easier now that she wasn’t so exposed.