Three Worlds - Seduce Me In Dreams Part 4

Bronse closed his eyes tightly, suddenly feeling all the inadequacies of his situation with a great deal of pain and frustration. How could he possibly predict the unpredictable? Were it his choice, he would be liberating her even then.

But he had no choice. He had a mission to fulfill.

Whether it was a trap, lambs to the slaughter or even a legitimate operation, he must carry out his orders as instructed until he felt that other action was warranted. His team understood that, and they were prepared for it. How could he possibly prepare this serene woman for a wait that promised to be pure h.e.l.l at the hands of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who held her? They had whipped her today. The Great Being knew what else they had done. What would tomorrow hold for her?

"No sooner than two days," he said at last. "Beyond that, I cannot say."

She met his gaze as soon as his eyes opened. Bronse was struck by the soulful depths of her soft topaz irises, the deeply toasted gold with its starbursts of brown and their incredible bravery in the face of all the implications of his answer.

"I understand," she murmured. "It is meant to be. I don't know why I asked. Everything will unfold in its predestined way. Nothing that either of us does will change that. Or perhaps if we change it, we risk never meeting at all. Such is the danger of precognition."

Bronse felt her logic and her acceptance on what could only be described as a spiritual level. How could he not? It was so soft and simple, without hint of bitterness or resignation. It was a rare and painfully beautiful thing to behold in such close proximity. She was a rare and beautiful thing to behold. He finally found an acceptable locale for his hand, raising it to her soft, high cheek, brus.h.i.+ng a calloused thumb over a perfection of smooth skin. She felt so real and so warm. He had never felt anything as supple as her skin. He had never seen eyes of such fort.i.tude in a woman that could also be so exquisitely lovely.

Of its own accord, his gaze drifted down to the ample shape of her jewel-toned lips. Before he realized it, his thumb was brus.h.i.+ng over the breadth of her bottom lip, feeling its lush warmth and slight dampness as her heated breath cascaded over his hand. He was breathing as if he had run an obstacle course by the time his gaze darted back up to hers with guilt, need, and other conflicts gleaming in periwinkle depths.

Bronse was shocked to realize that his other hand had found a comfortable home wrapped around the thick swath of her hair. This time, he recognized grimly, it was he who held her in the lovers' embrace. Only where her intent had been innocent of those connotations, he knew that his was not. He was fighting the urge to draw her to his kiss like he had never fought any other impulse before in his life.

"Why?" She asked the question so softly that he wasn't sure he had even heard her correctly at first.

"Why ... what?"

"Why not follow your impulses?" she asked with painfully blatant curiosity. "Why would you think that, in the face of all I must endure here, I would not want something purer and of my own free will to sustain me?"

Bronse groaned as aching desire trebled throughout his body. His forehead fell forward to touch hers as he clenched his teeth together.

"Because you don't ... Ravenna, you don't understand. I'm not some gentle savior. I'm afraid you have made me out to be something in your mind that I'm not. I'm not the kind of man who would treat you the way you'd want me to. Treat you as you deserve to be treated."

"And the Nomaads are? What man is it that you think I deserve? I may see you as a savior, but I have never expected gentility from you. Though you have shown it in abundance, Bronse, I have never blindly a.s.sumed you to have gentleness in your nature." She lifted her hand from his shoulder, her hot fingers spreading across his cheek, her nails sc.r.a.ping through the nighttime shadow along his jaw. "What will you give me that you think will be so offensive?" she asked breathlessly.

"Nothing. Everything! h.e.l.l ..." he ground out, her invitations sending heat searing through his flesh and bones. Inch by inch he flooded with a slow, intense burn for her. It left him with negative life signs-no breath, no heartbeat, not even a coherent brain wave-for all of thirty seconds. "It's not right," he said stubbornly.

"It's not?" she asked, blinking those d.a.m.nably beautiful eyes at him with utter guilelessness.

"No!" he insisted furiously, right before he dragged her mouth beneath his. Then he was kissing her, getting it out of his cursedly callous system, greedy, rotten b.a.s.t.a.r.d that he was turning out to be. Undeserving. He knew it even if she did not. He didn't deserve ...

Ravenna's mouth. It felt just as full as it had looked, her warm lips spreading generously over his as if she had no reason to second-guess or hesitate. Her perfume welled up into his senses with heady perfection-flowers, spice, and the warmth of a woman all wrapped up in a potent confection. Her body gave a luscious little tremble in his lap, her breath catching and exhaling in a jolted shudder of surprise. She made a sweet sound of wonder and astonishment, as though she hadn't expected to be pleased. Bronse might have been a little insulted if her lips hadn't parted to make the little noise, leaving him with an irresistible opening. He took advantage, touching the velvet warmth of his tongue to the inside of her lower lip. Great Being, that lip suddenly seemed the most delectable thing he'd ever come across in his life. He sucked it gently, savoring it for a very long moment, making a liar of himself about his deficiencies in gentility. He silkily switched from lower lip to upper, tasting her sweetness and her surprise with a surging sense of delight and male satisfaction.

By now, both of his hands were cradling her head, his thumbs stroking over her incredibly soft cheeks again and again as he became more liberal in his exploration. He pressed his palms gently against her jaw, pulling apart her teeth, allowing him access beyond them. His tongue swept into her mouth, instantly finding hers, encouraging her into exploring with him their shared taste and textures. She made tiny little noises, short sighs of wonder and appreciation, at regular intervals. If Bronse had not been so swept up in the way she tasted, the way she made him feel, he might have teased her for her innocent vocalizations.

Bronse broke away from the addictive act of plundering her mouth with a strangled groan. He pressed his lips to the corners of hers, the grip of his hands against her face and around her head tightening reflexively. "Sweet Beyond, Ravenna, you've never been kissed before," he uttered fiercely in belated realization.

"No, never," she affirmed with short, panting breaths that spilled a fiery heat over his face. "But I want to be kissed again."

Bronse had no idea how he could possibly resist that kind of invitation. Why in h.e.l.l would he even want to? Bronse couldn't think of any satisfactory answers, not that he gave himself much time for contemplation before he dragged her luscious mouth back under his own.

He was the last man in the galaxy who would find virgin territory interesting, or so he might have thought ten minutes ago. He preferred women to be experienced and skilled. Easy come, easy go, so to speak.

Ah, but there was something to be said for the sweet, slow feel of a woman who was learning to explore her own desires in a kiss for the very first time. She slipped eagerly into his mouth, her inquisitive and ambitious tongue rubbing delightfully sensuous strokes against his. Ravenna sought his taste with slow and quick curiosities, the flick and tangle of her tongue devastating in its sumptuous explorations. She wriggled imprisoning fingers into his short hair and against his scalp so she could keep him exactly where she wished him to be-sealed tight to her suddenly hungry mouth.

Unfortunately, Bronse was not as innocent as she was, and his more practiced body was responding to her allure with a h.e.l.lish heat and hardness. Holding her in the encompa.s.sing cradle of his lap and arms, he shuddered roughly around her. Her ambition drove him crazy as she sucked his tongue and lips with increasing fervor and very obvious excitement. He felt the blush of her face against his own, a telltale burning heat that told him she was just as affected as he was, though she may not have as easy an understanding of it as he did. Ravenna was pressing flush against him now, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s thrust against the muscular wall of his chest, their delicious weight painfully tempting. He could feel the points of her tautened nipples prodding him teasingly. Her round, generous bottom was snuggled deep in his lap.

Great Being, she was made for loving, Bronse thought fervently.

She was young, he knew, but not so young as to explain why she had never known the kiss of a man. What male could look at her and resist the temptation? Surely she had been approached by someone.

Bronse shoved the thought aside the moment he entertained it, not liking the idea of it. He stopped short of identifying the sudden emotional response as jealousy, but he did acknowledge that he was intensely glad to be her first. And one kiss, he quickly found, was hardly sufficient. As his pa.s.sion was roused to a point of frenzy, he dismissed her explorations and opted for what could only be described as ravishment. Ravenna gasped in breaths when she could as his kisses bruised her lips and scorched her tongue. Her raspy inhalations drove Bronse crazy. His hands swept down to her neck, his thumbs stroking the column of her long throat. By the Great Being, her skin was like Yojni silk! Only much, much warmer. Much more vital. Her pulses were thrumming wildly beneath his fingers.

He broke away from her mouth so he could feel that pounding cadence of her life's blood beneath his lips. He pressed his mouth to the upper pulse point just below her jaw, feeling, hearing, and tasting her response as he touched his tongue to her carotid artery. The feminine musk of arousal wafted over his senses, and he groaned with the agonizing understanding and its consequential response. He was aroused to the point of rigid steel, the evidence of it nudged up firmly against her hip, and, d.a.m.n her, she kept s.h.i.+fting her soft bottom against him until he thought he would explode.

Bronse wanted nothing more in that moment than to toss her beneath him on the floor and show her about two dozen other things she'd been missing in this particular venue. He was shouting for it. Roaring like a beast demanding release. By everything holy, he could slake a hundred hungers on this incredible creature!

But ...

After all, it was only a ...

Dream.

Ravenna woke with a cry of impa.s.sioned despair. The moment she did, all the delicious heat and liquid sensations that Bronse had sent melting through her vanished under the onslaught of incredible agony.

She was lying on her stomach on the crude pallet they forced her to sleep on. She was trapped under the stiffness and pain of her own body, the smallest movement a brutal torture. How had she ever fallen asleep in the first place with such pain? She must have pa.s.sed out, she realized, the darkness of unconsciousness bridging the distance between her and Bronse. That depth of existence had no doubt also allowed for the length of time and clarity of feeling they had shared as well.

G.o.ds, there had been such feeling!

The conflict of arousal and the excruciating throbbing from her earlier punishments brought tears to her eyes. Did she cry from pain? Or was it the sudden deprivation of those intense, skilled lips that were shockingly soft and contrastingly voracious all at once? Was she already missing those calloused hands against her skin? Ravenna swam in a sea of confusion, the brutal replacement of reality rus.h.i.+ng back into her as the dream faded to its realm of the semi-unreal. Her skin burned, yes, but it was the fire of torn and swelling flesh and not the smoldering of a man's sensual caress.

Ravenna had spent hours manipulating the guards with her powers and promises, but it had come to a cras.h.i.+ng end when the s.h.i.+ft had changed and their relief had found her sitting in state and decidedly unlashed. They had rectified the error before she or Kith could even speak to protest. Kith had screamed in rage as she was beaten first with a cane until she swelled, and then with a thin lash until she was covered in dozens of cuts that bled in rivers over her skin, soaking her clothes.

In the dream, Bronse had not seen the half of it. What he had seen had been what her mind had represented to him, and somehow she had managed to make it seem less than what it truly had been. She could not have him acting rashly. She appreciated her ability to conceal the truth of her condition. Especially now that she was learning that beneath all his logic and reserve, Bronse was a man of deep pa.s.sions. Awake once more, Ravenna knew that her condition was even worse than she had thought it was. Only Kith could tell her how awful the abuse had been, for only he had truly seen the whole of it. She had been given the occasional mercy of blacking out twice during the process.

But at least she had not been molested again. That was very important to her. If she had let the earlier s.h.i.+ft of guards continue without interruption, they would have incited one another into all manner of perversions. At least she had been able to skip over that torture, sparing Kith from suffering any more of it. For all his martial arts training, for all his gruff bl.u.s.ter, he would always be an empath and therefore would always be truly sensitive. He would never have been able to bear watching her be defiled. He would never have survived it without permanent damage to his soul and with his psyche unscathed. As it was, she worried that the experience of watching her torture had done him a great harm already. One could never be sure. Psionics were very precarious personalities sometimes.

Ravenna wiped the sweat from her brow, then pressed her burning face into the rolled rag that served as a pillow. The skin on her back was stiff with dried blood, and the wounds, she could feel, were weeping in places. Was she still bleeding? She did not think so, she realized with a growing sense of dread. If it was not blood, then it was likely to be something far worse.

A chill s.h.i.+vered sickly through her, reinforcing her fears.

Justice had no idea what had crawled up the commander's a.s.s, but she was just this side of committing a major infraction against a senior officer. Commander Chapel had been in a raring nasty mood for the past twenty-four hours, and there wasn't a single crew member who wasn't feeling the backa.s.s side of it. Even the medic was making himself mighty scarce after daring to suggest that the commander might need something to relieve his tension. Needless to say, the suggestion wasn't well received.

Justice glared over her shoulder at the one and only member of the crew who would survive telling the commander to kindly remove said bug from said a.s.s. Lasher c.o.c.ked a brow at her in response and calmly stared her down.

"That's easy for you to say," she grumbled. "He isn't chewing nails and spitting them out at you."

Lasher was well aware that Bronse was in a bad mood. Frankly, as far as Masin was concerned, Chapel had as much a right as anyone else to have a decent funk now and then. Granted, the timing was poor and the cause was questionable, but Bronse was just venting. Lasher knew he would steam down after a while. Hopefully it would be before he alienated the entire crew.

Lasher finished studying his schematics for the mission. He had done so dozens of times, and now he felt ready to present the mission parameters to the crew when they met for the midday meal. They would be touching down in nineteen hours. That gave them time for chart review, mission review, reports, rack time, and gear-up.

Lasher logged off his CompuVid and stood up. He trekked back to Medbay, and the door hissed open easily at his approach. The pneumatics of the door actually were drowned out by the compressors that misted the air with disinfectant every time someone pa.s.sed through the portal. On large flight s.h.i.+ps and on s.p.a.ce stations, a laser shower was used instead, more efficiently zapping away all surface bacteria from visitors and doing so without their notice. Lasher brushed a hand back through his lightly dampened hair. The mist would evaporate in a few seconds.

"Jet?"

"Yeah?"

Jet popped up from behind one of the diagnostic palettes, a laser wrench in one hand and a calibrator in the other. The medic was obviously tweaking his equipment in antic.i.p.ation of any possible casualties.

"I need a favor."

"A sedative for Commander Chapel?" Jet asked hopefully.

"Yeah. Right. When Hepraps fly."

Jet sighed with clear consternation. "It would last only five hours. Plenty of time to relax and refocus. He needs to focus, you know."

"I know. But where would you hide on a s.h.i.+p only so big after those five hours were up, Jet?" Lasher sighed softly. "I'll talk to him about this after midday. Listen, I need a specialized med kit."

"Specialized?"

"Yeah. I'll tell you exactly what I want and you tell me exactly how to use it. Okay?"

"Something I should know about?" Jet asked warily. He might be a medic, but Jet was as much IM soldier as the rest of them. Medics always stayed with the s.h.i.+p. They never went directly into the field. The ETF crew members had plenty of basic first-aid training to get them back to the s.h.i.+p. There was no need for a medic until after they reached extraction.

"Negative. Let's just call it a gut instinct, okay? C'mon, jack me up."

Jet gave him a crooked grin. "Come into my laboratory ..."

Bronse sat in the mess hall working up a report while he waited for the rest of the crew to arrive for midday meal. He was tired, and he rubbed at his forehead and temples where a b.i.t.c.h of a headache was throbbing rhythmically. Focusing on the VidPad was no easy trick. Focusing on writing a mission report for a mission he was certain was bogus was even harder.

With a disgusted grunt, he tossed the VidPad on the table and set both hands to work at ma.s.saging his temples. How could he concentrate on anything? How could he work calmly through the day when every minute meant endless possibilities of torture for an exquisite, helpless woman? And for a brother she clearly was devoted to. When he thought of all the things they could do to her between that moment and the undefined moment when he would finally reach her side, he was blinded by rage and a sensation of angst that he had never known in all his life.

Why had he spent precious time manhandling her? Kissing her and slaking his l.u.s.t on her when he could have been advising her on ways to avoid torture? On ways to counteract it? Tricks and methods of foiling a torturer's intents could always be learned and used. He should have been telling her those things! He should have held on to her and comforted her.

Why did he always push her away by excusing his behavior and feelings as only part of a dream? Chasing her away. Chasing himself away. He was himself in those dreams, yet somehow better than himself. Or was it the woman? By all that was cursed and holy, Bronse wanted the answers! What was worse, he could not turn to a single one of his crewmates to help him sort out this tangle of emotions, actions, and reactions. Lasher was already looking at him like he'd gone crazy, and Bronse suspected that Masin was hunting for a reason to relieve him of his command. Justice was a woman and would make for a potentially good perspective; however, Justice had the tact of a rhinoceros and couldn't keep a confidence for her life. Ender. Well, Ender was Ender. He'd sooner blow something to bits than talk about it. He wasn't going near the hyperspray-happy medic. He wished Trick was there, oddly enough. The kid was trustworthy with secrets and definitely knew about the nuances of women.

Lasher sauntered into the mess hall and threw himself into a chair with his own brand of laid-back authority. He slid a large CompuVid onto the table, along with a holographic imager and enough handheld VidPads for everyone to use during the briefing. Then he slowly, purposely, turned to look Bronse Chapel dead in his periwinkle eyes. "So what happened? Someone been p.i.s.sing in your rations for the past twenty-four hours, or what?"

"Leave it go, Lasher," Chapel warned, pressing hard against his temples.

"No can do, sir. Not unless I want a mutiny before we hit planetside. You're alienating the very people you need in order to stay alive, Bronse. The very people who also need you in order to survive."

"Masin ..." Bronse sighed.

"The meeting doesn't start for another ten minutes, Bronse. Go see Jet. Get rid of the headache at least. You've had it for over twelve hours already."

"I'm just a little-"

"Tense. And I'm this close ..."-he held up a frighteningly tiny representation between his two fingers-"to ordering you to take a relaxant for five hours and a soma-induced nap in Medbay. And please don't tell me I wouldn't dare when you know d.a.m.n well I would. Everyone is wired tight and on the very edge of their last nerves with this mission. It's a bad f.u.c.king time for you to be shredding everyone's confidence and stability. Now, I hope that your stress and that headache are all that's wrong with you, Commander, because I'm not letting one soldier in this unit trot out on a death mission when their C.O. has his head up his a.s.s. You copy?"

Bronse let only a single heartbeat pa.s.s. "I copy. And you're right. I'll be back after Medbay. Be best to review plans without a headache in the way. And I think I'll do the soma-induced nap as well after the briefing." He exhaled a long, slow breath. "I'm sorry. I can't explain everything to you. I wish I could. I just think it wouldn't do you any more good than it's been doing me. We'll be seeing the plot unfold soon enough, right?"

"That's the plan," Lasher agreed, his tone grave but accepting. "Bronse, I don't mean to-"

"To what? To be right? Forget it, partner." He gripped his second's shoulder firmly before rising to his feet. "As you're fond of reminding me, we have known each other too long to worry about it."

Lasher gave him a half smile, his roughly handsome features lighting up with his amus.e.m.e.nt. "Does that mean I can-?"

"Don't push your luck" came the sharp retort as Bronse exited the mess.

Twenty minutes later and feeling a d.a.m.n sight better, Bronse reentered the mess to join his crew.

"First Actives," he greeted, not realizing he sounded almost jovial compared to his recent tones and behaviors. He did become aware of it as silence fell over them, and he looked at them to see them all frozen like a snapshot in their surprise.

"Commander," Lasher greeted in a pointed prompt, his lips twitching with humor.

"Commander," Ender and Justice echoed in unison.

"Okay, Lasher. How about we skip the dinner date and cut right to the foreplay?" Bronse said in a prompt of his own, slinging himself into a chair and grabbing a piece of fruit.

"Copy that," Lasher agreed, grinning when Justice snorted out a laugh. He reached out to place the holographic generator in the center of the table, and they each drew a VidPad close for their notes. "Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you Project Pooch-Screw." He pressed a b.u.t.ton and with a brilliant flicker a full-dimensional topographical map of a section of the Grinpar Desert burst to life. In full color, with black sand and significant rock formations in graphic detail, the section began to pivot on its central point, turning slowly so each soldier could get a good look at all perspectives of the area.

"All right, pay attention, kiddies," Lasher said. "First, we're going to take a look at the mission as it was handed to us by our friend at command. Insertion, point A. We land fifteen miles out from target range at the first hour of the next day, under cover of dark and, need I add, freezing-a.s.s cold. From landing point we are to march along this line for fifteen miles until we reach point B-our goal point."

"My, that's a very nice straight line," Justice complimented him.

"Why, thank you," Lasher rejoined, smiling at her crookedly. "I thought you might like it. But wait, it gets better." He magnified and altered the map to draw in on their goal point-a ramshackle-looking building made of stone and mortar, with slabs of metal protruding from the foundation, evidently to reinforce it. The roof was bolted-down rusted metal plates-deck plates that had been scavenged, by the look of them.

"Hmm. A building," Ender said softly. "A lone building in a desert p.r.o.ne to the most torrential and repet.i.tive natural disaster known to man."

"Aww, c'mon. It's practically on the wilderness border. How many sand hurricanes could they possibly get?" Lasher asked leadingly.

"Okay, I say we accept that," Justice piped up. "Location, location, location!" She spun her spoon around in the air with aplomb before setting it back in her pudding.

"So we agree to accept it as normal for a lone building to stand on the borders of the two most volatile land factions, the Nomaads and the western barbarians. Now, as luck would have it," Lasher went on, his sarcasm sparkling merrily in his tone as the structure began to pivot on the same central point as the other maps moved, "some very, very bad men and women have decided to camp out in and around this structure."

Justice and Ender leaned together to boo and hiss softly.

"Now, our heroes ... that's us," Lasher clarified as a simulation of the team lit up in position on command. Justice and Ender added appropriate cheers and applause, making Bronse chuckle in spite of his attempt to remain in neutral command. "We're supposed to approach the building, surround it in a wide perimeter, and infiltrate with silent but ... and might I say I love this part ... not deadly force, and liberate a kidnapped political figure from our naughty bad guys. He's being held in the rear section of the building somewhere around here."

"Okay, wait. The orders actually said to extract the mark without killing the hostiles?" Justice asked.

"Death of hostiles is to be an absolute last resort. Only if absolutely necessary," Lasher qualified clearly.

"And did HQ happen to suggest how we're supposed to pull that particular rabbit out of our a.s.ses, Lieutenant Commander?" Bronse asked genially.

"Subdue with nonlethal tactics. Silent hand-to-hand, drugs, abduction-whatever works that's nonfatal."

"And who's the mark?" Ender asked.

"Han Abjurdoon, a high king-a s.h.i.+asha-of a powerful Nomaadic tribe from the Gurdon Nomaad sector, which as you know is friendly to peace efforts being made by IM and other international peacemakers."