McBride-BPEyesBlack Planet: Tiger EyesBelinda McBrideChangeling Press LLCCopyright © 2008 by Belinda McBrideErotica/Science Fiction. 28798 words long. First published in 2008, 2008 enNovellatext/xmlErotica/Science Fiction

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Black Planet: Tiger Eyes
by Belinda McBride
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Erotica/Science Fiction

Changeling Press LLC
www.changelingpress.com

Copyright ©2008 by Belinda McBride

First published in 2008, 2008

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Black Planet: Tiger Eyes

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Belinda McBride

* * * *

Black Planet: Tiger Eyes

Belinda McBride

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2008 Belinda McBride

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

ISBN: 978-1-60521-105-3

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Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

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Editor: Vicki S. Burklund

Cover Artist: Zuri

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Black Planet: Tiger Eyes

Belinda McBride

San Francisco: 2184 CE

Sometimes, when you reach the end of the road, you find a twist you didn't expect. A hill rises, a trail breaks away and to your surprise, the end has become the beginning.

Lieutenant Milo Greene's career is all that keeps him on his feet and functioning. He's lost everyone he ever loved, and now, only the job holds him together. When he looks to the future, he sees no reprieve.

And then one day he looks up and sees his destiny standing in the doorway.

Darah Lash is the most powerful Thalian present on Earth. Yet, to his people, he is a second-class citizen. He came to Earth with the small, desperate hope that he would find a woman who would accept him, mate him, and eventually bear his children. What he doesn't expect to find is love.

Grace Chen is a wrecked shell of a woman. Once admired and feared, she is now on the brink of death, fighting for every day, every hour. In a vision, she is told to wait for the miracle, but it hasn't come yet. And if that miracle comes, will the cost be too high?

Three paths end, one road begins.

Destination: Black Planet.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter One

If she drank that last shot of whiskey, would she be able to make it home under her own power?

Grace Chen contemplated the golden fluid in the tiny glass. She didn't particularly want it, but she couldn't take it with her and was too short of funds to buy a bottle.

She was drinking on the house, a small token reward for clearing out some kids who'd decided to bust up the place. Not that busting it up would have made a difference. It was a challenge to find a single unbroken chair in this pathetic, moth-eaten dive. That's why she leaned against the cracked leather of the formerly elegant bar, her feet aching, every muscle in her body protesting.

One more shot and the pain would fade. One more shot and she'd be able to sleep through the night. The cramps would be muffled, and the roaring in her ears would fade, if only a bit.

One more shot and she'd be unable to fend for herself out on San Francisco's dark, treacherous streets.

If she drank it now, fast, she might be able to move quickly enough that the alcohol wouldn't hit her system until she was safely behind locked doors.

Gloved hands trembling, Grace checked the seedy bar, searching for enemies; even a friend could slow her enough to make a difference. She slipped her black leather jacket over the skin-tight bustier, and then stood upright, brushing off the chaps that covered her black jeans. Leather boots rose to her knees but were surprisingly light and supple. A wide, studded collar guarded her throat. Every inch of her body was protected, armed and cushioned.

And she looked hot, to boot. Stilettos would be better, a g-string under the chaps, but hell...

Ah well, vanity was a fleeting thing, best left in the past. Fetish just wasn't practical for battle.

Taking on that gang had been stupid, but hell and damnation, they were getting on her nerves! And she wasn't dead yet. Seeing them fall to the floor, and then scatter like kittens ... that had been like the good old days when crowds had parted at her presence. The reality of that life had been harsh, but damn, she missed it.

Seeing that all was clear, she lifted the fiery fluid to her lips and tossed it back, wincing at the sharp heat of the cheap alcohol. It hit her stomach in a blaze, joining the three other shots of the evening. She flicked a finger at the bartender. He nodded, waved back, and returned to his boxing match on the decrepit vid screen.

Grace hit the antique leather-covered swinging door and stepped out into the foggy night. Standing quietly, she checked both directions, listening for those who might be lingering in wait. Once she was comfortable, she walked quickly, long legs covering ground smoothly.

A quarter mile along she began to slow. At a half mile she propped her butt against a graffiti-covered wall, taking a rest.

Yesterday, she'd made it two blocks further in before needing to stop. She rested her head against the boarded-over window, feeling the lump of her ponytail against the hard surface. It was ironic that, even as her body was breaking down, her hair grew as thick and lush as it ever had. Her skin was sallow, her eyes sunken, but her hair was beautiful. It was probably karma.

As a girl, Grace had bragged to her cousins about her hair. She was secretly jealous of their twisted braids and poofy little pigtails. Their moms and grandmas had put in endless hours doing elaborate cornrows and plaits, while Grace's mom just scraped her hair back in a ponytail and sent her on her way.

Her hair had been long, sleek and straight, and the object of envy. She found a weakness and exploited it, not caring that she hurt the other girls’ feelings.

Then one morning, she woke to find that her ponytail had been cut off. When the story came out, her mother had slapped her silly and taken the scissors to the rest of her hair, trimming it nearly to her scalp.

To her shame, her cousins all suffered the same fate.

She'd learned to stop taking herself so seriously back then. She'd also realized that she wasn't jealous of her cousins’ hair, she was jealous of the attention they got from their mothers. Within weeks, she and Aiden had been bundled up with their belongings and sent to stay in Wharf, under the watchful eye of the Lee family. Her aunt, Windy Lee, had tousled her shorn locks and smiled, telling her how beautiful she was without all that hair hiding her face.

Grace smiled at the memory as she pushed herself off the wall to continue her journey. Another six blocks to her tiny apartment, a cubbyhole tucked above a store that sold Chinese movies and music.

She'd have to move soon and was reluctant to do so. The residents on her street had turned a blind eye to her dark skin, choosing to see only her Chinese features and her protective virtues. In just weeks they'd made a home for her here in Chinatown. Her neighbors had become family, and after being alone for so long, Grace craved connections with other people. She longed for casual gossip and a friendly touch on the arm. Laughter and belonging.

She'd found it here, among her father's people. She protected them, they protected her. Lately though, they were the ones doing the protecting.

When members of Grace's old fight gang came hunting, asking about the tall, black woman, the neighbors treated them with bland, polite respect. Only Chinese here, they told the hunters. No outsiders in the neighborhood.

When Shigeo Nakashima's Yakuza cruised through with casual arrogance, they were simply ignored as though they were ghosts. Gweilo.

Nakashima's boys and girls had started after Grace about nine months ago, after her brother Aiden had skipped town with Annie Tanaka. She hadn't seen her brother in years, and hadn't made the connection until she'd picked up an old paper at Golden Palace Dim Sum. She'd read that her brother's woman had beheaded the wife of San Francisco's most powerful Yakuza. The couple had disappeared shortly thereafter leaving Grace to bear the brunt of Nakashima's grief and fury.

Yeah, thanks for the warning, bro. Since Nakashima was unable to return the compliment directly to Aiden and Annie, he'd chosen to avenge himself on the next-of-kin.

That would be Grace Chen.

Nakashima and the Red Flags tag-teamed, sharing information, and pooling their sources, but they were always just a step behind Grace. She was rapidly running out of wiggle room here in the City. Grace had proven that she had more lives than an alley cat, dodging attempts on her life with skill, determination, and sheer dumb luck.

With her former gang and the Yakuza covertly watching the docks, the rattle-trap BART system, and greasing the palms of the fishermen, escape from the City had proven impossible. She'd been cut off from her bank accounts, and had rapidly run through the little stashes of money she'd secreted away.

She'd fled her nice, nearly luxurious digs in the Presidio and had been running ever since, squatting in tiny garage apartments in the South City, bunking down in noisy attic rooms in the Tenderloin. She'd stayed with a porn star at her posh Nob Hill address until Nakashima's people had tracked Grace and threatened the actress while she was filming. Glenda the Good Bitch might have poor taste in names, not to mention career choices, but she didn't deserve the attention of a psychotic crime lord.

And Grace wasn't the one to criticize anybody for career choices.

* * * *

She was four blocks from home when she saw movement in the fog, shadows that were just slightly darker than the night. Grace kept her hands buried in her pockets, hiding the black metal knuckle guards that she wore. Slowly, she freed one hand, a wicked, long bladed knife gleamed in the darkness.

There were three, and normally, it wouldn't be a problem. But normal was a thing of the past, and Grace's new reality was a frightening place to live.

“Last call, children.” She forced a wicked smile to her face, setting aside the fear, the nagging suspicion that death might come for her tonight. Grace quickly surveyed her strengths, what few of them remained, and her myriad weaknesses. It wasn't good.

On the air, she smelled tofu and the lingering smells of the market; fish and fried foods, the elusive scent of ginseng and green tea. And tobacco.

Tobacco gave her the grounding she needed, the focus on her center. Grace felt her body relax into muscle memory, moving easily into a harmless looking Hsing-I stance. When they came at her, she was Water Strider, slashing and stabbing with the wicked blade of the knife. She shifted to Tai Chi, flowing easily, and then she was Strider again, falling back, protecting her body, her skin ... she must protect her skin...

She used to be Tiger, crushing with her hands, slashing with her fingers. She'd long since lost the strength that the Tiger needed to attack.

A hot bite at her waist sent her back into stance. Two were down. The one that remained had caught her with a lucky move. The cut was shallow, superficial, but ultimately mortal. Hot blood slipped down into her waistband, carrying her life with it.

With a feral grin, she tossed her knife into the air. His eyes tracked the weapon, and Grace struck, dislocating a shoulder, slamming his face into the battered cement of the sidewalk. Few women were tall enough, strong enough for Bear. It had been her last trick of the night.

Stiffly, she squatted, picking up the knife, cleaning the blood from the blade, using the young man's pant leg to do so.

Three down, broken but all alive. Her grandfather would be pleased.

And Grace was still on her feet, though rapidly running out of time.

She cut one man's shirt from his body, folded it against her skin, clumsily unhooking his belt next, binding the padding to her waist. Pressure would slow the bleeding somewhat. There wasn't much she could do about the infection that had probably already entered her bloodstream.

Grace focused on putting one foot ahead of the other, but she walked away from Chinatown, heading east instead of west. She went down-City, into the unforgiving darkness of the old business district, stumbling over the shattered fragments of the Embarcadero. Down to her final stand, the last of her defenses.

In front of her rose an intimidating façade, building upon building, stretching for block after block. The walls soared many stories; slick and smooth where they faced the City, a simple defense against the outside world. Inside was safety, but only for those who lived here. To the City dwellers, it was dangerous, challenging and hostile. To those inside, it was a haven.

The wall was too tall to climb, but Grace was no stranger to Wharf. It had been years since she'd last come home, but she still remembered the hidden entrances.

She pushed aside overgrown foliage, located a crumbling hole at the base of the wall and shimmied through it.

It had been an easier fit a decade ago.

She slipped into a crack in the wall. It was really an alley so narrow that she could barely stand square, and then she forced herself up a ramshackle ladder, which led to a ramp, which led to a ledge.

Slowly, she climbed levels and jumped over treacherous ravines of metal and concrete. She passed the remains of a child's doll, a pile of dog shit. Grace crossed broad expanses of rooftops that were littered with pipes and electric wires. Music and voices whispered on the air. An unspoken law of Wharf was to respect your neighbor. It was always quiet in the late hours of the evening.

Up she climbed, following the elusive smell of tobacco until she climbed into a window, dragged herself the length of a hall, and came to a dead stop before an impossibly thick, impenetrable metal door.

If she'd had the energy, she'd have wept in frustration at this final obstacle, but instead, Grace leaned against the door. She was too weary, in too much pain to continue. Besides, the Lees were gone now; her old home was occupied by others. There was nowhere else to go, and she'd slept in worse places than this hallway.

The smell of smoke still lingered, but it wasn't tobacco. It was something else, wood and plaster, and the smell of new construction.

Lacking anything better to do, she tried the huge lever. When it gave, her eyes grew large with suspicion. She pushed, and the door rolled easily to the side.

“Hello?” Her harsh, tired voice echoed in the space, but no one answered.

In the darkness, she heard the hum of some sort of appliance, so there was electricity. She stumbled into the room, hands outstretched, until she felt the fabric of a lampshade. Her night vision had steadily faded over the past year. When she twisted the bulb, it lit, dazzling her eyes.

The space was huge, a one-room loft, wooden floors, newly plastered walls, and an eastern bank of windows that promised a spectacular view of the dawn. Looking around, she saw a door to a bathroom. She pushed her way into the small space. It was empty save for a bar of soap on the sink and toilet paper on an old holder.

Inside the cabinet there was a toothbrush still in its package, toothpaste that was unused. A comb that had no hair in the teeth. A brand new towel, still tagged.

She stripped, and then gingerly removed the makeshift bandage. As she suspected, the injury wasn't bad, the blood loss minimal. But in her condition, just the tiniest bit of bleeding could precipitate a crisis. One or two microbes could bring her to the grave.

Grace ran the shower and groaned in relief as the water flowed warm, and then hot. She stepped in, gritting her teeth as the water bit into the cut, hissing as she soaped the tender flesh. She worked her hair loose of the band and washed the smell of the seedy bar from her body.

As the water began to run cool, she twisted the handles and stepped out, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She'd always been proud of her body, her long, muscled limbs and sensual curves. Her body had been the legacy of her mother. Her glossy, straight black hair had been her father's contribution to the recipe. Grace had been the winner in a game of genetic roulette.

Now, she was approaching gaunt. Her jeans were cinched tightly. She'd poked new holes in the straps of her leathers. Under exotic, almond-shaped eyes, Grace's cheekbones stood out in stark contrast to the hollows in her cheeks. Her eyes were shadowed, her full lips pale. She scrubbed her face with her hands and turned away. Eyes on the prize, sister. You're still alive.

Her transfusion was a week away, but she needed blood now. An early transfusion would cost her dearly, and Grace had only one coin with which to pay, and that might not be acceptable. Few people, male or female, wanted to fuck a dying woman.

The face in the mirror had frightened her just a bit. The loss of beauty held little fear compared to the loss of life. In quiet moments like this, Grace knew that she was terrified of dying. Her life was hard, but it was better than the alternative.

She wouldn't look into the mirror again.

She chilled quickly and found a warm robe hanging on the back of the door, Japanese style scuffs on the floor by the wall. Grace shuffled into the room, briefly examined the mostly bare kitchen, and forced herself to drink as much water as she could hold.

There was a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard, but she passed on it.

The sleeping area was at the back of the loft. A thick futon rested on a strong frame. Gratefully, she slid into the bed, nestling into soft pillows. There was a switch at the side of the bed; she flicked it, and the lights dimmed.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see ghostly figures in the room, more furniture, mostly impersonal items.

On the table beside the bed, she found the message. A small sculpture of a dragon sat there. It was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Her skin told her it was jade. Shen Lung. King Dragon. This had been her brother's home. She'd been led here by the smell of tobacco. Guo Lee. “You old rapscallion! You didn't want me to die alone!”

As her eyes drifted shut, Grace could see another figure in the darkness. A male squatting on the floor, back to the wall, cigarette glowing in the darkness. She knew he wasn't really there, but just the same, was more than glad to pretend that he was.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Two

Yet another step up the ladder of command.

Lieutenant Milo Greene squinted at the paperwork before him, his eyes burning from fatigue. But for once, the fatigue was good; honest wear and tear on his muscles, not the fatigue of pushing papers and jockeying within interdepartmental political races.

However, this piece of paper was putting the lock on his future, and Greene wasn't so sure he was happy about that.

If Milo had been a family man, he'd have been content to stay at the desk and maneuver the lives of the detectives under his command. This last year, though, had reminded him of the thrill of being back on the street, using his senses, his skills and his brain. He'd stepped into the vacancy left by Annie Tanaka and immersed himself into the ugly case of the black market nanites that the Yakuza had been smuggling into the City.

The contents of this piece of paper would once again take him off the street and bump him up the managerial ladder. It was his promotion to captain.

“It isn't an easy decision that you are faced with.”

His heart skipped a beat, not at the surprise of discovering that his solitude had been violated, but at the simple delight at the company of Darah Lash, the top security advisor with the Thalians. The Thalian political structure differed from that of the Earth governments, but essentially, Darah was Greene's peer. He was also his friend and perhaps more. Milo wasn't quite sure how he felt about that “more” part.

Darah moved gracefully into the room, momentarily blocking the view of the hallway. It was late and few people were still about, save the night shift.

“It's the normal progression of my career.”

Darah pulled up a straight-backed chair and straddled it, leaving space for his wings to expand and relax. Normally, he wore them tightly folded to his back, almost invisible, but they'd participated in a training that had become rough. Greene had suffered bumps and bruises, and Darah's men had flown, each carrying a passenger for a brief flight.

The humans had been shocked at the sight. The Thalians generally were unable to fly more than a short distance, and then they usually glided. Darah had proudly informed Greene that, unlike his golden brothers, the dark members of their species were generally better skilled at flying, and had greater physical strength.

Greene had come to learn that the goldens viewed their dark brothers with some contempt, viewing them as less evolved, less beautiful and refined. Personally, he thought that was bullshit. Darah had proven himself a brilliant detective and tactician, quickly adapting to the intricacies of the human mind.

And he was beautiful. Not the gold and white, celestial beauty of the doctors and scientists, but rich and vibrant. He was often stern, hawkish, in a military sense. His great wings were of dark mahogany-brown feathers. His long hair was the same color, neatly bound in a braid that fell to his hips. His skin was a warm bronze that tanned easily in the weak sun of the Bay Area.

The other Guard officers were dark as well, and while the goldens wore their hair in softly flowing, shoulder-length waves, Darah's men all wore the same long braids. It was a sign of their lower status.

Rather than flowing robes, they wore close-fitting breeches with a utility vest layered over billowing white shirts. Knee-high boots completed the uniform. A small tattoo to the side of his neck denoted rank. Darah's was the most complex that Milo had seen.

The Thalian Guard were well trained and competent. They'd been intimidating to encounter on the training field.

Darah sat quietly, observing Greene's face. Milo knew the alien was picking up and processing his thoughts. It had taken some time to become accustomed to their telepathy, and as head of Thalian security, Darah rarely blocked the thoughts of others. He couldn't afford to allow the humans their privacy. Greene had learned to build a mental shield, but around Darah he didn't bother. The knowledge that someone actually understood him was comforting.

When his feelings for Darah had evolved from friendship to attraction, he hadn't bothered to censor himself, and Darah hadn't been offended. He allowed Milo to struggle through that tangle of unaccustomed emotion and come to peace with it. Homophobia didn't seem to exist among the Thalians.

“For now, my friend, you should put that paper away, return to it later. If I am correct, you have time off?”

“The weekend.”

“I arranged my hours of leave to coincide with yours.”

The implications of that statement hit Greene hard, sending blood rushing in his ears. The muscles of his belly twisted, and behind the cover of the desk, his cock swelled. Darah sat casually, but Greene could sense his arousal as well. His dark eyes searched Milo's face with a powerful intensity.

The loneliness of the past three years had been bleak, broken only by the harsh, uglier moments provided by his job. He went home to an empty house, greeted by the photograph of Tammy. He kept the photograph in sight at all times, because if he didn't, her image in his memory faded too quickly, and he desperately needed to hold onto Tammy's face, her voice. Without it, his life was simply too empty to bear.

Milo Greene had never been a particularly social man, but somewhere along the way, his entire existence had wrapped around his dying wife. And when she was gone, there was only the job. He worked long days and nights, gave each task his complete focus, and accepted the inevitable promotions that came from a job well done.

But then one day nearly a year ago, he'd looked up from his work and this beautiful Thalian soldier had been standing in the doorway of his office, ready to discuss strategy and cross-training.

He was under no illusions. Darah was a spy just as he was himself. They had carefully observed one another and shared limited information, finally coming to a comfortable understanding. Both men would give some, take some, but in reality, the Thalians knew much more about humans than vice-versa, and had better skills at hiding their own motivations. Greene was philosophical about it. The Thalians had been watching Earth for millennia, and so far, they'd done no harm.

Therefore, Darah and Greene combined their forces, and as the government slowly introduced the Thalians to the public, Thalian Guards began to accompany Greene's men on selected missions, and consulted on difficult cases. A Thalian in an interrogation room was a priceless commodity.

The more time they spent together, the stronger his feelings grew. Greene knew himself well enough to know he was dangerously close to being in love.

It frightened him, this idea of wanting the body of another man. At odd moments, he was filled with elation, the thrill of life suddenly crashing back into his heart, his body. His future was suddenly filled with possibilities. He'd watched other detectives screened and trained for space assignments. For the first time, he considered the possibility of transferring, of taking a demotion and entering the field again. He was still young, physically able to work the streets. Why not? Why not pursue his career out there in the stars?

Darah slowly rose to his feet, military straight, tall and magnificent. With precise movements, he closed and locked the door. He turned, and his expression shifted to confident humor.

Greene rose, equally straight though not quite as tall. His personal uniform consisted of a black suit, white shirt and a dark green tie that Tammy had given him for his thirtieth birthday.

He stood, unwilling to submit to the other man, his hackles rising slightly, easing as Darah gave him a slow, sexy smile. “I won't dominate you, Milo Greene. You are a strong, prideful man, and I find that appealing.”

Those words said, the men moved closer, and within inches of touching, they stopped. Greene felt his heart slamming in his chest, the anticipation of the first touch almost as overwhelming as that split second of surrender just before giving himself to climax.

Ten minutes ago, he'd been ready to sign his life away to a dull future!

He brought up his hand, rested the palm gently on Darah's broad, hard chest, feeling the other man's heart beat as rapidly as his own. He couldn't meet Darah's eyes. Perhaps he was afraid of what he'd see there. Instead, he looked at his sinfully full lips, his straight, strong nose. By the time he lifted his eyes to meet the Thalian's gaze, he was tight and hard, ready to explode into action.

It surprised him only a little to see that Darah's very dark eyes were blue, not black, as he'd initially thought.

The kiss, the first kiss, was barely there. He slipped his hand behind Darah's head, bringing him closer, just a taste, a whisper of an embrace. They held that gentle kiss a moment longer and then male passion erupted. Darah's hands were on his body, pulling them together tight and close, hips grinding, turgid cocks meeting in a hard caress.

They kissed with lips and tongue and teeth. Harsh breathing punctuated the silence. Greene knew he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. His sane mind thought frantically before remembering the large leather sofa that he frequently napped on.

Darah was tugging at his tie, fumbling with the unfamiliar garment, while Greene pushed ineffectually at the heavy vest, finally hearing it drop to the floor. He pulled the billowing white shirt loose from Darah's trousers. It went over his head easily, leaving Greene faced with an expanse of brown, scarred chest, a flat lean belly, and powerful bare arms.

Darah grew impatient with Greene's clothing, jerking the dress shirt over his head and pausing to bend to his bare chest, tongue dragging over sensitive nipples. His hand stroked, rubbed, until he wrapped it around Milo's painfully hard cock.

To his surprise, Darah had opened his wings. As the men fell to the couch, he covered Milo, creating a dark, fragrant cave for them to make love within.

Shoes dropped, pants slid to the floor, and they were shockingly and gloriously nude. Their cocks bumped in a delicious embrace. They were pressed together hard at the root. Darah reached down and squeezed their shafts together, prompting a groan from them both.

“This is your first time?” Darah hovered there above him, his face stark with arousal, with need.

“With a man? Yes.”

“I can't wait long...” His chest heaved. “I want to do so much with you, Milo Greene. There is so much I can teach you!”

Greene nodded, understanding. Until meeting Darah, sex with a male was something others did. He hadn't really thought about the act itself. Until Darah.

Now, he wanted it all. He wanted to taste the other man's skin, his seed. He wanted his mouth, and God help him, he wanted to penetrate Darah, to be fully one. He wanted to be penetrated, to know that he belonged to someone in this lonely universe.

Darah lowered once more, the length of his body pressing into Greene, two hard-muscled bodies coming together in a carnal, blessed embrace. He began to move, gently prodding Milo to join his tempo, heated cocks stroking, bellies undulating. Milo grabbed his ass, pulling their bodies tighter, urging Darah to move faster, harder.

They kissed again, and the sensation of the other man's tongue stroking his own was dizzying. He wondered briefly if the Thalians emitted a hormone. He captured Darah's tongue and sucked hard, letting go to bite his lips.

When Darah moved to his throat, nipping and sucking lightly, Milo arched his head back, exposing his throat to his lover. His hands roamed Darah's fine skin, testing muscle, digging fingers into the tight muscles of the Thalian's wings.

To his surprise, Darah found that intensely erotic, his eyes going blank in ecstasy. “Yes, that is good, so very good...”

Their hips rolled, pressing and releasing their hard cocks, their movements growing faster as they became wet and slick with pre-come. Darah's breath was coming short and fast. He lay over Milo, thigh to thigh, bellies slapping with the speed of their thrusts. They were pressed so tightly together, Milo couldn't fit his hand between them. All he could do was to wrap the Thalian tightly in his grasp, squeezing his ass hard, pumping his hips, fighting to keep his eyes open.

Even as his body became tense and his ass clenched with impending climax, Darah grew tight above him, every muscle contracting. He grunted, and they came together, ragged and harsh, ropes of semen jetting from their bodies, mingling together, silky and slick between their bodies. They pounded hard, groaning with their completion, emptying their bodies and their souls into one another's care.

Muscles went lax and loose, and Milo let his head fall back, his heart pounding, breath grinding from his lungs.

Darah was a heavy weight over his body, but it was a weight that he gladly bore. He turned his head and pressed a kiss on the other man's smooth cheek. Loneliness, isolation, depression all lifted from his soul.

Darah turned his head slightly. “I think we are going to have a very pleasurable weekend, Milo Greene. And I pray we have many pleasurable days and nights beyond that.”

He shifted slightly, pulling in his wings, smiling at the shine of the semen over their bellies, up their chests. Darah bent down and licked the fluid from Milo's skin, and impossibly, another erection began. The Thalian laughed. “This will have to wait until we are home.”

When he stood, Greene could see that Darah's cock was also hard and swollen. Impulsively, he took the Thalian by the arm, pulling him close, kissing him gently. “Thank you.”

“You are ... what do you humans say?” He grinned devilishly. “It is my pleasure.”

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Three

She woke slowly, her body aching, and she realized that what she'd been dreading had finally come to pass. Grace was losing her vision.

Somehow, she'd managed to make it to the back alleys of Chinatown for her transfusion and the herbal treatment that had kept her alive and functioning far beyond her original prognosis. The little healer had taken her pulse and muttered in Cantonese clearly enough that she knew the disease had jumped to another level of crisis. He'd turned down her offer of payment and told her to come back in a week for her next transfusion.

So it was four a month now. She really should be dead.

She'd managed to roll a couple stoned gangsters for a wad of cash, and had bribed a kid inside of Wharf to do her shopping, heavy on protein and orange juice. Today's plan had been to head up the hill, get her transfusion, buy some supplies and scope out another crash pad.

Sometimes plans had to change, and now it looked like Grace would be living out the remainder of her life in her brother's old place.

Bastard had left her a note in the kitchen, urging her to seek help from Greene over in Oakland. That had made her laugh, not only that her brother had read the tea leaves to know she'd be in a predicament, but also that he'd imagined that she'd ask for help from Milo Greene, of all people!

Greene had set her feet on this path. She didn't need him pushing her along any faster. And she couldn't bear to imagine the look in his eyes when he saw her like this.

Grace rose, stretched, and was grateful that the muscle pain was bearable today. She tilted her head, evaluating her new vision. She could adapt. And maybe for enough cash, old David Mok would make a house call. She'd ask the kid downstairs to run the message up the hill.

Yeah, she should be getting her treatments in a shiny, sterile hospital somewhere, but what the hell fun was that? Mok hadn't killed her yet. Besides, Nakashima probably had people in the hospitals.

Grace shuffled to the kitchen, poured juice into a chipped coffee cup and watched the sun come up over Oakland.

Unbidden, her thoughts returned to Milo Greene, and she wondered how he was doing.

* * * *

The view from Milo's home in the Oakland Hills was beautiful. A deck wrapped around the house, and from his vantage point, Darah could see across the bay to San Francisco, with its shattered, quaint skyline just barely catching the early dawn light. Weeks ago, late at night, when the humans weren't monitoring their actions, the dark Thalians had flown over, silently peering into that odd cityscape, hovering over Wharf, then winging their way through the gritty, dangerous canyons of the slowly recovering city. It had been risky, for even goldens didn't suspect their capability for long range flight. It was a dangerous secret and closely guarded.

Darah stood outside on the deck, letting the cool air caress his naked skin and carry his long hair around his body. It was a sensual pleasure he rarely indulged in these days. The uniform had to be perfect, the hair controlled and contained, the emotions were to be suppressed at all times.

He'd certainly failed on the emotional aspect of this assignment! The first time he'd looked into the sad grey eyes of Milo Greene, he'd fixated on the human. The attraction had grown, as had the friendship. After that first time together, he'd felt Milo's walls crumble, his sadness had fled, and that terrible isolation was a memory. And it was because of Darah.

More precisely, it was because of Darah's love.

He'd come to Earth with the faint, but real, hope of finding a female, a mate. At his age, a man should have a female and children, but that hope was slim among his people, even for the goldens. Females were rare and precious, and never given to the dark males. Now scientists were discovering that the loss of genetic material could spell the downfall of their species.

Still, the bigotry persisted.

He'd been in love before, with a beautiful, supple female. She was smart and gifted and believed what the scientists were saying, that years of selective breeding away from the dark Thalians had damaged their bloodlines. But in the end, the pressure of her peers, her family, and her friends had been stronger than her love for Darah, and she'd chosen elsewhere.

That had been years ago, and she'd given birth only to sons. Not the daughters he could have given her.

But here today, it didn't matter so much. Darah had Milo, and though Milo made a small attempt to filter his stronger thoughts and feelings, he knew the human was basking in unexpected happiness. His primal self grieved for the children that would never be, but Darah saw his future with this quiet human, and his joy was very nearly complete.

For now, they'd agreed to keep the affair quiet, not so much secret as discreet. They saw one another during their working week and some evenings, and invariably spent their off time together, here at Milo's home in the hills.

Darah refused to think of the time when he'd be called home. He couldn't bear the idea of walking away from love.

He returned to the bedroom where the human slept so peacefully. He wondered how often Milo Greene had slept well in the years since his wife's illness. He'd seen the photo of the lovely woman, gathered the story through thoughts and touches, for through the skin, Darah could witness memory.

Milo lay so quietly, his long, muscular limbs uncovered, the blanket draped loosely over his shoulders. It was an odd habit, the need to wrap up in the embrace of the bedclothes. Darah had quickly ascertained that it was a need for comfort, and as often as possible, he provided that comfort, holding the sleeping man tightly in his arms. He wished he could spend every night in Milo's bed.

Milo was tall, nearly as tall as a Thalian. His gleaming black hair was frosted with silver at the temples, a testament to the hard times and grief that he'd suffered through the years. Unlike the dark Thalians, his skin was fair. His eyes were the haunting grey of a cloudy sky. He wasn't as heavily muscled as Darah. His body was lithe and sinewy, and as he'd had opportunity to discover, Milo was a more than capable fighter and wrestler ... both men enjoyed a good deal of physicality in their sex.

Milo moaned slightly and rolled to his side, his flaccid cock sliding along his leg to rest on his inner thigh. Smiling, Darah lowered himself to Milo's groin, taking the soft member into his warm mouth, relishing the sensation as the flesh became firm and long and solid. Milo moaned again but not from a sad dream.

A hand buried in his hair as Milo began to force him a bit faster, deeper, and Darah willingly complied. He increased suction, ran his tongue along the human's silky cock, fluttering the tip of his tongue under his cockhead, and then let him slip loose. He lowered his head and sucked in one, and then both of Milo's testicles, teasing Milo into a dry, shuddering orgasm.

He'd been surprised that Milo was capable of this, but with the proper manipulation, he'd learned quickly. Milo had also learned how to bring Darah to that blissful state. Sometimes they made love for hours before succumbing.

Milo lay, belly and chest heaving, hand now caressing Darah's head, fingers stroking through the silky length of his hair. It came as a surprise how the other man cherished the long, flowing locks. To the dark Thalians, it was a sign of their otherness, a military badge. He'd never thought of it as sexual or beautiful before.

Sometimes at work, Milo would walk up behind him and gently tug the braid, spinning Darah into immediate arousal.

“God, now there was a wake-up call.” He rolled to his back and Darah crawled up the bed to join him. He reached out and ran his fingers through Milo's curls. When Milo remembered to keep them cut, they were crisp, waving back into a neat style. When he forgot, like now, they curled into a riotous mop which Darah found quite appealing.

“Good morning, Milo Greene.” He leaned down and kissed Milo gently, savoring the warmth, the sleepiness in the other man's eyes.

“Good morning, Darah Lash.” He cupped Darah's cheek, running a thumb over his lips. “I do enjoy waking up with you.” Milo grinned, a new expression in Darah's experience with his lover. Darah leaned down, rewarding him for the smile with a deep, passionate kiss.

“I believe I have an appetite this morning.” He smiled down at the other man. His cock was hard, beating, throbbing with blood. To his delight, Milo rolled him over onto his back, pinning him, one thigh trapping his cock, rubbing slowly, steadily, applying delicious pressure.

Darah grinned, pleased to be bottom for now. They'd been leading up to this, the taking. Every time they made love, they crept closer as Milo's comfort level increased with the intimacy. “Do you wish to take me?”

Milo's grey eyes darkened. He came down and kissed Darah hard, his tongue thrusting and searching and fucking his mouth. Darah was a big man, powerful and intimidating, and he wasn't rolling over and playing submissive for Milo. He truly saw the act as a normal expression of love.

“Tell me what to do.”

Darah glanced at the nightstand, and Milo reached over, locating the lube that he'd purchased. He also found a condom and set that to the side.

Darah stretched, flexed, bringing his knees apart. He shuddered with pleasure as Milo's nimble fingers massaged his balls, his perineum. His lids dropped heavily as he heard the crackle of the condom wrapper. Milo rolled the sheath over his distended cock, following that with a liberal application of lube.

“Get on your knees between my thighs, and position yourself as you normally would.”

Darah slid a cushion under his hips, raising himself to a better position. He wanted to see, to watch as Milo fucked him for the first time. He felt the cool kiss of the lube as Milo massaged his anus, slipping in a finger, gently massaging and relaxing Darah's entrance. He might never have done this with a man before, but Milo had done this with someone else ... his touch was gentle and confident.

When he felt the blunt tip of Milo's cock, he took a deep breath, relaxing and bearing down. “Slow, slow and steady, just a little way in.”

Milo was flushed with arousal, fighting the need to drive in fast and hard. “It's so damn tight!”

Darah chuckled, bringing a deep groan from Milo. He hissed as Milo backed out and then returned, sinking in deeper, and then deeper on the next thrust. Soon, he was buried to the hilt, still moving, his cockhead gliding over Darah's prostate.

“Lean down, Milo, and make love with me.”

* * * *

Carefully, Milo lowered himself, until they came face to face. The sensation was strange. His cock was trapped tightly inside Darah's body, and he could feel the other man's cock and balls tight between his pelvis and belly. He'd done this before, but not with a man ... his mind flinched away from her memory, and Milo looked down at Darah's face, seeing the lust and passion drawing his face into taut lines. He saw something else as well, there in the Thalian's glowing blue eyes. It nearly drew tears to his own.

Slowly, tentatively, he began to move, thrusting into Darah's tight, smooth passage. Darah's hard, strong hands wandered his body, and Milo dipped his head, nibbling Darah's jaw, dropping a bite on his shoulder.

He'd discovered that when the wings were arranged properly, the Thalian suffered no discomfort on bottom, and with that in mind, began to deepen his thrusts. He was rewarded by Darah's deep groan and a soft string of words in his native language. Milo dropped to give him a deep, hard kiss, swerving away to bury his face in the man's long, silken hair, nuzzling in to take the lobe of his ear into his mouth. He sucked, whispered, telling Darah how good this felt, how glad he was that they were together.

Further aroused with their pillow talk, the men began to move with serious intent. Darah was now fully erect, his cock hard and hot under Milo's lean belly. Milo pushed himself up a bit, changing angle to thrust harder and deeper, watching his lover's face for any signs of discomfort or pain. Darah's eyes were closed, the veins standing out on his neck. His hands urged Milo onward, faster and harder until the muscles of his ass contracted. He shouted, arched and came, his seed spurting rhythmically between their bodies.

Brought over by his lover's climax, Milo went taut, shuddering, holding his thrust deep inside, feeling his own come flooding the condom. He groaned and shook through one final spasm before opening his eyes to see Darah grinning. He let out a laugh, falling loose-limbed on top of the Thalian. Darah's arms came around his body and Milo could only lay there, amazed at his own happiness.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Four

“You look as though you've received the same news that I have.”

Darah looked up from his small computer, a frown on his face. Milo had noticed that the Thalian relished being outdoors, the weather irrelevant to him. He'd even sit outside in the rain. He always looked toward San Francisco as though something was there.

Greene sat in the wooden deck chair across from Darah. Based on the message he'd received a few hours ago, something really was there, waiting in the city, but nothing that Darah would be aware of. Then again, the Thalian had been proven to possess some uncanny skills. Perhaps he was sensing Greene's current problem.

“I just received a message from my lieutenant that there have been several kidnappings. Females are being taken.”

“Yes, that's what I just heard. Two on this side of the Bay, four in the City. The department is putting together a task force. We'll meet tomorrow.”

“We'll offer any assistance that you need. Crimes against females ... that is not acceptable.”

Greene had noticed that there were few female Thalians among the visitors. Those that he'd met were mated, traveling with husbands and children. They were loath to separate families for more than a few months at a time. He'd also noticed that all of the single males rotated to their ships on occasion. He assumed it was for training. Darah had never mentioned it, but by Greene's estimation, he should be due for his rotation soon.

Under their smooth veneer, he knew the Thalians could be callous. They saw no ethical question in using prisoners for medical experimentation. But where women were concerned, they were almost fanatical. On their planet, rape was grounds for execution.

But the message that had Greene frowning was something completely different.

“Actually, Darah, there's something else I might need your help with. But it'll be on our own time.”

Darah tilted his head in curiosity.

“Some time ago, when I was with the San Francisco Police Department, we recruited and trained a group of civilians. Put them undercover in various criminal organizations. About five years ago, the department there went bankrupt and was assimilated into the Bay System that we operate out of today.”

Darah nodded, fully aware of the intricacies of politics and government on the West Coast.

“We managed to pull most of the informants out, get them to safety, but some had vanished.”

“And we are looking for one of those.”

“Yes. This one allegedly went rogue, opting to continue with the gang she'd infiltrated.”

“She?” Darah's interest spiked. He sat upright, looking at Greene. “And we hunt her?”

“That intrigues you? Hunting a female?” The smile he got in return was feral, and edged with lust. “That turns you on, doesn't it? Hunting your prey ... taking her?”

Darah heaved a breath. “It's the oldest known mating ritual among my people. The idea of hunting a female with my lover...” He grinned, smiling toward the City again. To Greene's amusement, he was fully aroused and erect, his cock straining against the snug fabric of his pants. “And she was important to you. She still is...”

“Well, I'm not quite sure what the situation is. My sources tell me that there have been attacks that bear her MO ... her signature style.”

“And what is that?”

“Hand to hand, severe injuries without fatality. She favors an old Chinese system of fighting. She usually dislocates the knees, shoulders and elbows of her opponents.” She was capable of more, much more.

“Milo, why is this off time? Why don't you simply gather officers and go find her?”

“God, Darah, I've been trying for years! She doesn't want to be found. I don't know what's gone wrong. She was such an ethical, honest woman. I can't believe she's really turned.”

He got up and paced, leaning on the rail, looking out across the Bay. Darah sat quietly, picking up Milo's very real distress, and something else. “You loved her. You thought of her this morning, very briefly.”

“That was a long time ago. And only for a short time.”

“The relationship was brief, not the love. That remained.”

Milo sighed, but didn't turn back. He supposed there would be no secrets while he loved the telepath. “We were both very young and unwise. Our relationship began once she'd entered training. It couldn't continue.”

“And then you met your wife.”

“A couple years later.” He smiled sadly. That love had never died either. “We had a couple very good years before she became ill. And even during her illness ... it was good.”

Darah rose and gathered Greene in his arms, holding him tightly. “You have an amazing capacity for love, Milo Greene. I'm sorry for your pain.”

And he held Milo long after the pain went away.

* * * *

“What else were you going to tell me about this woman?”

Milo wiped his eyes and turned back toward the patio table, taking a seat there. Darah remained leaning against the rail, his wings semi-extended. Every feather seemed to glimmer in the sunshine, in colors ranging from light tans to deep, chocolaty browns. He took Milo's breath away.

“I'm glad you find beauty in my appearance, but tell me about this woman, Milo Greene. I'm curious.”

“Her brother is Aiden Chen.”

“The fighter who used to be a detective?”

“Yes. Aiden's wife Annie Tanaka brought down a serial killer last year.”

“I remember the case. It happened right after I arrived. Detective Tanaka decapitated the killer.”

“Yes. Carin was the wife of a major crime boss, a Yakuza named Shigeo Nakashima. He's very wealthy and dangerous. Aiden and Annie had to leave for their safety.”

“And of course, Nakashima wants his revenge. So this woman is his target. She is in danger.”

“It's more than that, Darah. Aiden seems to believe that she's ill.”

“Has he been in contact with her?”

“No, she's completely underground.” He looked up at the Thalian and smiled. “Aiden allegedly has some precognitive abilities. He told me he threw the fortune sticks for her.”

“Really?” Darah looked curious. “Our telepathy is scientific in nature; we simply have another sense. Humans possess it as well. Precognition? That seems difficult to believe.”

“Well, you have to know the family.”

The Lees were something completely different. Even as close as he'd become to Guo Lee while Annie was in the hospital, he couldn't credit much of what he'd seen with his own eyes ... including Annie killing Carin Nakashima with one stroke of a blade, while her back was to the woman. And the blade had been on the ground, out of Annie's reach. Even now, it made him shiver.

“When do we begin?”

“Now?” He looked at Darah, knowing that the Thalian would be eager to go. It seemed that the other man cherished adventure as much as he craved sex.

“I'll need to hide these...” He shrugged, indicating the wings. The dark Thalians had a surprising ability to flatten their wings close to their bodies. With a loose coat, they could hide them completely. That was another advantage they had over the goldens.

“Just hide them under your coat. I get the feeling that we might be needing those wings of yours.”

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Five

She tilted her head and watched as the blood snaked through the tubing from a plastic bag to a hungry vein in her arm. The vision thing was odd, not quite tunnel vision, but definite cloudiness to the sides. Sometimes when she woke, it was completely cloudy, resolving after an hour or so.

Grace didn't like waking up blind.

As the blood trickled into her body, David Mok bustled about setting out his needles, preparing herbal remedies that she would take home with her.

If she did exactly as he said, ate right and rested, she didn't feel too awful. It seemed that Aiden's loft was exactly the safe place she needed. Not even the Red Flags were gutsy enough to venture into Wharf without an invitation.

And the Yakuza? They might come in, but they'd never leave. At least, not on two feet. They'd be found out in the Bay, floating on the currents until they became food for the sharks. Wharf rats could spot a Yakuza a mile away.

Grace sighed and relaxed back into the ancient barber's chair. David had come into Wharf, and they'd borrowed space in the back room of a tattoo parlor run by a friend of the old healer. Not complete anonymity, but close enough.

The acupuncture needles were painless, and in a moment, she caught the whiff of herbs burning.

“Here, drink.” He held a cup to her lips. Grace winced but downed the bitter stuff. She had no idea what it was but trusted it.

David Mok had been trained by the best.

“You hear from your grandpa lately?”

“No, David, I don't stay in touch with the family.”

“But Sifu stays in touch with you?”

“Yeah, I suppose in his way, he does.” If you counted phantom shadows in the darkness, or the scent of tobacco smoke on the air.

“Those Red Flags keep coming and lookin’ for you. Those other men too.”

“Nakashima's men?”

He curled a lip in contempt. “They know the Triad bosses will kill them on sight. Those ones gave up. No, two big men. Gweilos.”

Ghosts. Outsiders. Not every person that entered Chinatown was a gweilo. Some belonged, even if they weren't Chinese.

“Big guys. One had black hair, curly-like. The other, he's dark too, but his hair was pulled back under his coat. Very big man.”

“Cops, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe. But with long hair? I don't know. They been coming around for a couple weeks now. Want me to find out more?”

“If you can without tipping me. Maybe they're just selling insurance or something.”

David snorted in amusement.

He checked the transfusion and then returned to her needles. “Your body's fightin’ this, Gracie. Fightin’ hard. You doing that Qi Gong your grandpa teaches?”

“No, David. It's been a long time.” And she had been young and arrogant. Why would she have wanted to learn the exercise for the sick and infirm?

“Stupid girl. I'll teach you, but quick-like. Gotta get back to the store.”

“M goi, Sifu Mok.”

“No need for thanks, Gracie. And I'm not your Sifu.”

“I'm learning from you, David. And you're keeping me going after I should have stopped.”

“That's just ‘cause of what your grandpa taught me. Can't let my Sifu down.”

Funny how things all come full circle. Once upon a time Guo Lee had taught this man, and now this man was saving her life. Well, sustaining it, anyway.

The question was ... why?

Lately, it seemed like everyone was fighting to save Grace. Well, except for the people who were trying to kill her.

* * * *

“I've heard of this place, but how are we supposed to get inside?”

Darah and Greene stood on the shattered remains of the Embarcadero, the twisted wreckage of the Bay Bridge to the south, Wharf directly in front of them. Darah stifled an involuntary shiver. Ghettos and slums didn't exist on his planet, and this had to be the worst he'd seen on Earth. Secretly, he'd flown over the place, shocked by the crowded conditions, amazed by the teeming life inside.

The wall stood well over eight feet high, the top littered with broken glass, twists of rusted razor wire and any other defensive materials the residents inside could conjure up. If they tried to scale the wall, they'd probably be nailed by salt from someone's ancient shotgun long before they reached the hazards at the top.

Greene suspected there were holes and other weak spots under the walls where residents passed through narrow, guarded gateways. Unfortunately, nobody would mistake the two men as residents of Wharf.

If they managed to get past the wall, they still had to penetrate the city itself with its smooth, bland façade and blank windows.

Fortunately, Greene knew exactly where he was going and how to get there.

“We'll go in from Bay side. I can bribe someone to take us by boat right up to the underbelly of the place.”

It was creepy, dark and smelly, but last year, Aiden Chen had given Greene the keys to the kingdom, as well as to his and Annie's homes. Greene came in about once a month to check the places, and to make sure that Annie's garden was growing well. He gestured at Darah to follow and headed down to the docks on the waterfront.

Darah had proven to be invaluable in the search for Grace. They'd combed the streets from Mission to North Beach, up into the Nob Hill district, only catching the occasional hint that she'd been around. Payday had come in Chinatown. According to the Thalian, many knew her, had seen her recently, but nobody knew where she'd vanished to.

And everyone who'd spoken with them carried concern for the woman.

They'd finally located her tiny apartment and broken through the locks. Clearly, the place had been abandoned abruptly. What little food remained had rotted. Her few items of clothing were rugged and high quality; leathers and boots and fight-wear. Nothing she'd have willingly left behind. Darah had carefully packed it all in a rucksack that he now carried over his broad shoulder.

Darah had picked up a small carved figure; it was a jade dragon. Milo remembered seeing its twin in Aiden's loft, next to the neatly made bed.

That was when he'd gotten the idea to visit Wharf. Like Aiden, she'd spent years there as a child, learning from her Chinese family. Unlike Aiden, her tastes ran to the wild and the dangerous even as a teen, but she had always cherished her Wharf roots.

She'd entered the same training program that Milo had recruited for, and their affair had been brief and tumultuous. Milo had explored the darker side of pleasure with Grace Chen. It was natural that she'd enter the deepest of the undercover programs. She was on the payroll of the police, but not bound by the rules of the department. He'd checked lately, and her bank accounts were intact. She'd made no withdrawals in years.

And if she had used the money in her account, no doubt the Yakuza would have been on her in minutes. Nakashima's influence ran broad and deep.

Once they reached water level, Greene walked with purpose, past fishermen and the occasional commuter boat, finally coming to a stop in front of a decrepit looking craft that seemed somewhat less than seaworthy.

“Hey, Marlin!”

A string of curses rolled up from inside the cabin, and in a few moments a rugged looking man in greasy clothes emerged, a rag in one hand, a wrench in the other.

“Oh ... hey, Lieutenant...”

He didn't look as pleased as he sounded. A shock of grey hair fell over faded blue eyes. Deep down was the ingrained fear that ocean-going folk always carried.

“Cappie?”

Greene smiled. “Not here about him. I imagine he's halfway between there and here by now.”

The man's relief was immediate. He and Cappie had been together for years. Their fiery affair was the stuff of local legend.

“I'm looking for a favor.”

“A ride? Same price as usual.”

Greene nodded and handed over a folded bill, smiling slightly as the other man glanced over his shoulder and palmed it. Marlin liked the high drama, as though he was participating in some covert operation. Milo didn't mind indulging. In truth, the locals would probably skin the fisherman if they knew he was smuggling outsiders into Wharf.

He stepped onto the boat, smiling as Darah gingerly followed. The Thalian lurched a bit before catching his balance, staring distrustfully at the dirty boat, and then at the equally dirty water. Without his wings to use as balance, he was at a disadvantage on the boat.

When they'd come across the Bay in Milo's sleek jet boat, he'd been alternately thrilled and terrified. The Thalians were of the air, not the water.

The ride was short but complicated by flotsam and jetsam and very real hazards in the water. Marlin skillfully moved them around pilings and moldering wreckage before coming to an idle underneath an old ladder. “You need me to wait?”

“Yeah, if you would.” He handed over another bill, and then watched as Marlin tied off, keeping the boat as steady as possible.

“We're climbing up there.” He pointed to a small square of wood that opened out into a little used alley in Wharf. Greene easily reached the lower rung of the ladder and began his climb, pausing to be certain that Darah was following.

He went hand over hand up the slippery rails, pausing to slip a key into the lock that secured the trap door. It was rusty, but it worked. Greene paused to look around before taking that last step out into the alley, and then he turned, giving his hand to Darah.

The Thalian emerged from the hole in the street, rising up, wiping his hands free of algae and grease. He looked around, taking in the dim light shafting from far overhead, the narrow alley, the mounds of garbage piled in abandoned doorways.

“This, my friend, is territory known to very few people in this world. Welcome to Wharf.”

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Six

The first thing that struck Darah was the smell; cooking and fish and decaying garbage. But to his surprise, it wasn't as foul as he'd expected it to be. In moments, the smell was overwhelmed by the noise.

He heard children shouting and laughing, adults talking in a myriad of languages, the cacophony of thousands of people all cooped up in a space much too small to hold them all. He heard dogs barking and music blaring. He heard babies crying, and that sound pulled at the deep place in his soul.

They started at the bottom level. In dingy corners and in alleys he saw drunks and drug addicts passed out, or nervously awaiting their next fix. He saw addled whores, both male and female, kneeling on the floor giving blow jobs for loose change or a bottle of beer.

As they ascended, level by level, the tone of the place changed, and businesses began to crop up. Some looked decrepit and disreputable. As they moved, suspicious eyes followed them, but Greene moved with confidence, ignoring the unspoken threats. They traveled up ladders, over rickety boards that served as bridges, and along narrow ledges.

“Wharf rats can run these pathways at full speed, after dark.”

Darah shook his head in amazement.

“Watch the electric lines, some of them are live, others are dummies. Also, before you cross a ramp, check to make sure it hasn't been sabotaged. Now that the Lees are gone, the gangs are beginning to crop up here and there. That's how they mark their territory.”

Darah felt his heart drop more than once as his weight made the flimsy boards groan under his feet. Finally, he slipped off the long coat he wore, letting his wings expand. Not only was he now prepared for a fall, they helped his balance. That improved his mood greatly.

The journey was nerve-wracking and seemingly endless, but eventually, they slipped into the window of an old building and walked down a long, decrepit hallway.

“Your friend lived here? Willingly?”

Greene smiled at the amazement in his voice. He paused and surveyed the giant sliding door. The tiny paper he'd placed in the doorway was gone, telling him that the door had been disturbed.

“Someone's been here. Likely it was Grace, but still...”

He pulled his sidearm, and Darah did likewise. Greene's gun fired good old-fashioned bullets. He still wasn't sure what the Thalian weapons did. He'd never seen one used. It was small and sleek with an ergonomic curve to the handle.

He stood back and rolled the door open, keeping it between him and the room. Nothing moved inside. Slowly, carefully, he entered, scanning the space. Darah followed, his movements cautious and quick.

“It's empty.”

“Yes, but our girl's been here.”

He holstered his pistol and entered the loft, his shoes ringing on the hardwood floor. He moved to the training area where beads of water were still scattered on the porcelain of the therapeutic tub. A damp towel was draped over a straight-backed chair.

“Maybe one in twenty places has running water, and those are usually businesses. The rest of the people get their water from community spigots.” The water alone made this place priceless, not to mention the sheer size of it.

Moving in further, he checked the giant futon bed. The twin to the dragon from Grace's apartment was sitting on the bedside table.

“Look.”

He glanced over, Darah was holding up a pair of leather chaps. Jeans, a leather jacket and knee-high boots were carefully placed nearby. A stiff leather bustier brought blood rushing to his cock, and he firmly tamped down the arousal. A flash of Grace in an impossibly tight leather corset came to mind, as did an image of her in glossy vinyl thigh-high boots. Her lips were blood red, her golden cat-eyes lazy and tempting. She loved to play naughty.

Again, he forced his brain back to business.

It was probably the only outfit she'd brought with her. And it was practical. The leathers were sturdy, battle-scarred.

The men's eyes met and they both looked over at the bathroom. Milo crossed the floor, half expecting to hear the shower running, but the room was empty.

“Well, I suppose we could go looking for her.” Darah set down the pack he'd brought from her place. Milo watched him slowly explore the loft. “She might have headed out somewhere, maybe for food.”

Darah had wandered into the kitchen. Milo followed him, looking over his broad shoulder at the contents of the refrigerator.

“Lots of proteins. And Chinese herbs.” He frowned at the script, unable to read the labeling. He opened a cupboard and found a packet of herbal pills that he recognized as being for muscle pain.

A calendar hung on the wall. She'd made notes in Chinese, but once a week, the same day was noted with a time. A recurring appointment every Thursday? He sighed and turned away, wishing he had someone to translate.

Sensing his frustration, Darah reached out and pulled him close, letting him go after a quick hug. “We'll find her. Can you think of anyplace she might go for company? To pass the time?”

Greene shook his head.

“Well, we can wait here. She's bound to show up sometime.”

But that felt wrong. Aiden's urgency had been palpable, and they'd wasted weeks canvassing the streets looking for her.

“Look, there's a place I need to check on, Annie Tanaka's apartment. She left me in charge of her garden. Let's head over there, and then come back and check again.”

Darah nodded, following Milo out the door, which he relocked. Together, they walked back down the dirty hallway, out the window, and were once again in the filthy grandeur of Wharf.

* * * *

The pain had jolted her from sleep, and had driven her outside into the cool Bay air. Now, Grace huddled on the deck chair shivering. It was fever; she'd developed an infection.

“Not doing so good?”

“Grandpa?” She squinted and moved her head a bit to the side. Her vision had evolved once more. He was sitting on the low cinder block wall just yards away. How had he arrived so quietly? He took a pull on his cigarette, and suddenly, Grace could smell smoke. She hadn't smelled it until she saw him exhale.

Hallucination.

“Oh, I'm real enough, but maybe not really here.” He smiled and looked out over the ocean. “Well, Tiger, you got yourself into a mess.”

“The Dragon found me. I didn't go looking.”

“I wasn't talking about the Dragon. I'm talking about those gangs.”

“Oh, yeah. Them.” She laid her head back against the wood of the chair.

“I know about Nakashima. He's after you ‘cause of Aiden and Annie. But what about those Red Flag fellas? You blow your cover with them?”

“You knew?”

“I had a pretty good idea. You were a hothead, but not bad. And not stupid. So what happened?”

She shivered and pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders. She had no idea what a warm, dry blanket was doing out here, but didn't question her luck. “I made a bad choice, Grandpa. A very, very bad choice.”

The tip of his cigarette glowed, and then smoke trailed from between his chiseled lips. She knew he wasn't real. His hair was still jet black, his face unlined. But then his appearance hadn't changed in all the years of her childhood, so maybe he was indeed real.

“Making bad choices is part of life, Tiger.” Her heart warmed at the nickname. Nobody called her that but Grandpa.

“But most people don't make choices that could cost lives.” She dropped her gaze, ashamed to confess to Guo Lee, but knowing she must. “When the force collapsed, I should have gone in. I should have gone with the others to safety. But I stayed.”

“And not for the right reasons.”

No, the right reasons would have been to gather information on the gang, to continue her position undercover.

“For the wrong reasons. I fell in love.”

“What makes you think falling in love is the wrong reason?”

“I fell in love with Tyreese Gonzales. He was the new head of the Red Flags.”

He sat quietly, considering her words.

“I thought we'd be forever. I lost all sense of right and wrong there for a while.” They'd trained her for many things but not the sense of belonging, of family.

“What happened?”

She sat and considered that night, that last horrific night. “He executed someone. A kid from Chinatown.” She shifted uncomfortably. “He didn't know anything. I doubt he was even Triad. But Ty wouldn't give him a chance.”

She remembered the expression of stark fear on the boy's face. He hadn't seen his eighteenth year yet. He'd cried out, calling for his mother in Cantonese.

“I tried to intervene, and Ty turned this look on me. I knew then ... I knew that he saw me as a threat, not a lover. I knew that the man I loved was going to kill me.”

“But you still loved him?”

She shook her head, a smile on her face. “I knew at that moment that I loved my life a hell of a lot more than I loved him. What he didn't know was that I was already sick.”

“Bad choice in love. There's worse things, I suppose.”

She looked at him then, taken aback by the sheer beauty of the man. He was handsome, ancient but young. High cheekbones looked carved into his face; his eyes were alternately wide and expressive, and then hooded and mysterious.

“I made a mistake once. That's why I'm still around.” He stubbed out the cigarette, resting his hand on his cotton clad knee. “I joined a gang too, when I was a kid. Back then, there wasn't much choice. You joined or got killed. Grew up Triad, old school.”

She sat very still, very quiet. As far as she knew, Guo Lee never shared his past with anyone.

“I lived that way a long time, didn't know anything else, till I met a woman. I fell in love.”

“There must have been others.”

He rose, walking slowly to where an orchid hung from the wall, its flower white and pristine. “There were others. I was close on to forty when I met her. She was a school teacher. She had a clean heart, only saw the good in me even though she knew what I did.” He smiled gently. “I started looking at my life out of her eyes. The old Triad rules had gone away, and these younger fellows just wanted money, status. The way I grew up, the cops were enemies, other gangs were enemies. Innocent folk were off limits.” He stroked the leaf of the orchid and turned to face his granddaughter.

“One day, a fight broke out. It was in a park. My boss used an innocent woman as a shield. She was old, but not ready to die. He took her life that morning. And I ... snapped. And I did the unthinkable. I attacked my Triad boss.”

“You killed him?”

“No. Stupid thing, I hit him!” He grinned briefly, smile lines radiating from his eyes. “He shot me. Then he walked away laughing. I guarded that man twenty years, took bullets for him. I bled for him, and he shot me. Granted, I did attack him.”

“But you didn't mean to hurt him, did you?”

He chuckled, his voice husky and low. “You know me too well, Tiger. But there I lay, bleeding to death, and someone came and held me. I thought it was her, she was so beautiful. And then she changed. She glowed with light ... mercy.”

“Quan Yin.”

“Maybe. But she made me a deal. And here I am.”

“So we both made a bad choice in the people we trusted.”

“But my mistake was worse.” She looked at him curiously. “My mistake wasn't taking a swing at my boss. That would have been the natural end of my life. I'd have been reborn, moved on to my next life. My mistake was making a bargain with what I thought was a god.”

He smiled gently. “That's the end of my story, Tiger. Now you ... you need help.”

She shook her head wearily. “I think it's too late for me, Grandpa. I've already lived with this too long.”

“Tiger, never stop believing in miracles. And if someone offers you one, don't say no.”

“You were offered a miracle, and now you regret it.”

“Yin Yang, Tiger. I used to stand right here and watch lightning storms move across the sky. It was so beautiful, but so deadly. My miracle is the same. Beautiful, but terrible. So when that miracle comes...”

“I'll accept it, and the consequences.”

“That's my girl. I love you, Tiger.”

“I love you, Grandpa.” Her eyes had dropped shut in weariness, and when they opened again, he was gone. Not even a wisp of smoke lingered on the air.

Hallucination. It really was the end.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Seven

“Grace? Gracie?”

Greene knelt on the gravel surface of the roof, his eyes meeting Darah's in concern. Darah stood back a bit; with his wings visible, he was afraid to frighten the woman.

She appeared to be tall and graceful, but his senses told him she was terribly ill. She wore a black cotton outfit, the sort martial artists sometimes wore; loose pants and a top that buttoned up the front with ornamental frogs. Her skin was golden brown, her hair silky and black. He could see that she was Asian, but had another race mixed in. Her full lips and strong coloring led him to believe she was part African.

She was beautiful even in her troubled sleep. In fact, he'd never seen a female so lovely, not even among the golden females of his species.

“She's burning up.”

Darah moved closer and rested a hand on her skin. Aside from heat, he “saw” the events of the past days, the medicines, the transfusions, and the desperate scrabble to find money to pay for food. The abject fear of death.

“She's very sick, Milo. She needs to go to the hospital. Our doctors might help, but she's been aware of her own death for some time now.”

“Do you know what's wrong?”

“She's been receiving transfusions.”

Hemo disease. Dragon's Blood.

The same disease that had killed his wife.

Grief crashed over Milo like a wave, crippling and futile. Grief for his wife, grief for his former lover. For a brief moment, he let that grief flow over him, through him, and then he forced it back. When he looked up at Darah, the Thalian's eyes were bright with empathy.

“We'll have to carry her down.”

“No, Milo, you need to start down. I'll take her over the side and meet you on the dock.”

“Can you carry her that far?”

Darah grinned. They had kept their true skills hidden. Even Milo had no idea of his strength in flight. “I'll be fine. I've got to swing out over the water to get space to land, but it'll be fine.”

“People will see.”

They would but it was the cost of saving a life, a life that his lover held dear. Darah would no doubt take a good deal of heat for this, but there was no option.

“You start now. Hurry. Don't forget to bring her possessions. I don't want to be down there too long without any means to cover myself.”

“Meet me at the boat then.” Darah nodded, watching Milo dart off to the edge of the building, beginning his descent. He'd give him a head start before leaving himself.

* * * *

There were strong arms wrapped around her body, holding her tight. A breeze kissed her hot skin. Grace hated herself for the weakness, but cuddled tighter into those comfortable arms.

“Ty? No...”

Panic flared through her body at the thought of Tyreese. But whoever this was had broader shoulders, and his smell was different. “Milo?” She smelled Milo, that herbal soap he always used.

“Not Milo, but he is waiting. I'll take you to him now.”

She felt his muscles gather, and before Grace could process what was happening, a lurch into nothingness, a drop that gripped her stomach. There was the sound of wind and falling, and her own scream caught in her throat.

“No fear, Grace, you're flying with me. You're safe.”

Safe? She forced her eyes open, but she could see only a man's broad chest, and beyond that, sky and water. She gathered a scream.

“Grace, please don't scream. It won't make me fall, but carrying you takes some concentration.”

His matter-of-fact tone penetrated her panic, and slowly, Grace turned her head, looking at the Bay from a bird's eye view. “You jumped off Wharf ... you fucking jumped!”

“And flew.”

“I'm dead. I died up there and you're some sort of angel.” She strained to look at him, saw only a strong jaw, shapely, kissable lips. Kissable? She groaned in embarrassment, and he chuckled, almost as though he knew what had crossed her mind.

“You're alive. I'm a Thalian. And I can interpret some of your thoughts.”

What in hell was a Thalian?

“We're from another planet, Grace. Haven't you watched the news? Read the papers?”

“I've been staying low for a while...”

“Darah. I'm Darah Lash.”

They weren't really flying now; she could feel the tension in his body as he held his wings steady, banking to the right. He spoke into her ear, his warm breath tickling her cheek. “We're heading toward the pier now. I see Milo waiting by his boat. Just a few more seconds.”

Before what? Before they landed? Crashed in a blaze of glory? She buried her head in his shoulder, trying vainly to stifle her panic. Panic only drained her energy. She needed that strength.

His position shifted, becoming upright, and Grace could feel powerful muscles pumping rapidly as he lowered them gently to the wooden pier.

“Quick, onboard, I don't know if anyone saw...” It sounded like Milo's voice, that soft, deep tone that she remembered so well.

“Milo?”

“I'm here, Grace. I've got to drive the boat, but I'm here. I've been looking for you for a long time.”

She felt him at her side and emotion overflowed. For the first time in four long years of illness, Grace allowed all of her fears and grief and panic to surface. She'd kept up the façade even in front of her grandfather.

The man who'd flown her still held her in his arms, and to her relief, she felt Milo's arms wrap around her as well, holding her tight and safe. For now, just for right now, she'd let someone else be strong for her while she lay sandwiched between two strong bodies. She cried; deep, sobbing gasps escaped, tears wet her cheeks. And even as she broke, Grace Chen began to rebuild her walls, those bastions of strength.

“Milo, Nakashima controls the Red Flags now; they've got eyes all over.”

“Understood.” He stepped away, leaving her empty and bereft.

The arms of the strange man tightened once more, and he wrapped something warm around her body. A long, fine woolen coat. “Look at me, Grace.”

She obeyed, shifting her head so that she could see the full face of the man. She refused to think of him as an alien. Her brain wasn't ready for that just yet.

He was handsome, with strong, chiseled features, and beautiful, exotic eyes set under strong dark brows.

“There is a cure for your illness. My people created a cure. You are very sick, but we might be able to help.”

A cure? A cure for Dragon's Blood? She could only stare, letting her disbelief show. “When?”

“A year ago.”

Anger surged through her body. Anger at the enemies, known and unknown, which had kept her out in the cold. Anger that fate had delivered the promised miracle, but maybe too late.

The anger burned itself out abruptly, for like panic, it took energy to maintain strong emotion, and she had little strength to spare.

* * * *

Darah refused to relinquish Grace. He carried her from the dock to the waiting transport, and even in the vehicle, held her cradled in his arms like a child. Milo felt a lurch in his stomach as he watched his lover grow more and more infatuated with the woman in his arms. When he looked up at Milo, his eyes were bright with tears of sympathy and pain.

He'd been skin reading her.

“It's been bad for her.” It was a comment, not a question. Inside, a worm of jealousy worked its way into his gut, but he didn't know why, or who it was directed toward.

“Very. She puts up a brave front, but is terrified.”

Grace was unconscious in his arms, and as they entered the emergency bay of the hospital, he finally handed her over to a golden-haired Thalian physician. As they took her away, Darah stood like a statue, his eyes following the Thalian's progress.

Darah was a person of power and influence, but in the presence of the golden academic, he wilted slightly.

“That was the most amazing thing I've seen.” Darah looked at Greene in question. “Your flight. I've seen you do a little bit during sparring, but I've never seen anything so beautiful as you in the sky with Grace in your arms.”

Darah straightened a bit, pride returning to his bearing.

“I didn't know you could do that.”

“Few have the ability. None among the goldens. They lack the musculature.”

Milo set his mental defenses firmly in place and stifled a grin. Mission accomplished. He hated seeing a man as magnificent as Darah Lash diminished by ignorant and archaic bigotry.

The men turned and walked down the corridor, showing their credentials to gain access to the secure wing of the hospital. They found chairs outside the room where Grace was being treated.

An hour passed that way, and then another. They spoke little, hands occasionally brushing, knees pressed close in comfort. Greene called his captain, apprising him of the situation. He didn't know Grace's story, but was willing to bet that she had a strong and compelling reason to have stayed underground for as long as she had.

After time had dragged on interminably, two doctors stepped into the hall, one human, one Thalian. Milo and Darah stood, dwarfing the human, looking the golden doctor in the eye.

“Well, she's very, very sick. She told us her initial diagnosis had been over five years ago. The only treatment she's received has been black market transfusions and Chinese herbs and acupuncture. It's a miracle that she lasted this long. As you know, the prognosis for Hemo is poor without proper treatment.”

Yes, Milo did know that. He knew that well.

The Thalian gazed at Darah, and Milo was certain they were speaking mind-to-mind. That suspicion was confirmed when Darah nodded slightly.

“Can we see her? Is she strong enough to question yet?” Both sets of eyes settled on Milo, lancing him with disapproval. He didn't back down. “If I'm correct, she may be in danger, even here.”

“She's very near death, Lieutenant. I don't think it's wise, not yet.”

Darah smoothly interjected. “The lieutenant is an old friend. Perhaps his presence will prove beneficial to Grace Chen. She responded well to him when we rescued her.”

The human doctor paused a moment and nodded. “She'll begin treatment shortly. Her blood will be filtered through a modified dialysis unit. She'll begin receiving transfusions and medication as well. Does she have any family nearby?”

“They're in Hong Kong.”

“I see.” He frowned disapprovingly. Unfortunately, it was impossible for Aiden Chen to step foot into California at this time.

The human doctor stood aside, allowing Milo and Darah to enter the room. Milo moved to the head of the bed, softly stroking her cheek.

“Greene.”

“It's me.”

She opened large, up-tilted eyes, and as always, Milo's heart contracted. They were brown; not obsidian brown like her brother's, but golden, topaz brown. Cat eyes in color, cat eyes in shape. Tiger eyes. Even sick and weak, danger radiated from this woman.

Her lashes were long and thick, her full lips slightly parched. Transfusions of both blood and fluids ran into her body.

“Did you know there are men with wings wandering around this place?” she stage whispered for Darah's benefit. She didn't smile, but a deep dimple showed in her cheek.

“I know.”

“There's one standing behind you right now.”

“There is?” That brought a smile to her face.

Milo straightened, taking Darah's hand, bringing him up to meet Grace. “Grace, this is Darah Lash. He is a Thalian, from a planet known as Regah. Darah is in charge of the safety of all the Thalians who are currently here on Earth.”

She simply stared and blinked at Darah. She didn't seem to remember him.

“Grace, you should know that Thalians are telepathic, and touch sensitive. You can block me if you wish.”

“No ... that's all right.” She frowned. “You scared the shit out of me!”

Greene laughed at the consternation on Darah's face. He'd eventually become accustomed to Grace's forthright manner.

“Greene, he jumped off the building with me! I thought that was it!” He couldn't help laughing, and was glad to see a smile on the Thalian's face.

“I suppose you and I have some talking to do.”

“We do, Grace, but not now. Later.”

She laid her head back gratefully. “You know, if Nakashima wants me bad enough, he'll have someone in here within hours.”

“We've posted guards, and Darah will have men here as well. They're adept at heading off problems before they happen.”

“Yeah, that telepathy thing. That rocks, you know.” Her eyes dropped closed and it was clear that she was fading.

He glanced over at Darah, worry etching his expression.

“Lama told me that they plan to begin treatment immediately. She has a secondary infection beginning in her lungs. Once she begins to respond to treatment for that, they'll begin the filtration and replacement of the blood.”

“Obviously, he told you more than Dr. Morris told me.” She was clearly annoyed.

Darah smiled down at her gently. “He was afraid that you were fatigued. We won't hide any information regarding your treatment.” His eyes met Greene's and he stepped back from the bed. “I have to attend to business. Milo, I'll be in my offices.”

He left the room as quietly as he entered, and Grace watched as he walked away. From her expression, Milo could tell that she lost a bit of security with his departure. Again jealousy wiggled in his chest. The two had formed a connection, almost on first sight. Milo pulled a chair to her bedside, sitting close enough to reach out and touch.

“He's your lover, isn't he?”

He looked at her in surprise. Grace smiled and stroked his hand. “That look on your face. It was once there when you looked at me. And then it was there for your wife.”

“You know she died?”

“Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. You're too steady for divorce, and she was too in love with you. How'd it happen?”

“Dragon's Blood.” The silence stretched through the room, thin and fragile. “The cure came too late for her.”

“God, I'm sorry, Milo.”

“Annie Tanaka was her bleeder for three years. I always believed...” He looked away, unable to look at her face. “I always believed she'd respond. That she'd get better. Then she needed monthly transfusions. And still, we denied it. When she added a second donor, and then a third...” He looked at Grace then, taking in her dark beauty. “Why? How have you gone on for so long, Grace? I don't understand.”

“Call it karma, maybe.” Grace took his hand in hers, and it felt cold and stiff. She let it go. “Years ago, Guo Lee mentored a young orphan, a boy that got caught up in the Triads. Guo sheltered him, taught him medicine, acupuncture, herbology, and reflexology. Now all these years later, that man has been treating me with Grandpa's medicine.”

“She had the best doctors.”

Grace didn't answer. There was really nothing to say. The best doctors didn't always have the best medicine.

“Darah and I have been together just weeks.”

“But you've known him for a while?” He nodded. “He's beautiful. And frightening.”

“He's a formidable man. Darah is the highest ranking Thalian officer here, not a man to trifle with.”

“Will your relationship cause problems with your jobs?”

“I have no doubt it will. Essentially, we're both supposed to be spying on one another.”

She was quiet after that, her hair dark against the pillow. The only sound was the soft hum of equipment running life and health into her veins. Her lids quivered, and then dropped.

“It's a pity.”

“What is?” He took her hand in his, frowning at how weak, how small it seemed.

“I always hoped...”

He waited for her to finish her answer, but she said nothing else. She was sound asleep.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eight

Two weeks had brought improvement. Improvement had brought her body back to some semblance of vitality. Grace had been moved into a secure and secret area in the new Security Building. The rigorous treatment the Thalians had developed shot down her immune system, and then allowed it to slowly recover.

So now she was in a bubble. They couldn't sterilize the entire security wing, so Grace was living in a contained environment.

She lay in bed. The room was dim with the only real light coming from the moon shining in her window. She was uncertain what had disturbed her sleep, so Grace played possum, letting her eyes crack open a tiny bit. Her adrenaline spiked, but somehow, she kept her breathing steady, her muscles loose.

Every day, she expected Nakashima's men to come bursting through the doors, guns blazing. But most likely, he'd get her through more devious, stealthy methods; a nurse with a toxic needle, a pillow over her face in the middle of the night. But every day passed, and every night passed, and she kept waking up alive.

And every day and night brought images dancing to her mind, old lusts and needs revived within her body. She lay in her bed, eyes wide to the darkness, picturing Greene's body above hers, thrusting into climax. She could clearly remember that moment when he teetered on the brink, falling over into bliss. Milo loved that split second of surrender, drawing it out and savoring it like fine wine. Now he was sharing it with Darah. Their connection was as real and palpable as her hand in front of her face. They were in love.

She recalled Milo's body in vivid detail, from the sparse, silky hair on his chest, to his cock, hard and thick, with a slight curve to the right. Grace recalled his salty taste, and her mouth watered in reaction. She remembered hot, passionate interludes, the pain of leaving him. The devastation of watching from a distance as he and Tammy Wallace had rushed out of an old stone church amidst a shower of flower petals and good wishes.

Even from her vantage point from across the street, she'd seen the joy on his face as he'd kissed his beautiful redheaded, ivory-skinned bride. He'd laughed then, and Milo was beautiful in his happiness. And then he'd caught sight of Grace as she hovered behind an old tree. They'd exchanged sad smiles. It was too late for them.

Years later, when she spied on Tammy's funeral, he'd looked worn and sad. She'd cried harder then than she had at his wedding. The first time, the tears were for Grace Chen. The second time she cried, the tears were for Milo.

She lay in the dark and remembered, and as her arousal began to elevate, another image joined the first, Darah with his dark hair hanging loose, wrapping them both in the shelter of his great wings. She craved the touch of both men. It had been so very long, and now that she was locked in a prison of plastic and oxygen, Grace was starved for human contact. And Darah Lash? He'd been the one to put the joy back into Milo Greene's eyes.

Milo was with an alien, not the woman who still loved him. She should resent Darah but she didn't. He had her gratitude.

I suppose it's really love when I want Milo's happiness more than I want the man.

Grace Chen was a rogue. She was a fighter, tough and dangerous. For the past five years, her life had been one of fear and struggle. Her Tiger's spirit had been steadily crushed by illness and terror and the never-ending hunt.

She knew she should be afraid of Darah, and yet the Thalian made her feel ... safe.

How very strange.

She sighed and shifted, scanning the room for intruders, and then settled back into her rest. She let her eyes drift shut.

In the corner, she'd seen him, a great, dark figure in the shadows, watching over her, guarding her sleep.

Darah was here, and she was safe.

* * * *

“I'm not quite sure what she's doing. Maybe she's finally snapped from the boredom.”

Milo stood at the edge of Grace's environment, watching in admiration as she moved slowly, feet in place, a focused expression on her face as her hands drifted slowly from side to side.

Darah stood close behind him, not quite embracing Milo, but close. “It's not tai chi, is it?”

“No, she really doesn't have space in there to do a tai chi set.” They continued to watch as Grace ignored their presence, seating herself on the floor, legs crossed. She continued moving through patterns. “Qi Gong? I understand it has health benefits for the sick and feeble.”

Darah grinned when he felt a spike of irritation from her. He nudged Milo with his hip. “I think her grandfather taught Qi Gong to elderly people in Wharf. That makes sense. She's not really strong enough to do anything else.”

“Fuck you, Milo! You too, you damned bird!” In frustration, Grace rose, shoving her feet into slippers. “This is all I have space for, and I'm going crazy here!” She flopped onto her bed, shoving aside a pile of magazines and books. She bounced slightly, glaring at the men as they grinned at her anger.

“One more week, Grace. You can hang on.”

“It's already been a month. I'm going crazy in here.”

“We saw.” Milo couldn't stop the grin. Behind him, he felt Darah's warmth caressing his body, and knew if he leaned back, he'd feel a substantial erection. His ass clenched and his balls went tight at the suggestive pose they'd taken. What was Darah up to? This was for Grace's benefit.

As though in answer to Milo's unspoken question, Darah's hand came around Milo's waist, the warmth of his palm resting over his belly. He couldn't help noticing Grace's eyes following the movement of Darah's hand, her eyes dropping to Milo's groin before flicking away nervously.

He was teasing her! Damn flirt!

Milo sucked in a deep breath, remembering the original purpose of the visit. Reluctantly, he moved from Darah's hold and pulled a chair next to the clear plastic barrier that divided them. Not to be deterred from whatever purpose he had in mind, Darah moved behind the chair, looming over Milo.

Territorial. He was being territorial, but there was more going on.

Over the past weeks, they'd spoken of Grace, of her undercover work, her illness. They'd never spoken of Milo's deeply buried feelings for her. Nor had they addressed the attraction that simmered in Darah's eyes as he looked at the woman. The pressure between the three was building, and Milo not only feared the outcome, he anticipated it.

When the men wrestled on the bed together, when he plunged his cock into Darah's body, Milo often tasted her name on his lips, her ghostly image floating before his eyes, her beautiful face twisting in ecstasy as he climaxed in Darah's powerful embrace.

Darah knew, and Milo suspected that he shared that particular fantasy. But what about Grace?

He shoved those thoughts aside as Grace moved within inches of where he sat. She'd gained a bit of weight. Her curves were returning, along with the muscular strength that he associated with her.

She wore hospital issue clothing, a stretchy tank top and thin sweatpants. He could see the dark shadows of her areolas beneath the white fabric, and as he watched, her nipples went hard, pebbling before his gaze.

Behind him, Darah shifted, and Milo had no doubt where his focus was.

“There have been kidnappings...” He cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware of the rising tension in the room. “In the City, as well as here. Women are being taken, and we can't seem to get a handle on it.”

“And you think I know something?” Her chin went up and her eyes sparked in indignation.

“I thought you might have some insight. Even though you've been outside the Red Flags for a long time, you've lived close to the streets. You might have heard something.”

She searched his eyes, and then glanced up at Darah's somber face. He caught his breath as she looked back at him, as always struck by the strong, elegant lines of her face. She wore her thick black hair pulled back in a style that would be stark on most women. On Grace, it revealed exquisite cheekbones, the strong perfection of her features. He also recalled that face with the hair loose, falling around her face softly as she laughed. There hadn't been much laughter this past month.

She reached out, long fingers trailing down the thin plastic barrier, her eyes followed their progress. Milo waited.

“I heard rumors ... Tyreese...” She swallowed hard at the mention of her treacherous lover. “I heard Ty talking to his lieutenants. There were some people. He thought they were from another country. They were paying the Yakuza for women.” Her eyes met his once again. “Two women from our gang vanished after that. I finally realized that Ty had turned them over to Nakashima in lieu of the tithe he usually paid.”

“Nephris.” Darah barely whispered, but the word cut through the room like a knife.

The Nephris had migrated from Earth during the early days of space exploration, centuries earlier. At the time they'd left, they were a misogynistic cult, religious fanatics who hated women, viewing them only as a necessary evil.

“You think they'd come here for women?” Darah's hands settled on his shoulders. Milo could feel his tension. He reached up and gave one hand a comforting squeeze.

“They've taken women from the Thalian, as well as other planets. Their own don't seem to last too long.”

Grace looked at them with horror. “That's what he called them ... he thought they were from Europe, maybe Central Europe.”

“I must advise my superiors. It would seem that the Nephris are taking advantage of Earth's criminal networks to obtain their women. We will locate their ships and create an embargo. They'll be unable to enter this system.”

“Will that stop them?” Milo glanced up at Darah's face, which was now grim. His fingers tightened slightly on Milo's shoulder.

“Their technology is still primitive. They will be using small, short-range craft.”

That meant he'd be leaving. Milo's chest went tight with pain, which he immediately suppressed. He'd come back. Besides, Darah had mentioned his upcoming furlough. He'd be on the ship for many days. He needed to get used to the idea that they would be parted.

Darah cupped a hand under Milo's chin, tilting his face upwards, and then leaning down to look Milo in the eye. “I will come back.”

Milo found the truth in his eyes and nodded. Darah leaned down further, his lips meeting Milo's in a lingering kiss.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Nine

Holy shit on a stick!

Grace stayed rooted where she stood as the two men embraced, mere inches from her. She very nearly felt the heat of their bodies from the other side of the thin barrier.

Her heart twisted as it so often did when she looked at Milo, at the man she'd surrendered in the name of duty.

Back then she'd been a stupid, stupid girl, thinking she could walk away, save the world, and then come back to find him waiting.

That's just not how it worked now, was it?

As Darah broke the kiss, those dark blue eyes of his flashed with unearthly light, meeting hers with a feral intensity. That intensity had been present from the time they met, and had been growing by the day.

She licked her lips nervously, noting that his eyes watched the movement. She stifled a shiver, feeling warmth and moisture escape her body.

You are the loveliest female I've ever seen.

She blinked, glancing at Milo to see what his response was, but he acted as though Darah hadn't spoken. She met Darah's eyes once more.

I feel his desire for you. I want you. I want us all...

She blinked, aware of a tickle behind her forehead. Grace stepped back, wrapping her mind around what was happening.

She'd heard his thoughts.

A smile slowly creased his face as Darah began to suspect what was in Grace's head. “Milo, stand up.”

She watched as Milo slowly rose. Darah moved the chair away and stepped up behind the man once again. The look on the Thalian's face twisted her gut. Sweat bloomed on her skin as she watched the men move even closer to the barrier. Just inches away, Darah stopped, wrapping an arm around Milo's waist, his hand slipping under his jacket, into his shirt.

She watched.

Darah's wings slowly expanded. His head ducked, nuzzling at Milo's jaw. The other man's eyes dropped shut in pleasure. Darah began unbuttoning the crisp white shirt, his hand searching out Milo's hardened nipples. With his free hand, he pulled the shirt loose from Milo's black trousers.

“You wish you were touching him.”

She met his eyes and nodded slightly. Grace stood perfectly still, watching the slow stripping of Milo. Darah's hand dropped, unbuckling Milo's belt, opening his pants. She felt her lips part slightly as Milo's cock came into view, hard and ruddy, a glistening drop running down the head.

“Shall I make him come for you?”

Her mouth went dry.

Step closer.

She obeyed the whisper in her mind, stepping forward until she pressed against the barrier. It was surprisingly supple, thin as silk. Darah pushed Milo forward. Through the plastic, she felt his warmth. Grace lifted a hand, palm open, and Milo reached up, placing his palm against hers.

She felt a painful hitch in her breath ... it felt so good to touch ... to be touched. She let her head drift forward, until their foreheads met, resting together. For the first time since she'd been brought in, Grace freely allowed memories to rush through her mind. Milo, nearly a decade ago, black hair glossy and bright in the sun; his grey eyes were sometimes moody and sad, but more often bright with laughter. She remembered seeing him that first time, a big white man in a black suit. He was quiet and dangerous, his fierce passion held under tight control.

From where she stood, looking down at his bare torso, she could see that he was still muscular, his abdomen still ridged with muscle. She looked down further, and saw the hand of his new lover, touching where she used to touch.

Darah's big hand clasped Milo's cock, stroking gently, slowly, as he watched her through hooded eyes. As he stroked, his hips rocked into Milo's ass in a gentle parody of the act.

“Milo, have you ever...?”

“No. Not yet.”

He'd never allowed Darah to take him. He wasn't repulsed or afraid, she could see that. One side of her mouth pulled up into a smile. Without moving her head, her eyes shot upward, meeting Darah's gaze. A similar smile edged onto his face.

“Now that's something I'd like to see.”

Her hand dropped. Through the barrier, she pressed her hand over Darah's large fist, pleased that the plastic had enough slack for her to roam a bit. She cupped her hand under Milo's testicles. He gasped, rolling his head until he was cheek to cheek with Grace.

She brought her hand up, running it over his hard belly, up to his chest. Darah had stepped back, returning with the chair. He worked quickly, stripping Milo of his shoes and then his pants. “There ... put your foot on the rung of the chair.”

Milo followed his instructions, turning his head back to watch Darah. “You came prepared ... Did you plan this?” He had an anxious smile on his face.

“No, I didn't plan, but it's good to be prepared for any eventuality, don't you agree?” Darah's head was bent as he readied himself. Grace felt Milo jump a bit. She smiled wickedly. She remembered the feel of cool, slick lube going on, going in.

She leaned forward and whispered, “You're going to like this, Milo, I promise. Do you remember the first time we did this?”

He did, and his cock jumped at the memory. Grace moved as close as she could; the barrier limited their ability to hold one another, but they could still share warmth, and she could help him balance. She peered around his shoulder. The Thalian had opened his own pants. His erection was rigid and enormous, now glistening with lube. His cock was long, broad and curved up to his belly. Even flaccid, he was probably huge!

Her aching, empty passage clenched hard on nothing.

Darah reached around, grasping Milo's erection, stroking, caressing, bending down to rain kisses along his neck and throat. Slowly, his wings opened, and Grace recognized that his posture was one of arousal, with just a touch of dominance. Milo wouldn't take well to being dominated, and from the look in his eyes, Darah was well aware of that fact.

She spoke, hoping to divert his attention from his slightly overbearing lover. “When he starts to enter, relax, bear down.”

“I know.” And he did know. He'd just never been on the receiving end. He looked down into her eyes. Their faces moved together, and through the thin plastic, they kissed. Grace felt his tongue stroking her lips, his hand roaming her body, gliding up to cup her breasts.

Impulsively, she pulled the thin top off, leaning closer, pressing her body into his.

“The rest ... take the rest off as well.” Darah watched her strip, his eyes hot as flame. She stepped back and slowly turned away from the men, bending over to lower her pants, and then looked over her shoulder before turning.

“What is on your back?” Darah's voice was harsh, almost choked.

“It's a tiger. Tell him about your tiger, Grace.”

“Later.” She stepped back to the men, tugging at the plastic, drawing as much slack as she could. While she couldn't wrap her arms around them, she was able to bring her leg up, hooking it around the back of Milo's knee. She ground her mons against his thigh, a pole dance on living flesh.

“Do you remember, Milo, that time at the strip club?” Her voice purred into his ear, and Milo felt his arousal rise another notch. For Darah's benefit, he let the memory glide through his mind. Grace on the stage in a smoky room, sultry music driving her into an orgy of skin and limbs, fucking the pole, for all to see, but for his eyes only.

“Amateur night. You put the pros to shame.”

Her laugh was husky with arousal, and again she rode him. This time, she rubbed herself against his swollen shaft. He wished he could feel her crisp curls, the slip of her juices. He ran his thumb over her swollen nipple, smiling to see her face go still, those golden eyes losing focus.

Behind him, Darah moved close, his arm looping around Milo's chest. The Thalian watched Grace with feral intensity, his rigid, hot shaft sliding up the crease of Milo's buttocks, coming back down to begin his invasion.

He shifted Milo's elevated leg, opening him just the slightest bit. Milo felt pressure as Darah began to penetrate that virgin opening.

“Bear down,” he rumbled. Milo's breath caught in his chest as a slow burn told him that he'd been breached.

“Breathe, Milo.” Her voice was low and seductive, and once again, Milo lost himself in her eyes, in the movement of her body.

The retreat made him groan with unexpected pleasure, enough pleasure that he was eager for the burn, the deep, dark invasion. Again, and then again Darah pressed in, and pulled back until his shaft was buried gloriously deep, wedged tight inside of Milo's body.

The rhythmic thrust began gently, easily, and Milo found himself wedged between the two, caught in a state of blissful weakness. As Darah fucked him from behind, Grace ground her mons onto his swollen cock, keeping him hard, his pre-come trickling, slicking him up. He wanted to hold her, he wanted to sink balls deep into her body, but he could only look and touch through the sheet of plastic that kept them apart.

Grace was painfully aroused. Her head tilted up and she met his eyes, huge tears shimmering in her own. He shut his eyes against her grief, against the moisture that burned his lids, escaping to trickle down his cheeks.

This wasn't how it should be; they should be in a bed, sipping champagne, the three of them touching and caressing.

He opened his eyes. Hers had drifted closed, and he recognized that look on her face.

“She's close.” Darah's voice was thick in his ear, breathless. He was close as well. His thrusts were fast and ragged, a dark, delicious pain pressed deep inside of Milo's body. He grasped Milo's hip and forced him tighter to Grace, keeping that tempo.

“Together, Milo. We'll come together.”

Trust Darah to keep track of their arousals! His breath was harsh in Milo's ear. His arm was like an iron band across his chest, strong fingers digging into his shoulder.

When it happened, it was like the ringing of a bell, the rush of a wave. A moment of breathless silence and then Grace's moan, deep and throaty; his own groan escaped. Darah bent to Milo's shoulder, his sweaty face resting on his own hand, where he clasped Milo's shoulder.

Darah shouted his climax, shuddering and thrusting, carrying Milo into Grace, who was pumping hard against his cock. His ejaculate burst, spattering against the thin plastic of the barrier.

Even as his body shuddered in bliss, Milo's heart ached for Grace, for himself and for Darah. Their first time together shouldn't have been through a sterile wall of plastic.

“Milo.” Darah's voice was soft, compassionate. “Milo, look at her.”

He dragged his eyes open. Grace still stood, body pressed against his. He could see the pulse racing in her neck. He felt Darah's heart slamming against his back.

Grace looked up then, her eyes luminous, a smile wreathing her face as she leaned in again, head against his chest. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear what she said.

“Thank you. She said thank you for sharing your first time with her.”

For a very long time, they stayed like that, unmoving, simply giving and taking comfort.

I am complete. The thought shimmered through his consciousness, but Milo wasn't certain whose mind whispered those words.

Maybe they'd all thought the same thing.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Ten

Grace's eyes slid open against the darkness, searching.

Usually she looked around until she located Darah, but he wasn't here. He'd been gone for days, and wouldn't return for several more.

Milo's eyes carried a sobriety that saddened her. Even with the rekindling of their relationship, she could see that he missed Darah. Their relationship was rooted in friendship, nourished with a healthy dose of lust.

She envied them a bit. She was part of a threesome, but not really. She was on the other side of a wall. And she wasn't certain if there would be room for her when she was free.

The doctors had told her she'd be in the sterile environment another week, but the week had stretched into two. She felt good, better than she had in years; however, they still worried about her fragile immune system. In Grace's opinion, the sooner she got out and started dealing with the outside world, the better.

How could she grow strong otherwise?

The dorms were heavily secured, and Milo had his best people posted, but most of the Thalians had accompanied Darah into space, to where the Nephris were hiding. Their technology was more advanced than Darah expected, and they'd managed to avoid capture.

With a clear direction to investigate, Milo had followed the trail to the Red Flags, and then to Nakashima's organization. He didn't have proof yet, not enough for an arrest, but he was close.

Too close.

Grace didn't think her heart could handle the tension. She was trapped, and all of her protectors had been drawn away.

She'd never met the elusive Nakashima, and was grateful that she hadn't. The man had taken on almost mythical proportions in the underground. She'd heard whispers of his influence and his power. In her worst nightmares, she couldn't have dreamed that she'd become his quarry. It amazed her that she'd managed to elude him for as long as she had.

They were good, but so was she. Even sick, she'd stayed ahead of Nakashima's hounds.

But Grace was now at a standstill, trapped in a prison of plastic and microbe-free air.

Without Darah watching over her, they wouldn't see it coming.

She rolled over in her bed, imagining the big alien. He'd implied that he had a mandatory furlough from duty, that even if the attack on the Nephris took only days, he'd be gone longer. While she never heard his thoughts as clearly as she had that day, she'd caught hints from his mind before he left, extreme anxiety worrying at him.

He was afraid that he wouldn't make it in time ... that he'd humiliate himself before his lovers. He worried about her, about Grace and the hunters who stalked her. His concern increased hers.

And now he was gone.

The sound that had roused her came again, the whisper of cloth, a hushed footstep. Her skin pebbled with goose bumps, and slowly, she eased from her bed, into a crouch close to the floor.

A scream shattered the night, and all hell broke loose.

On the wall, the dim lights of the monitors blinked out. The power had been cut. She heard running, voices, some harsh and low, but mostly female.

She was in the wing where the Thalian families lived, and most of the men were away, hunting Nephris.

Grace moved slightly, the door to her room slammed open, and before her eyes, a dark figure rose. The dim light of the moon gleamed on a blade, and her sterile prison was breached as the plastic was slashed open.

They'd found her.

* * * *

“Don't make a move, Gracie.”

She knew the voice. She was still hidden, and Grace edged forward, looking for an advantage.

The gleaming tip of a gun swept across the room, harsh breathing rattling on the air. “Ah ... I see you. Get up off the floor, Gracie. Slow. I'm supposed to take you alive, but dead is also an option. Those bird women will fill our quota.”

“Tyreese, you don't want to do this ... you really, really don't want to take those women.”

He snorted in humor. “Yeah, I do. I really, really do, Gracie.”

She'd straightened, her hands elevated, heart slamming in her chest. For the first time in over a month, Grace breathed fresh air. She smelled his sour sweat. He was more frightened than he let on.

“Turns out those Nephris really are foreigners ... from another planet, Grace. And they're looking for women. Nakashima wants to kill you himself, but I figure he might be willing to sell you off planet.”

“Trust me on this, Ty. The Thalians will rip you limb from limb if you take their women.”

“If they can find me.”

“They already know who you are, Tyreese. They're telepathic. All they have to do is brush minds with someone who might know you.”

He looked at her, dark eyes gleaming, perhaps with greed ... perhaps a bit of fear?

“They'll fly you up into the heavens and drop you into the Bay. If the fall doesn't kill you...”

“I know ... the landing will.”

“Imagine falling to Earth from the clouds, Ty. You'd have plenty of time to think about all the mistakes in your life.”

For a long, heavy moment he stared at her, and finally forced a laugh. “I don't remember you being such a drama queen, Gracie.” He gestured with the gun. “Walk. Carefully, slowly, and no kung fu shit. I've seen you fight.”

“I've been very sick, Ty. Not much of a threat anymore.”

“I know you're sick, babe. But nobody gets Dragon's Blood and survives as long as you have. So watch your step and nothing funny.”

Grace gritted her teeth in frustration and stepped through the rent in the barrier, out into the freedom that she'd been craving.

Out, at the point of a gun.

Hands level with her shoulders, Grace stepped into the darkened hallway. Enough light leaked in from the windows that she could see roughly a dozen figures huddled against a wall, the handful of Thalian women and their children.

When she paused, Tyreese pushed her from behind, and she stumbled to the wall into the midst of the small cluster of Thalians. Gentle hands caught her, steadied her.

Still slightly weak, she leaned heavily against a wall, and then glanced down in surprise as a hand slipped into hers. It was a dark-haired boy, perhaps seven or eight years old. The smile he gave was full of false bravado.

The front of her forehead tickled, words slipped in and out of her mind. The language was strange, but the meanings were clear.

These women were not victims. Already, they were planning to overpower their enemies.

The woman next to her had golden hair that gleamed even in the darkness. She was the mother of Oden, the boy who was holding her hand.

The small group of Red Flags stood around nervously, waiting for something.

A ship would land on the roof. A silent craft, small enough to enter Earth's atmosphere undetected.

Grace bit her lip, considering. She was unfamiliar with the building, uncertain what the security consisted of.

They are frightened. The computers will reboot soon, and the alarms will sound. The doors will open.

Grace had a sudden and shocking realization. She could see in the dark.

Her illness had robbed her of most of her vision, and now she could see in the dark, hear the phantom voices of the Thalians in her mind.

She thought of the numerous transfusions that she'd received, and wondered ... who exactly had donated their blood?

We did.

The voices whispered like gossamer in her brain. She leaned back against the wall, her legs too weak to support her weight. The boy ... Oden ... he squeezed her hand and she felt his fear. She felt the tension in the air around her. She focused her thoughts. Can you contact anyone? Mind to mind?

We must be near. Lama knows, Lama called for help.

But even as the exchange was made, their faces all grew fierce in concentration.

Our people know, but they are far away. Your men are coming...

Grace allowed her gaze to wander the room, noting the still forms of the guards near the doors, pools of blood spreading like spilled ink on the floor. She wondered if the Flags had taken their weapons. Most likely.

One of the invaders was temptingly close ... if only she was still strong. Still fearless. But now, Grace was weak. Weakness brought fear. She was unable to act.

Wait...

She sensed rather than heard a vibration in the air. Tyreese looked up expectantly. Even in the darkness, he was strikingly handsome, his skin dusky. His shorn scalp gleamed in the moonlight. He'd had his skull tattooed. An Asian dragon snaked around his head, down into the collar of his tee shirt.

She rolled her eyes. Aiden would have ground him to dust for the temerity of sporting the symbol of their family.

She'd be content to break his neck.

Her gaze moved on to Joaquin, his black hair long and thick, hanging to his collar. He wore a thick gold chain around his neck. When he fought, he led with his left. She'd taken him down to the mat numerous times. Grace had always been cautious during sparring, never letting the other Flags know just how good she was. But he was always such a sucker for a low kick.

Mariah, Joaquin's wife. Bad strategy to send them out together. Those two were truly in love; if one went down, the other would lose it. Mariah had one stiletto tucked into her bodice, another behind her neck. Her nails were long, dagger sharp and tipped with hardened silver; five deadly weapons in each hand.

In Grace's opinion, she read far too many comic books.

Another invader, but she didn't think he was a Flag. Tyreese deferred to the man. He was sleek, professional. Yakuza. She looked him over and then caught Ty looking at her. She gave him a knowing smile and his expression turned dark. Tyreese Gonzales was on a short leash! The Red Flags were now under Nakashima's thumb.

He'd always wanted to play with the big dogs, now the big dogs were playing with the Flags.

Tension among the women mounted. She heard footsteps and then a thump at the door. Unfortunately, it wasn't rescue.

The man who entered was tall, dark, fearsome. He was swathed in flowing white robes, uncaring of the fact that it made him a target in the darkness. Next to her Oden shrunk backwards, hiding behind his mother, his hand still clutched in Grace's.

It wasn't the man's face, for he was handsome, but rather his bearing, his arrogance, the contempt that was so clear toward the Flags, even the Yakuza lieutenant. His glance slithered over the women, lingered briefly on Grace, and then they were invisible.

“This is all? Seven Thalians and a human female?”

“The children are of value as well. Three girl children, two boys.”

Other robed men had entered the room, their bearing identical in their hateful disregard of the women.

“The only reason we consider those creatures is for their inherent scientific intellect. If they breed true, we will be forced to remove the extra appendages of their offspring.”

Grace's stomach rolled in horror.

“The black female is the only acceptable one of the group. Her sons will be tall and strong.”

Tyreese smirked. Grace contented herself with picturing him falling through the sky.

The men argued more. The Nephris were unhappy with the delivery, unhappy that they had to ferry the Red Flags back to safety. Their small ship was overcrowded, they were low on fuel. The Thalians had been harassing them mercilessly.

But the rest of the women were waiting, hidden somewhere in Nakashima's properties. As they grew closer to an agreement, the women moved uneasily; rescue would not arrive in time.

Grace sucked in a deep breath, stifling her fear. I can't do this. I'm too weak.

Her hands sweated and trembled. She swallowed her fear, and that's when she smelled tobacco.

No one in the room was smoking.

Grandpa Lee?

It's not about muscle, Tiger, it's about brain and skill and balance.

Her heart raced, and then steadied. He was right, she'd studied for years. Technique. Knowledge was power in a very literal sense.

Relax. Remember what you already know.

To her sides, Grace felt the Thalian women begin to gather themselves, to look for the opening. She decided to make her own opening. She relaxed, and to her delight, power surged through her body, centuries of the accumulated knowledge of her family. She let go, giving her control to the ancestors. Inside her mind, Guo Lee gave a little smile, the nod of his head, and from there, everything moved in slow motion.

Her foot shot out, catching an ankle, knocking the Yakuza to the floor. His weapon flew from his hand. He writhed, joints separated, pain wracking his body.

Mariah was face down on the floor, her deadly weapons rendered harmless. Around her, the Thalians fought in silence. Those powerful wings beat the air, battering the Nephris invaders about the face and head. From the corner of her eye, Grace saw a gun come up, the flash of discharge, and one of the women fell backwards. Blood streaked her chest.

Tyreese turned the weapon on her, but it was too late. She wrenched it from his hand and turned the blunt grip on him, slamming him in the head. And then it was gone, clattering into the darkness.

The battle was brief but endless. Another Thalian fell, injured, perhaps dead. Grace fought with efficiency, reserving her strength. Take down and finish, but just short of the kill. She'd let Milo's people deal with punishment.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Oden dart to where his mother lay bleeding, still alive, but laboring for breath. Before she could act, the Nephris leader had seized the boy by the arm, holding the kicking, screaming child tight to his body. The second and third Nephris did the same, taking girls.

The screams of the children mingled with the screams of the mothers, echoing through the halls and in her head, shattering Grace's focus. When Tyreese charged, she reacted. Grace struck, her hands becoming Tiger, gripping, rending, crushing, and he went down like a rock, the damage to his internal organs dire, probably mortal.

“Oden!”

His mother dragged herself across the floor, a broken wing trailing, and Grace lunged for the Nephris, too late. Too late.

The door slammed shut, barred from the other side, and Grace could only watch through the bulletproof window as they disappeared from view. With the rage of all present, she screamed and pounded furiously at the glass.

* * * *

Oden's mother was a beautiful female named Lila. She died in a pool of blood, and then returned to life at the skilled hands of the other Thalians who were gifted doctors and scientists.

They grimly attended to the wounded, while Grace ripped sheets to tie up the fallen criminals. She was unmoved as Tyreese groaned and gurgled, his life bleeding into the inside of his body. The autopsy would show trauma to his heart and liver, but they would be unable to determine the cause.

Tiger Fist.

Joaquin and Mariah both survived, glaring as they watched Grace move around the room. The injured Yakuza wouldn't meet her eye. He already knew his fate at the hands of his boss. He was a dead man. It didn't matter to Grace. The Thalians would have his secrets.

The outer doors of the dormitory burst open. The power was still off and they'd been sealed tight. To her relief, Milo came through, followed by several uniformed officers. A few moments later, Darah arrived with Thalian Guardsmen; white-faced and grim, he knew the losses they'd sustained before he entered the room.

One Thalian female lay dead, three children had been stolen. Lila was near death.

Grace found a chair and collapsed into it, the enormity of the raid filling her mind.

They'd come for her. If not for Grace, these people would still be sleeping in their beds. Horror and guilt trickled into her chest, and she remembered the look on Oden's face as they carried him away.

Was this the price of her miracle? If so, she didn't want it. For God's sake, the cost is too high! Grace collapsed forward, her face buried in her hands.

“Grace?” She looked up. Darah leaned over her worriedly. Behind him, Milo hovered. “Are you injured?”

She looked down at herself, suddenly aware of blood streaking her arms, her clothing. Hurt? She shook her head.

“Get her out of here, Darah.”

“Home?”

“Yes, quickly. Nakashima will have people watching as soon as he hears what happened.”

“Milo, I'm not safe with her.” Darah ducked his head as Milo ran fingers gently down his cheek. Grace could barely hear what they were saying. Safe? From Darah?

“She's safer with you than if she stays here. I trust you, Darah.”

Without further comment, the Thalian gathered her in his arms and ran lightly up the stairs to the roof.

“We aren't going to fly again ... ohhh...”

He took a running leap off the roof. They dipped precariously and then steadied, his great, powerful wings lifting them high into the air. Like before, Grace buried her face into his neck, finally peeking, looking at the houses and the city far below.

“I told Tyreese you'd take him to the clouds and drop him.”

“I will.”

“He's already dead. I killed him.”

Darah was silent for a moment. “I'll do it anyway.”

She held him tighter, not out of fear, but gratitude.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Eleven

This time when she woke, it was to an amazing sensation: skin. Warm, bare skin. A pair of arms held her tightly and dimly she recalled the warm scent of Darah Lash.

But he was head of the Thalian Guard. What was he doing here? Shouldn't he be back at the compound?

Grace sighed and pulled her head back, finding Darah looking at her with intensity.

“I'm still on furlough. My staff is handling the crisis in my absence.”

“And Milo?”

“He's not actually in charge of the investigation. He's there because, as an undercover operative, you fall under his authority. The investigation will be handled by another police division.”

She twisted a bit and his hold on her tightened. His body was heated. She could feel that enormous cock of his pressed against her leg. Dimly, she remembered washing in the sink. She was now wearing one of Milo's shirts, and it was hiking up over her bottom.

“Why are you on furlough?”

He sighed, resting his head on the pillow. As he rolled onto his back, she turned into his body, following his touch.

“Thalian males have a sexual cycle. Unmated males are sequestered from the general population during this time.”

“A cycle ... like a heat cycle?”

He nodded. “It's a time of great discomfort. Unfortunately, it's very easy for a male to temporarily imprint on a female, be she willing or not. Our judgment is not always sound during this time, so the unmated males go back to the ship.”

“And you're still in your cycle?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you come back, then?” She leaned up onto an elbow, looking down into his face.

“I had to come. My people ... and you, Grace. I had to be here.”

That feral intensity had entered his face again. Grace felt like a rabbit in the path of an eagle.

“Darah ... I need to use the bathroom. Shower.” He stared, but nodded slightly, and as she rose from the bed, his eyes tracked her progress. She moved slowly, deliberately. Somehow, Grace knew that if she hurried, he'd attack. It took all of her willpower to resist looking back over her shoulder.

Once inside, she leaned against the door, her chest heaving, her body responding to Darah. She was wet, aroused, and ready to take him.

She used the toilet and then turned the shower on as hot as she could bear, letting it sluice the sweat and fear from her skin, the juices from the lips of her cunt. When she turned off the water and dried, she was wet again.

Grace found a comb and untangled her hair, looking at her face in the mirror as she did so. Her eyes were huge, her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were swollen and as red as cherries.

She slipped back into Milo's shirt and gently opened the door.

He was on her so fast she almost didn't see him. Her defenses fell completely. Darah slammed into her, pinning her body to the wall, pressing his hips against her belly. His wings extended, curving to cage her in. His face hovered inches from hers, eyes blazing, his breath hot against her skin.

“Please.” His whisper was harsh, desperate. “Please.”

Her heart was pounding so fast, her breath came so hard she couldn't speak. She could barely nod her head.

That's all the permission he needed. His lips came down on hers, hard and demanding, his tongue stroking sensuously. His hips surged rhythmically, and somehow, the shirt came off and there were only two naked bodies, pressed tightly in the darkness.

“I'm sorry ... so sorry...” He hoisted her, pinning her to the wall, and he entered her in rapid, short thrusts. She was tight and the invasion was painful. It had been so long since she'd been penetrated, and she gasped, completely at his mercy.

“I'm sorry...”

He withdrew and she lunged, trying to pull him back into her body, and again he thrust, his thick shaft forcing its way past muscle and tissue. With every thrust she grew wetter, until he forced his way in, sliding home, deeply buried inside her body. For a moment they stood entangled like that, eyes meeting.

It was painful, being suddenly filled, but wonderful as well. Her skin hungered for his touch, her mouth craved him. They kissed deeply as he began to move. It was hard and fast and without finesse, but she came. She came shockingly hard, her body wrenching and twisting and clasping on his desperate shaft.

He didn't shout as he came, but rather released a keening moan, a cry that would later haunt her dreams. At that moment, she knew that in all his life, Darah Lash had been denied this act. He'd never mated during his cycle, he'd never been allowed to couple when his body and his soul were at this level of desperation.

He came in a flurry of thrusts, pounding and freezing, and then pounding again, holding her in place against the wall with his enormous strength. He filled her with his seed. He overfilled her; the semen began to escape her body, slipping down her thighs, mingling with the sweat there, and the fluids of her own body.

When he began to slow, his muscles went loose and nerveless. Together they slid to the floor in a heap, graceless and exhausted, tangled and weak.

From the corner of her eye, Grace saw Milo at the door, but somehow, it didn't seem important at the moment, not with Darah's head cradled to her breast, his breath coming in sobbing gasps.

* * * *

He'd never seen anything like it.

Darah had charged her, taking her hard, wild; his lust and passion had been magnificent. Her submission had been complete. Never had Milo imagined that Grace would submit so completely to another.

He watched, his cock swelling, his heart racing, and he wanted to do nothing other than watch. To join them would violate the moment.

Darah had finally told him about the Needing, that torturous, sublime mating cycle. Torturous for the unmated, sublime for the male who was free to follow his instincts.

Their mating was wild and unrestrained, completely primal and unfeigned. Darah had climaxed on a note that was so feral that it had sent goose bumps up and down his arms.

Now, they were collapsed on the floor, Darah still mumbling apologies for having taken her like that. She was laughing with exhausted humor.

When Milo moved, Darah's sharp eyes tracked, focused, and suddenly, he knew that his lover was now his rival. Milo stood very, very still.

As the seconds ticked on, Grace looked from one to the other, finally pushing Darah's arm away, moving clear.

Darah was on his feet, between the two, hiding her with his body, his wings extended.

“It's all right, Darah, I'm not trying to take her away from you.” Instead, Milo moved forward slowly. Grace sidled away, climbing up onto the huge bed, well out of harm's reach. Clearly, she knew that her presence was aggravating the problem.

Milo continued to move slowly; he and Darah had discussed this eventuality. His lover had never before experienced the possessive instincts of a breeding male. They'd decided to anticipate the worst.

Milo moved close, wrapping a hand behind Darah's neck, pulling him down for a kiss, a soothing, sensual kiss. “I love you, Darah, I wouldn't try to hurt you. I won't take her away from you.”

For a brief moment, Darah blinked, his eyes clearing, the suspicion leaving his posture. Already, he had a cock stand coming high up to his belly. Milo glanced over at Grace with a bit of humor. Little did she know what was in store for her!

“Grace, during the Needing, the Thalian male becomes very possessive, very needful.”

“I think I figured that one out, Milo.”

“Well, Grace, he's imprinted on you. He perceives you as his mate. He's dominant now, but the next few days might be ... strange.” Milo pulled Darah close once again, and was pleased that the Thalian returned his embrace.

“You two were already lovers. Why hasn't he fixated on you?”

“He can't breed me, sweetheart.”

“No shit.”

Darah's lips on his stopped his words. Their tongues embraced and then dueled. The Thalian pulled back briefly, his burning eyes fixed on Milo's face. “I love you, Milo. But I love her too.”

“I know you do, Darah. That's all right. We talked about this, remember?”

He blinked, clearly having no memory of the conversation.

“I love her also, so it's all good, Darah.”

“I remember now, we talked about loving Grace together.”

On the bed, Grace carefully and deliberately cleared her throat. “Nice to have you two declare your love for me. It'd be nicer if you told me directly.” Milo leaned forward, kissing Darah once again.

“I love you, Grace.”

They spoke together, causing her to roll her eyes.

“Can I touch her, Darah?”

The Thalian frowned, his amorous mood abruptly interrupted. His eyes darted to Grace, and then to Milo. “She's mine.”

Grace sighed loudly.

“How ‘bout this ... you make love to her, and I'll make love to you.” Not what Milo really craved; he wanted Grace's smooth skin under his hands, her muscular legs wrapped around his hips. But for now ... yeah...

His cock was full and painfully heavy under the tight fabric of his pants. He stood very still as Darah's hands came up, loosening his buttons, carefully stripping Milo's clothing away. He reached out, found the end of the tightly bound braid and began to unweave the Thalian's lush brown hair. It fell in cascading ripples down his back.

And then Milo was naked, Darah's hands roaming his body, urging him to the bed where Grace waited. She moved back cautiously, and Milo carefully kept his distance with Darah between them.

“This ... it's not right, Milo.” Darah spoke in a low tone and Milo's heart sunk. “However it will be in the future, we start from here. I think ... I think I can tolerate this...”

“Where do you want me, Darah? Behind her?”

He moved when his lover nodded jerkily.

“Think, Darah, think how it'll feel if we're both inside her tight, sweet body. Think how it'll feel, our cocks stroking, squeezed together.”

Grace glanced at him wryly over her shoulder. “Taking a lot for granted now, aren't we?”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “You love the dark path, Grace, admit it!”

“Yeah, but two at once?”

“Don't even suggest that you haven't been obsessing over this since day one. You've fixated on him as much as he's fixated on you.”

“Where does that factor you in, Milo?” She gave him a delicately arched brow, and he pressed tightly against her back.

“We're a package deal, sweetheart. Besides, you're crazy in love with me.”

He leaned in, nibbling her neck. Her skin tasted sweet and salty. He could taste Darah, smell him on her body. He glanced up, met the Thalian's burning blue eyes.

“Make love to her, Darah.”

Milo supported her from behind as Darah ducked to her body, tasting, nibbling. He watched as his lover made her writhe and moan, tongue circling her nipple, moving from one breast to the other.

“Harder, Darah, she likes it harder, don't you, Grace?”

As though in answer, her back bowed in a long, slow arch as the Thalian nipped and then sucked at her swollen, tender peaks. Milo slipped a hand under one supple breast, supporting it as Darah worked and worried and teased her mercilessly. His other hand slipped down lower, stroking through the slippery wet cleft of her cunt. His eyes dropped closed as emotion overwhelmed him.

Never in a million years would he have thought Grace would be back in his life. She'd come so close, so very close to death.

When his eyes slipped open once more, Darah was looking at him soberly, his beautiful eyes full of compassion and understanding. Love. His eyes were full of love.

All at once, the past years rushed through Milo, the grief he'd suppressed during the illness of his wife, the agony of her death ... back further, worrying about Grace, watching her walk out of his life, not knowing that she would vanish so completely. All that pain surged through his body and mind in a cleansing rush, leaving him fresh and empty and whole.

I am complete.

Had it been his thought? Darah's? Even Grace's thought, or was it the composite of all three? As Darah leaned in to kiss him, Grace's head turned. Their kisses landed at once, three mouths joining.

Darah broke away, moving down her body. Milo watched his progress as Grace leaned back, supporting herself while Milo teased a nipple with one hand. When he felt Darah between her legs, he spread her labia wide, holding her open mercilessly for the Thalian's plundering lips and teeth and tongue.

She bucked, her hips thrusting convulsively as he laughed softly in her ear. He slapped her ass and she gasped, groaning as he massaged the sting away, and then he slapped her again.

In the dim light of the breaking dawn, Milo saw sheets of Darah's mahogany hair pooling onto the bed sheets. Grace clutched handfuls, fisting and twisting as the tempo of her hips increased.

She drew near, he felt it in the tension in her body, the sweat that bloomed on her skin, and slowly, Darah backed her down, leaving her moaning in frustration. He once again pushed her arousal, and Grace wrapped those muscular legs of hers around his neck, down the center of his back where the great wings had pulled in tight.

“Make her come, Darah, make her scream!”

She was thrusting and bucking, twisting in Milo's arms. As she grew closer to the edge, her low groans were broken by occasional curses. She suddenly froze, going silent. The calm before the storm.

When she went, her scream was guttural, the call of a tiger, primitive and dangerous. She arched backward in Milo's arms, head thrown back, body wracked with spasms. She stopped, but Darah didn't, and once again she went tense, shuddering and bucking and crying out for mercy...

And then she went still, loose and quiet in Milo's arms. Her chest moved rapidly, otherwise he'd have become frightened.

“Sweetheart? Grace?”

“Gone. Dead and gone, Milo.” Her face was peaceful, a smile hovering on her lips. “Did you have any idea he was so damn good with his mouth?”

Darah rose, looking ridiculously proud of himself.

“He cheats, Grace. He reads minds, remember?”

Grace sighed happily, reaching her arms out to embrace the Thalian.

“Cheating is good then. Very good.” Darah crawled up her body like a giant cat, rubbing his face against her skin, nuzzling and licking at her sweat. He seemed to have overcome his paranoid possessiveness, but Milo didn't want to push him just yet.

They lay together quietly, giving Grace time to recover. Milo gently stroked her arms, up across her chest, trailing fingers over her damp brow. Darah had come to a halt, his head resting on her belly, arms wrapped around her waist.

His attitude was worshipful; adoring. Milo couldn't help but grin at the dour military man who'd been brought so low, and lifted so high.

* * * *

“Tell me about the tiger on your back.”

His words tickled slightly as he spoke against the tender skin of her stomach. The silk of his hair caressed her torso, her thighs. Milo had grabbed a handful and was teasing her breasts with it.

“I was born in the Chinese Year of the Tiger. It's my astrological sign.” He rolled his head, looking up into her face. “My grandfather gave me a special nickname; nobody else called me Tiger but him.”

“And that's why you got the mark?”

“Partly. Partly because I wanted the strength of the Tiger. Partly because of the good memories. Also, when a student finishes training under my family's martial arts system, they are marked with a special tattoo.”

“With a Tiger?”

“No, the symbol of Grandpa's system is the Dragon. I went against tradition.” He rolled and kissed her belly, watching the muscles there flinch in reaction.

“It isn't completed.”

“No.”

She'd left for training before the tattoo was finished. Her aunt and uncle had been furious. An incomplete tattoo was the mark of a novice, someone who couldn't stand up to the pain.

Grace had been caught up in the burning desire for justice and revenge. She'd left home, joined the undercover operation against the street gangs who'd made her growing years so miserable.

When training was completed, the Lees were all gone. They'd returned to China.

She was forever marked as incomplete; standing on the threshold between being a student and a master. Incomplete.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow. Milo was the only person who knew of her shame, other than her family.

And now Darah, who probably understood her better than anyone.

Darah was once again stirring her passion to life, licking and nibbling her skin, his fingers dancing over her mons, delving in to tickle her clit.

He rolled to the side, coming up to his knees, looking behind her at Milo. The intent was clear in his eyes. She shivered as Milo found a sweet spot at the back of her neck, another where her shoulder began to slope away. He swept her hair to the side, pulling and sucking at her earlobe.

He began to busy himself, she knew he was putting on a condom, and then he lifted her to her knees, bending her forward to where Darah's cock swayed temptingly. As he lubed her, she mouthed the very tip of the Thalian's penis, satisfaction building as his breathing grew rough.

It kept him distracted. He couldn't focus on the possessive jealousy of the Needing.

Feeling pressure against her anus, she let his cock slip loose from her mouth, focusing on the pleasure/pain that the invasion brought. Milo had introduced her to this all those years ago, and to this day, she'd never allowed another man to take her so intimately.

She turned her face sideways in Darah's lap, feeling his hands stroking her hair, her cheeks and neck, and then down her back.

Milo withdrew abruptly, waking all the nerves in her lower body.

Her mouth dropped open. She panted, precariously near orgasm as he returned, gliding slowly, inexorably into the depths of her body, until he could go no further, his balls snuggled up to her ass.

He reached around her body, lifting her upright, and from the front, Darah moved close, kneeling between her spread thighs. He dipped a bit, the tip of his cock sliding, bumping into Milo, and then coming back to her slippery wet cunt. He pressed for entrance, but now, it was tighter than before, crowded by Milo's cock in her ass.

An angry growl broke from his throat, which Darah quickly stifled. More burning pressure, more stinging pleasure as the Thalian worked his way into the depths of her channel.

“Oh ... God...” she groaned. “Oh. Fuck.”

She was there. Without so much as a twitch, a thrust, she was tightening, climaxing on the overabundance of male flesh crowding her body. They held her tightly, arms coming around to embrace one another as she came. She couldn't move, couldn't thrust. Grace could only submit to the waves of climax that gripped and surged through her body.

As she recovered, Milo began to move slowly, carefully, his thrust stroking the length of Darah's cock. Now it was the Thalian's turn to moan helplessly.

He was compelled to move, and together, the men entered and retreated. They varied, one withdrawing as the other thrust, and then they coordinated their movement. They were good together, very good. She had only to look into their faces, hear their breathless words, and Grace knew this act was sublime pleasure for them both.

She held on, arms looped around Darah's neck, her hips held in place by Milo's strong hands. Faster they moved, faster still, intensity growing in their expressions.

They were all on a short fuse, and Grace was glad, as the pain battled the pleasure for dominance.

Pleasure won once again as her body tightened in climax, her ass and pussy clasping, clenching their cocks, and Grace screamed. It was a strangled little noise, her face buried in Darah's chest.

As one, the men arched and thrust into her wildly, Darah shouting, Milo gasping, his teeth closing gently on the skin of her shoulder. She didn't flinch, because she knew he wouldn't hurt her. He bit gently, sucked, and then licked the skin as the orgasm shuddered through his body.

Once again, Darah's seed flooded her, once more his great body went slack, pulling her down, tumbled on the bed in an exhausted, sweaty heap.

But this time she laughed, a delighted, giddy laugh, and in moments, they joined her.

“That hurt like hell, and I can't wait to try it again.”

Darah grinned, and then buried his face in her breasts. He sighed delightedly and looked like a great, sleepy cat. Milo reached over her shoulder and caressed the Thalian's cheek.

“He's really something, isn't he?”

She smiled at Milo's words and rolled slightly, kissing him long and slow. “You are really something, Milo Greene.”

One corner of his mouth pulled up into a crooked smile.

“And you were right. I love you both.”

“I knew that.” Darah's mumbled comment tickled her belly, and again, she couldn't help but laugh.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter Twelve

Milo stood in the doorway, loosening his tie, grinning at the scene before him.

Grace was reclining on a sofa in the living room, Darah sprawled at her feet.

They looked ever so much like a queen and her pleasure slave. He wondered if Darah was together enough to talk business yet. Probably not. He was fanning Grace with his wings and an empty tray indicated that he'd been feeding her again. She was draped with a blanket that covered her from head to foot.

The first day she'd nearly gone mad. He'd followed her everywhere, tending her every need. She'd finally chased him out of the bathroom, declaring it off limits.

The next day, she'd felt bad. He was allowed into the shower where he lovingly tended her hair and skin, gently washing every inch of her body. Afterward, he'd dried and combed her hair, bringing the black of her hair to a lustrous glow.

He'd tried to cook for her, but proved alarmingly inept in the kitchen, so Milo had called out for prepared foods that Darah could carefully arrange on a plate for her. He fed her by hand, much to her amusement.

He wondered what would happen if Grace became pregnant. Would this be Darah's behavior for the duration? If so, she'd better get used to it.

“You're home!” He grinned at the slightly desperate tone in her voice.

Darah rose sleepily. Grace looked nearly as exhausted. His sexual needs were phenomenal; somehow, Milo hadn't expected that. When the Thalian wasn't fucking Grace, he was fucking Milo. Within minutes of a shattering climax, he'd be rising again. It really was a breeding cycle!

The Needing served multiple purposes. First, it was the male's way of wooing a female with his devotion and ability to see to her needs. Secondly, the imprint, that overwhelming infatuation, kept the male at the side of the female while she was pregnant and nursing.

Unfortunately, as far as Milo could see, it also reduced the male's IQ radically.

As the thought filtered into his mind, Darah growled.

“Are you about ready to come back to work, Darah? Your assistant claims that you've been gone nearly a week longer than your usual furloughs. He believes that you are malingering.”

The Thalian bristled, and then rolled onto his back, looking ever so much like a gigantic feline. Well, except for the wings.

“Don't tease him, Milo. He's done really well today. In fact, he was just getting ready to go take a shower and get some control over that hair of his.”

Milo stifled a smile; Darah's hair was rumpled, and undoubtedly snarled. It'd take the efforts of all three to take care of it once it was washed.

“We'll help you comb it out, Darah, and if you start the braid, I can finish it.” Milo found surprising pleasure in tending Darah's hair. It soothed him.

Reluctantly, the Thalian rose from the floor, his naked torso flexed, the muscles bunching.

“Wings too, Darah, we'll groom your wings.”

If he allowed Grace to groom him, it might indicate that the Needing was nearly at an end. Silent as a ghost, he stalked from the room. In moments, they could hear the water running.

“I think it's nearly over, Milo.”

Grace shifted on the chaise, making room for him to sit. She propped her long legs over his lap, smiling as he began to massage her muscles. She'd noticed that Milo tended to spoil her nearly as bad as Darah.

“One of these days, we're going to have to give him a baby.”

“I know.” She gave a lopsided grin. This whole business of the Needing had them both thinking about children and the future. Milo had visions of a son with Grace's eyes. He also saw a half dozen little winged girls...

“He'll have to be first. I'm sorry.”

He smiled. It didn't really matter. He'd surrendered the dream of children long ago. Having the dream return was another part of his surreal happiness.

“You've been careful to not tell me what's been happening at work. I know that Nakashima hasn't let go of the contract.”

“I tried to talk to him. The man keeps himself behind walls and layers of security. I managed to deliver the message through his assistant.” He laid his head back on the couch heavily. “Those two from your old gang, they woke up dead today.”

“Murdered?”

“I'm sure, though I don't know how an assassin managed to get through security. The Yakuza slipped away the night of the attack. The Thalians aren't saying anything, but if they don't already have him, they will soon.”

“And you can't control them?”

The look he gave her was chilling. “Do I want to?”

She lifted a brow. Milo had always been a stickler for procedure.

“Darah's the only influence I have over the Thalians. At the moment, the upper brass is looking the other way, and this distraction of his is all too convenient.”

“You think he's faking the Needing?”

“Not faking, just not fighting it. By letting his people move naturally...” He sighed. Did he blame them? One adult female dead, Oden's mother lay critically injured. Three children missing, presumably taken off planet by the Nephris. The more he knew of the Nephris and their black-hearted planet, the more he feared for those children.

“Do you think we should leave? Go to Hong Kong?”

“We could. But would you be happy with that?”

She shook her head.

“I propose an alternative then. We could join the Space Retrieval Program. Your brother and Annie will go out on their first mission in just a few weeks. The three of us would make a formidable team.”

“We could search for those children.” From the set of her jaw, she would find them or die trying. “Have you talked with Darah about this?” She sat up, and the light blanket that covered her slipped, baring a shoulder. Underneath, he could see a streak of black leather, and Milo's attention was diverted. He didn't look away as he answered.

“We talked about this a while back. We knew at some point he'd be recalled to Regah. I'm not happy being a desk jockey. We were looking for a future together. And then we found you.” His eyes slid back to hers. “What exactly are you wearing under that blanket?”

She stretched and grinned, letting the blanket slide just a bit. She'd spent the afternoon teasing Darah, who seemed to have a leather fetish equal to Milo's.

A rigid black bustier pushed her luscious breasts high. Her dusky areolas peeked out a bit. As the blanket slipped lower, Milo could see that the waist of the corset cinched her until her waist was impossibly small. Lust hit him right between the eyes and he could feel his own IQ fading fast.

A hiss behind his shoulder told him Darah had returned.

“Creation's Feathers!”

Darah was naked, and as they watched, his cock began to thicken and fill. Without preamble, he snatched the blanket from her body. Underneath she wore her black leather chaps, a tiny g-string, and nothing else.

Well, nothing else but a pair of thigh-high boots with spiked heels.

Grace came to her feet, standing on the couch, and Milo didn't even complain about her heels digging into the furniture.

She stepped down, pushed between the two, and walked away, offering a magnificent view of her nearly naked ass and thighs, her swinging ponytail bobbing flirtatiously. From seemingly nowhere, she extended handcuffs in one hand, a leather flogger in the other. “Front gets the handcuffs, back gets the flogger.”

“Front!”

“Back!”

Darah leapt for the handcuffs, slapping one around her wrist before Milo could react. Milo grinned evilly. That honey sweet bottom of hers was begging for the flogger. As they followed her to the bedroom, the tiger peeked out from beneath the corset, reminding him of something. “Grace!” She turned, looking over her shoulder. “Your brother called. He wants you to know that Guo Lee is on his way. He says it's time to finish it.”

She went still for a moment, her eyes filling with tears, and then she smiled. She straightened, suddenly becoming taller, more commanding. “Are you guys coming, or am I playing alone today?” She turned away, her bare bottom twitching temptingly.

They were coming. They were most definitely coming.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Epilogue

Wrecked and ravaged, shorn of her past glory, San Francisco lay before him in her ragged magnificence.

She was still a beautiful old whore, and there was no doubt she was his. Well, except for that blight on the waterfront. The thought of Wharf made him frown.

Shigeo Nakashima sat at the top of the skyscraper that housed his operations. He'd gutted it and formed this secure world in his image, controlled, safe and steeped in luxury.

He sat in the rooftop garden, surrounded by the fragrance of flowers. The rare sunny afternoon lifted his spirits.

He'd done well for the Nephris in spite of the fiasco in Oakland. He'd sent them away with nearly one hundred lovely females, plus the three alien children. If they didn't add the little chicks to the gene pool, they could certainly exploit their formidable talents.

But Grace Chen ... He burned for revenge against the Lees ... all of them. He could still see Carin's lovely face sitting across the table from him, the grace of her movement, hear the music of her laughter.

She'd been wild and dangerous, and when she'd first contracted Dragon's Blood, he'd vowed to move heaven and earth to save her.

He had saved her life, and the side effects of the nanites had sharpened the edge of her cruelty, twisted her perversity into something dark and forbidden, and more exciting than she'd been before. And Shigeo missed her sorely.

Down in the dark basement of the building, her last lover suffered endlessly. Luke, who'd allowed the aliens to “heal” him of the illness. Luke, who agonized over the acts he'd committed while under her influence. He didn't need to punish Luke. The man's conscience was torture enough.

Nakashima ensured that Luke paid for his betrayal on a daily basis. The fighter lived a life of ease, he ate fine food, enjoyed every luxury while surrounded by photographs of his victims. His video screens ran playbacks of every murder he'd participated in, over and over until Luke screamed for death.

But death didn't come so easy to a man who'd flooded his body with nanites.

A shadow drifted, and Nakashima looked up from his tea.

“I've long wondered what you looked like.” The voice was on the low end of tenor, husky and accented. “Shigeo Nakashima. Shigeo means ‘elegant man.’ Did you know that?”

Standing before him was a man who was neither young nor old, short nor tall. Nakashima's lip curled as he took in the longish black hair, the button down cotton shirt, and canvas tennis shoes. He was Chinese, which was enough to turn Nakashima's stomach.

“I have no clue who you are, nor do I care.” Shigeo toyed with the delicate bone china cup that held his English tea. Next to his hand was a tray of delicacies, tiny sandwiches, scones and pastries. High tea should never be taken alone, but since Carin's death, he was nothing but alone. Shigeo had no one.

“I'm no one important. I'm just a father and a grandfather, important only to my family.”

The man didn't move, and Nakashima had the odd feeling that this one was looking deep; far too deep. He shifted, his hand edging close to the side of the table. His gun lay concealed under a napkin. “You are Guo Lee.”

“That's one of the names I answer to.” Guo Lee smiled then. He very nearly beamed at Nakashima, which made him even angrier.

“If you are Guo Lee, the only thing you have accomplished today is your own death.”

“You would think so.” He hadn't moved, only relaxed a bit. He reached into a tiny pocket in his shirt, fishing out a cigarette, lighting it with a paper match. A cloud of smoke hovered in the air, and before Nakashima's eyes, it took the shape of a dragon before breaking up and floating away.

“Annie Tanaka murdered my wife with your training. Every Lee will pay for that!” Heat rose to his face, and Nakashima stood, letting the gun slip to the ground. Fury engulfed his mind, his heart. Rage was clear on his face, and then he allowed the demon to slip loose.

Guo Lee smiled in the face of the white-haired, snaggle-toothed phantom. He'd seen that emblem tattooed on the headless body of Carin Nakashima.

“Ahh ... I see now, my elegant man. We have met before, haven't we? It was long ago, another time in this world's history. You killed me.”

“If I did, I didn't do a very good job then, did I?”

Guo Lee shrugged a shoulder carelessly. “I come today for one purpose and one purpose only. Remove your death orders from my family.”

Nakashima snorted in disgust.

“Again, Mr. Nakashima. Remove your death orders.”

“Or what?” Nakashima knelt, retrieved the gun and steadied it on Guo Lee's chest. He smiled, taking aim. “Again, old man ... or what?”

He squeezed the trigger, fired, and felt his heart freeze. Guo Lee still stood, lazily smoking his cigarette. He smiled, winked, and then looked up to the sky.

Guo Lee took a step back.

And then all hell broke loose. Something fell from the sky, landing on the elegant table in an explosion of glass and splinters. Nakashima was thrown back, rolling along the patio. When he came to a stop, his once immaculate suit was fouled with blood and glass and other, unmentionable filth.

His former lieutenant lay face down, blood and other fluids leaking from his body. The face was shattered, clothing tattered and shredded, but still, he knew Nando's body by the missing digits on his left hand, the smeared and damaged demon tattoo that marked him as Nakashima's.

He struggled against nausea, and then looked around for Guo Lee. The Chinese man still stood, casually smoking his cigarette. Defiantly, Nakashima rose, stifling his fear, his fury.

“Strange weather you're having here in the City. I'll have to remember my umbrella when I come.”

Guo Lee looked up to the empty sky, searching the clouds. Unbidden, Nakashima's eyes followed his gaze, his heart twisted with superstitious fear. He'd heard things about the Thalians, whispers of their ferocity. Their cruelty to enemies.

He'd killed one of them, sold their children to the Nephris.

He looked at the sky so long that he grew dizzy, his eyes watering against the bright light of the clear, California afternoon.

When he looked back, Guo Lee was gone.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Belinda McBride

Belinda lives in the wilderness of the Siskiyou Mountains and at night, she runs naked with a pack of wolves...

Uhh...

Belinda lives near the Siskiyou Mountains and shares her home with a pack of Siberian Huskies who like to pretend they are wolves. And she usually keeps her clothing on when she goes outside.

Being born into a multi-racial family gave Belinda a unique outlook on the world and a love for history. Her great-grandfather was a noted Comanche leader who was one of the founders of the Native American church. Other relatives were bond servants from Scotland, Mongolians from Central Asia, and a foundling of African ancestry. And then there was her grandmother, who had two husbands ... at the same time ... (Works for me!)

Belinda loves to travel, collect rare gemstones, make soap and spend precious time with her daughters. Her degree is in History with a Cultural Anthropology minor. On weekends, you will often find Belinda ringside at a dog show, comb and spray bottle in hand.

She invites you to visit her website at www.belindamcbride.com, or email her directly at belinda@belindamcbride.com.

Visit www.changelingpress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.