Chapter 6
Stryke was horny as hell. Which meant he was pissed off and not in the mood for his first meeting with Cyan since she’d arrived on Tuesday. He hadn’t even seen her. Well, he’d seen her from afar, walking with her team. And laughing. Like, genuine laughter, not the sarcastic kind she’d thrown his way.
Dr. Dakarai must be real fucking charming. Same with the team’s weapons specialist and former SAS soldier, Parker McDavid. The muscle-bound werewolf seemed to hold her attention the most. Because of course.
Snarling, he refocused on the techmailed notes Cyan had sent a few minutes ago, probably hoping they’d suffice instead of a face-to-face meeting.
But no.
He wanted to see her face. He wanted to know what made her tick. What made her… her .
And, obviously, he wanted this information for professional reasons, not personal. He made a point to discover what made each of his employees, colleagues, and adversaries tick. He wanted to know their strengths, weaknesses, and damned IQs. If it could give him an advantage, he wanted it, right down to their grocery lists, bathroom schedules, and grade school report cards.
Dressed in black slacks, a lab coat, and a purple blouse unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smallest, tantalizing hint of cleavage, she arrived precisely on time. He liked that. He also liked how she exited the elevator and walked the intentionally uncomfortable distance with a confidence few managed. Even fewer maintained eye contact the entire way, but she locked gazes with him, and every step she took closer in her black high heels made his pulse race faster. She wouldn’t be cowed by him, and she was putting him on notice.
Man, that was hot.
Both wildly aroused and annoyed, he shifted slightly to make room in his pants for his growing erection.
He’d need an injection very soon.
She stopped inches from his desk, close enough for him to catch a hint of her clean, almost metallic scent that intrigued him but which he couldn’t quite place. A combination of copper and silver, maybe.
“I sent you detailed notes,” she said. “I fail to see how meeting in person can add anything. If you had questions, you could have messaged back. You’re wasting my time and yours with this power trip.”
“That’s what you think? That I’m on a power trip?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Meeting with my project leaders isn’t about power. It’s about nuances.”
One delicate eyebrow cocked up. “Nuances?”
He gestured to the chair across the desk from him. “Have a seat and tell me why you don’t have a design for the weapon’s soul trap.”
“I told you in the message.”
“Tell me again.”
A muscle in her jaw twitched as she struggled to stay calm. She didn’t like being told what to do.
Nuance.
She didn’t sit. “We’re having difficulty developing a vessel that will fit inside the weapon’s projectile and also have walls sufficiently thick to hold spells complex enough to contain powerful spirits. Structurally and magically, cylinders are far weaker than spheres.”
“Why not use a sphere, then?”
“Because the projectile shaft is a narrow tube.”
“So? Create a tiny sphere that will fit into the tube.”
She shook her head. “We don’t think it’s possible to shrink a decipula down that much.”
“I’m confident you’ll find a way,” he said. “Personally, I’d hand it off to the physics department and let them figure it out.” He leaned back in his seat with a smile. “See? This is why we meet in person. Now, you have feedback to take to the team.”
“You could have said the same thing in a message.”
“But then I’d have missed your expression when I came up with an idea you hadn’t thought of.” He winked. “Nuance.”
Her delicate snort of amusement made her breasts jiggle and his cock twitch in appreciation. He definitely needed that injection. He might even need to make it hurt, a little reminder that the alternative—actual sex—was a mental hit job and never worth the few moments of pleasure.
Never.
“You really are something,” she said.
“Something good or something bad?”
“The context should give you a clue.”
Snarky. He normally didn’t put up with snark, but he was strangely enjoying their back-and-forth. Mainly because her irritation amused him. And she was about to get more irritated.
He threw up the 3D holoprojection of the rough weapon design she’d sent in the message earlier. “Has anyone on the team noticed the flaw in this?”
She scowled. “What flaw?”
He came to his feet and moved around the desk. He parked himself next to her, intentionally breaching her personal space. How would she react? Move away? Stand her ground? Hit him in the face?
He made a mental bet that she’d stand her ground while thinking of hitting him in the face. Reaching out, he rotated the projection ninety degrees, noting that Cyan had, indeed, remained stubbornly in place. She’d stiffened slightly, her jaw clenched tightly, but she hadn’t moved away.
He pointed to the area near the crossbow’s retention spring. “This won’t work with the projectile you’ve designed.” He tapped a symbol floating to the right of the projection, and the 3D design for the crossbow bolt appeared. He dragged it to the weapon and aligned the bolt with the barrel. “The bolt is too big at the base. It won’t sit fully against the string, which could lead to a catastrophic failure.”
Frowning, she leaned in, brushing against his arm with her shoulder. The neckline of her blouse gaped, and he got a stunning view of plump, creamy cleavage. Not that he was looking. It was just that he noticed everything. Like how the delicate vein in her throat pulsed at fifty-six beats per minute. And how her respirations became shallow and quick when he got close. And how her cheeks flushed pink at the possibility that she’d missed the problem he’d pointed out.
“It looks fine to me,” she announced, a touch of defensiveness making her voice rise an octave.
“Are you an expert in crossbow anatomy?”
She turned to him, her taupe-colored lips so close to his he could feel the heat coming off them. “No. Are you?”
“I’m an expert in many things.”
“Fine,” she said tightly. “I’ll let Dakarai and Parker know.”
He was actually surprised that Parker had missed that detail. Maybe flirting with Cyan had gotten in the way of his competence.
“You’ll also need to design a failsafe in the spell so that when the projectile seeks out the most severely wounded enemy, it doesn’t zero in on an injured ally.”
“Well, obviously,” she said with a sniff, but he suspected she hadn’t considered that.
“And—”
His desk comms beeped, and his assistant’s voice rang out. “Mr. Stryke, your mother is on line two.”
Stryke waved his hand in dismissal. “Tell her I’m busy.”
“But, sir...this is her third call today.”
“And for the third time, I’m busy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wow.” Cyan turned away from the hologram. “You’re turning your own mother away? For the third time today?”
“Yes, and it’s none of your business, so drop it.”
“Fair enough.” She turned back to the design and then immediately swung back around to him. “No, wait. I know it’s none of my business—”
“Exactly.”
“—but I lost both of my parents, and I’d give anything to be able to talk to them just one more time. And here you are with a mother who, for some reason, wants to talk to you. You’re estranged from your family, one of them is making an overture, and you’re turning it down?”
“Yeah. You get all that from the tabloids?” Those things were the bane of his existence. “What do you know about my family?”
“I work with your brothers, Rade and Blade, and I know your mother. They’re pretty damned tight. So, why does everyone walk on eggshells at the mere mention of your name?”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because I care about them. I was so inspired by—” She broke off in an angry huff. “Your mother’s birthday party is tomorrow. You are coming, right?”
“Again, none of your business.” He shut down the projector. He was done with this subject. Done with her . “Time for you to go.”
“Finally.” She grabbed her black-and-violet bag off the desk and flung it over her shoulder. “This meeting was pointless anyway, seeing as you only made me come up here for nuances .” She marched to the elevator, pivoted, and shot him the finger. “How’s that for nuance?” she called out as the door closed.
“You need to look up the definition of nuance ,” he shouted. That female was infuriating. And intriguing. He hadn’t been intrigued in a long time.
He also hadn’t been lectured by anyone outside his family in a long time. How dare Cyan insert herself into family issues she knew nothing about?
His comms beeped, and Kalis’s voice droned again. “Mr. Stryke, the king of—”
“I don’t care.” Reaching up, he rubbed his temples. A gentle pounding in his head reminded him that he needed an injection sooner rather than later. “Cancel all appointments and take messages. I’m done for the day.”
There was a pause and a sigh before, “Are you going to be working from home, sir?”
He headed toward his private Harrowgate. “Yes. Forward urgent and family messages and calls only.” He rethought that. He didn’t need a cousin calling to chitchat. Not that any ever did. But he could definitely see someone calling to guilt him into going to his mom’s party. “ Emergency family only.”
There was another pause. When Kalis finally replied, she sounded resigned. “Yes, sir.”
The injection stopped the burn in Stryke’s veins and the streaking pain in his groin, but only for an hour. He should have had more time. He hadn’t even finished his quick lunch of a plain ham sandwich and an apple before his head started pounding again, and cramps racked his insides.
He didn’t bother with another shot that would probably only last a few minutes. Instead, jaw clenched in pain and balls throbbing like they’d been smashed with a crowbar, he summoned Masumi to his bedroom.
The sex was fast and hard, a hurry-and-get-it-over-with transaction that left him feeling the way sex always did: sweaty, trembling, and nauseous. Usually, he’d be up and in the shower immediately afterward. Or maybe stumbling out the bedroom door into a snowbank or flying down the stairs to his lab, where he’d drown his brain in work.
But right now, as Masumi lay next to him, moaning through orgasm after orgasm, he couldn’t summon the energy to go anywhere.
He. Was. Exhausted.
And it wasn’t the sex. It was everything. His dad. Kynan. His mom. Cyan. So much was crashing down on him all at once, and while he usually thrived under professional pressure, he had never learned to manage personal pressure.
He looked up at the massive, rough-hewn roof trusses and concentrated on slowing his breathing and heart rate, things that had less to do with physical exertion and more to do with his hatred of the sex act itself.
Man, he was such a fucking head case. It was just sex. He should want it. Should love it. But ever since the day Chaos died, sex had been tied inextricably to panic, horror, and heartbreak. Even if he managed to force his thoughts in another direction—literally any direction—his body couldn’t make the separation. As orgasm approached, his adrenaline would spike so fiercely that his gut would wrench, and his heart would race. He’d break out in a cold sweat as nausea sucked away every drop of pleasure his climax brought.
Injections were just so much easier. Plus, the shots took seconds to administer. Sex used up way too much of his valuable time.
Masumi shifted next to him, her shoulder brushing his as she rolled onto her side to face him. “What is wrong?” Her drowsy, sultry voice still managed to convey her concern. “You never linger. Not ever.” She went up on one elbow and stared at him with pleasure-glazed eyes. “Are you ill?” The natural, throaty drawl inherent to her species made every question sound sensual, no matter if she was angry or afraid. And every question entered the Sem brain like, “ Do you want to fuck ?”
He continued to study the ceiling. “Just tired.” Maybe he’d get out the ladder and dust the rafters later.
She nodded. “I wondered why you seemed less grumpy than usual.”
“You think I’m grumpy?”
“Oh, please.” She fell back onto the pillow. “You know how you are. Play na?ve with someone who hasn’t been fucking you for almost fifteen years.”
She’d also saved his life more than once, but he wouldn’t give her any more ammunition. She already knew how much he appreciated her. He’d paid her former master an obscene amount of money to part with her, and after she’d told him how the other Sem treated her, Stryke had killed the guy.
And then took back his money.
Masumi had been beyond grateful. Even more so when he introduced her to his unmated male relatives. As a succubus whose survival depended on frequent sex with Sems, she’d thought she’d hit the fucking jackpot. He’d secured another vase, had it connected to her original one, and left it in the compound he’d given to his brothers and cousins when he moved to his current building.
She’d probably saved all their lives at least once too.
“Come on.” She sighed. “Tell me what’s eating you.” She pinched his thigh. “Because we all know I’m not eating you.”
No, he could barely tolerate fast, impersonal intercourse. The idea of oral sex, the intimacy involved, had left him cold every time he’d tried it. Didn’t stop Masumi from attempting it every once in a while. He was probably the only incubus in the world who didn’t want a female’s mouth on him. Well, Rade was pretty fucked up too, so Stryke had no idea what his brother’s kinks and aversions were.
But now he was curious. Funny how this was the first time he’d even thought about it in thirty-seven years.
“What are my brothers like?” he asked.
She pushed up onto one arm and looked down at him again. “In bed? You want to know what kind of lovers they are? Why?”
“When a question enters my mind, I need answers, or the mystery will take up too much space in my head.” He’d bet Mace was a kinky motherfucker.
“You know I can’t speak about my carnal activities.” Stretching like a sated cat, she gave him an impish smile. “Discretion was woven into my genes.”
“Yes, but technically, I am your master, and you have to obey me.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin, looking both thoughtful and mischievous. “This does present a problem.” Sitting up, she reached for her black satin robe at the foot of the bed. “I’ll tell you this. Blade is considerate and generous. He often brings me gifts. Mostly chocolate. But when he’s very worked up”—she gave a delighted little shiver—“he’s deliciously demanding.”
Not unexpected. Blade had always been the strong and silent type, careful with females and animals. He was slow to anger, but his fury and grudges ran deep, and when he finally erupted, he gave no quarter or mercy. Followed that he’d be the same way with sex.
“And Rade? Who might be even more fucked up than I am?”
She tightened the robe’s sash around her slim waist. “He is…intense. And he doesn’t talk much.”
Again, not a surprise. A world-renowned interrogator for DART, Rade was cold as ice and as personable as a shark. He spoke little but saw everything, and with his ability to flay open the minds of even the most powerful demons, he was one of DART’s most valuable—and dangerous—agents.
“What about my cousins?”
Turning, she gazed out the window at the falling snow and smiled fondly. She hated the cold, so that smile was for something—or some one —else. “Sabre is creative and has a delicious naughty streak.”
Huh. Stryke would have pegged Sabre for vanilla. Eidolon’s son was a stand-up guy, but he’d inherited his father’s rigid adherence to law and order. Stryke admired the forensic expert, but yeah, vanilla. Except he was part Soulshredder demon, which meant things could get very…unpredictable.
“And Mace?”
She laughed and turned back to him. “He is full of life and mischief. That one will not be easily tamed by any female.”
Sounded about right. Mace was a mouthy, cocky playboy who lived life on the edge. Whether it was the edge of a cliff, a building, or pressed up against the sharp edge of a blade, that was where his cousin thrived.
Stryke sat up and forced himself to meet Masumi’s gaze. The sudden worry in her eyes told him she knew who he was going to ask about next.
“What about me?”
The way she sobered, as if he’d dumped a cold bucket of water over her head, made him regret asking. Why had he asked? Why did he care?
“I must go,” she said, starting for the door. “I can feel Blade’s need.”
He lunged, catching her by the wrist before his brain could catch up with his body. He should let her go. He didn’t need an answer.
Except he did. Now that he’d asked, he had to know what she was so reluctant to say. “Tell me.”
“Is that an order, Master ?” She batted her eyelashes, giving him a full, seductive dose of drama.
“Don’t pull that master shit on me.” He released her wrist and swung his feet over the edge of the mattress. “You’re free to leave whenever you want.”
“You pulled it on me.”
He reached for his pants. “I wasn’t being serious.”
“You are always serious. You have no sense of humor.”
No sense of humor? Of course, he had a sense of humor. It was just…discerning.
She tugged the robe closed across her breasts with a sniff. “And you hurt me.”
“What?” His head snapped back so hard he heard a crack. “I’ve never—”
“Not physically.” She glided closer, every movement sinuous and seductive, and she wasn’t even trying. “Emotionally, perhaps. I don’t know. I’ve been watching a lot of Dr. Phil reruns.” The mattress dipped as she sank onto the bed beside him, close but not touching. “You only come to me when you’re on the verge of death. It scares me to see you fighting yourself, and it hurts that you find me so repulsive.”
“ Repulsive ?” He stared at her in disbelief. “Is that what you think?”
“Why else would I be your last resort?”
“I—you’re not…repulsive.”
“Then why are you always so angry?” She shifted to face him, chin held high, accusation flickering in her dark gaze. “Why do you prefer to inject yourself with poison over being with me? Why do you run from me when you’re done?”
Swearing under his breath, he shoved his legs into his pants. “I’m not angry.”
“He said angrily.” She huffed. “Stryke, you’re always angry. And cold. And…” She seemed to think on it before saying decisively, “Efficient.”
Efficient?
Efficient ?
What the ever-loving fuckity fuck of fucks?
Now , he was angry.
Reaching over, she took his hand. “I love you, Stryke. But the hate that fills you, if not for me, then for…whoever it is…makes sex with you…difficult.”
His rage faded as her words shredded his overinflated ego. What she’d said stung, but he’d asked for the truth. Whether she was right or wrong, it was how she saw him.
And that was one hundred percent on him.
He wanted to slit his own throat right now. He’d been such an asshole to her. He’d come to her only when he was at the very end of his rope, used her, taken from her, and given nothing back. Well, technically, she needed sex as much as he did to survive, but she got more than she needed with his brothers and cousins.
Still, their relationship, while mutual, had, from the day he’d rescued her, been wholly one-sided.
Which pretty much defined his entire life and every relationship in it.
Whoa. He’d had a breakthrough epiphany, hadn’t he?
If he was a decent person, he’d listen and learn. He’d give a shit. If he was a total asshole, he’d ignore it all and go kill someone just for fun.
Stryke was both and neither. So, he’d process the information and use it when appropriate.
Right now, it was appropriate to apologize. A huge apology was called for, really, but his pride could only take so much growth at once.
“Masumi.” His contrite voice was rough and rusty from disuse. “I’m…sorry. None of my behavior is because of—or aimed at—you.”
She smiled graciously, even though he could have tacked on about ten minutes more groveling and still not fully cover the depths of his dipshittery.
“Thank you. Now, I wasn’t lying when I said I felt Blade’s need. He’s been so busy helping plan your mother’s party that he forgets to find a partner.” She started toward the door. “I heard him tell Rade that you weren’t going.”
As if it was any of their business what he did or where he went. “So?”
She rolled one shapely shoulder in a sensual shrug. “If I had a mother, I wouldn’t miss her birthday party.”
She sounded just like Cyan. And Kynan. And his father.
It was just a birthday party. Why did people celebrate them, anyway? Congratulations, you got hatched from an egg or squeezed out of a vagina. Way to go.
“ Just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t make it stupid or unworthy of concern, happiness, or interest. Don’t suck the joy out of things people are excited about. ”
He could hear his mother’s gentle scolding as if she was right next to him. She’d said things like that to him at least once a week when he was growing up. Then she’d hug him and tell him that he gave her joy and that nothing anyone did would take that away.
Wanna bet, Mom ?
Maybe he should go to the party after all. Then they’d all see exactly why his presence was a huge mistake.
And if nothing else, he could at least look forward to the I-told-you-sos.