Chapter 6
Frederique
I woke up with my heart pounding, adrenaline surging through my body.
I was ready to fight, but the fight surely had to be over.
My eyes were open, but everything was dark around me, and my body was locked in place, stuck.
I couldn’t move, and that made the panic—the will to fight—only stronger.
No sight, no sound, except for the rapid, ragged noise of my breathing.
There were no words to describe how utterly terrifying that was.
Restrained, in the dark, completely deprived of any sensory input, and right after what had appeared to be a vicious attack followed by certain death, I fought against what bound me, hands clawing at my legs in sharp pricks of pain, but not budging otherwise.
Fear so sharp it felt blinding filled me, and then it felt like there was a pull on it, dragging that bright feeling through my chest and right out of me.
At the same time, I sensed something move above me, and my fear only grew brighter.
Silver gleamed and swirled, a pair of eyes glowing with light before they dimmed, flicking away as though lashes had shuttered them.
“Aaah,” a dark voice drawled, “your fear tastes so good, human.” There was a hiss, as if someone were sighing in pleasure.
My fear was dulling, as if it was draining away.
As if it were blood and a vampire was sucking it straight out of me.
A ridiculous thought to be having, especially for a scientist.
At least I wasn’t alone anymore, but whether that was an improvement or not remained to be seen.
Through the fading remnants of my terror, I tried to formulate an answer, but was blinded instead when a light was flicked on.
I blinked, struggling to make my eyes work faster than they could to adjust. I needed to know who I was dealing with, and I didn’t have time for my stupid eyes to flounder now.
Whoever had me in their clutches wasn’t harming me—at least, not yet.
That sinful voice, which spoke such bizarre, horrible things, didn’t bode anything good, though.
I could make out the silhouette of a man: tall, broad-shouldered, and surrounded by something silver that glittered all around him.
I blinked, and my eyes adjusted a bit more.
He seemed to be waiting for that, crouched next to me and looming threateningly.
Gray skin with the slightest hint of purple covered strong cheekbones and a hairless head.
His eyes were silver, as were the brows that slashed sharply above them.
His jaw was sharp enough to cut and clenched tight, his lips unfairly lush.
Armor covered him from chin to toe—black and sleek, it outlined every bit of muscle—and there was a lot of it packed into his big but lean frame.
“You’re a Talac,” I whispered, surprised to see him.
Had we never even made it out of the Alpha Quadrant?
That was even more horrible to think, that we’d failed before getting even halfway through our journey.
Things shifted then, more silver. It coiled from around me, sliding away like liquid, and suddenly I was free.
Pooling along the floor, it rolled toward the Talacan’s feet and over the toes of his black boots, climbing all over him in curling, undulating waves until all of him gleamed silver, except for his face.
I stared, entranced, fascinated, and also slightly confused.
Given my chosen field of science, I had a more-than-average knowledge of what creatures made a home in our quadrant.
There was only one answer that matched these parameters to some degree, and it wasn’t quite right.
“Son of Ragnar,” I whispered anyway, just to test what his response would be.
Only, the symbiont of a Son of Ragnar was always black, like the armor he wore beneath that slick silver sheen.
I’d never heard of a silver symbiont, but that was the only answer that made any kind of sense.
Having never met one in person—they were almost more myth than reality—I couldn’t be certain, of course.
My companion hissed furiously, as if those words had greatly offended him.
His hand slashed through the air, waving them away like cobwebs.
“There aren’t many who know what I am—not out here—but then, you’re a long way from home, aren’t you?
” Everything in his tone implied the “little woman” at the end of that sentence, all condescending and mean.
Whoever this guy was, Son of Ragnar, Talacan, outlaw, he was definitely an asshole.
He was also my lifeline, as much as I hated that.
He’d saved me from that weird, dark, tentacle thing that had attacked me on the bridge.
And, given the state of my ship and my crew, possibly my only way out of here.
“So you really are a Son of Ragnar?” I asked, despite my better judgment.
He hadn’t liked being called that, though he’d hardly denied it.
I must be crazy, poking the bear with the sore tooth that way, but my curiosity had a hold of me now.
After all, xenobiology was my specialty—a job with surprisingly many applications.
I loved learning about new, strange species and discovering their genetic makeup.
I was already eyeing the shimmering silver that covered him and wondering if he’d let me stick a piece of it under a microscope for a better look.
That, I definitely didn’t say out loud, though.
He shrugged, then abruptly rose to his impressive height.
Still half-sprawled awkwardly on the floor myself, I hurried to follow suit.
He already had too many advantages over me; I didn’t need to add “towering intimidatingly” to the list. Granted, even when I stood on wobbly legs, he loomed.
He was tall, big, and every silver ebb and flow of his symbiont emphasized his sleek muscles.
He was one hell of a sexy specimen for a Talac.
Now that the thought had crossed my mind, that he wasn’t just scary but also sexy, something tickled at my brain.
His scent. He had that same appealing, tauntingly arousing scent that I had struggled to put into words back in the med bay.
His scent had lingered in the room as I woke, which meant…
he was the one who woke me. He’d been in there, and for some reason, he’d walked off before I could see him. Why? What the hell was going on?
“I’m leaving,” he drawled. His hand dropped to his hip, and for the first time, I realized he had a small light hanging from his belt, left exposed by his symbiont.
It emitted a soft, diffuse light that was easy on the eyes but still dispelled the darkness around us.
We were in the hold of the ship, where most of our supplies were food- and power-related—nothing of great value.
We’d left Earth to make promises, not barter with goods.
The hold was pretty far from the bridge, on the opposite end of the ship.
That meant this guy had carried me a long way; not the kind of action someone would take unless they intended to save me.
His callousness now seemed to imply the opposite, though, and I was intrigued.
“Why is your symbiont silver instead of black?” I asked, as he began to turn away, dismissing me with his broad shoulders and the sneer on his face.
There was something extremely dark and cold about him, maybe even cruel.
I should still be terrified, still feel gutted with grief over the deaths of my friends, but I felt oddly calm instead.
A bit empty, even, but perhaps I was simply in shock.
“It simply is,” he growled, and then he spun back so quickly that silver danced in front of my eyes, a blur of shiny, shimmering symbiont.
It was pretty, but I doubted he wanted to hear that.
I must have pushed him a bit too much, because he leaned back in, and now he inhaled, drawing my scent into his lungs in a manner that said he was enjoying himself.
Far too many alien species relied heavily on their noses, having far more developed olfactory senses than humans did.
Talacan were no exception. My nipples hardened, and something pulsed between my thighs.
His words splashed like ice down my spine: “You are bleeding, it smells divine. Like prey.” Bleeding?
I jerked back, shocked and scared again.
His smile was wicked, sinful, and all sharp fang.
For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought he might lunge forward and sink those sharp teeth into my jugular.
His inhale was so smug, so full of satisfaction, that fear morphed, turned aroused.
I could not explain that response; it was as if I could not hold on to the scary, bad feelings when they rose.
They slipped away like the quicksilver he wore as armor, and in their wake, only the startling attraction I felt for him remained.
He lowered his eyes from my face, followed the curve of my throat, and lingered over my chest. I was wearing my uniform, and normally that felt like armor, a cloak that hid any femininity.
Not with him. No, that look was like a caress: clinging, teasing, tasting.
When it dipped to my thighs, my fists clenched against them, and I winced in pain.
Now I understood: when I woke in a panic, restrained by his creature, held in the complete dark, I’d clawed my own legs open with my nails. That was the blood he smelled.