Dangerous (29 page)

Liam was always impressed by her strength, constantly letting the softness and delicateness of her rounded curves trick his mind into thinking she was far more fragile than she really was. Liam smiled. It probably wouldn't be the last time he underestimated his woman.

Devon slid hungry hands up over his chest and back down to his belly. Beautifully manicured nails, polished in a dark violet, scraped erotically over his skin, through the hairs over his pectorals, seeking out his sensitive nipples.

He tucked both hands behind his head like a majestic king awaiting service. Devon gave a low, sultry little sound of humor, making him look at her with suspicion in his eyes because it sounded so devious. That was when she leaned forward to seek out one of his nipples with the teasing flutter of her tongue. She switched sides slowly, trailing kisses and sweeps of her tongue over his chest on the way. Liam's hands came forward to clasp her thighs, his fingers tensing against her taut flesh.

She sat up and looked down on him with a wicked smile.

“Tell me, will you continue to keep this relationship secret from your subordinates?” she asked, genuinely curious as she reached behind herself to drag her fingernails up and down his thighs, knowing full well that the slight stretch of her shoulders tempted him with the lift of what she was beginning to suspect was a highly favored body part. His eyes fixated on her breasts as if on cue, his desire plainly set in amber.

“You know, I think I'm in trouble no matter how I answer that question,” he observed distractedly.

“What do you mean?”

“If I say yes, you could be offended, thinking I'm ashamed to be up front about this. And if I say no, you could think I'm flaunting a conquest.”

“Hmm. I never thought about it like that. So which is it, Liam? Conquest or confidential?”

“Neither.” He touched his fingers to the side of his neck. “Between this and the fact that I'm bringing Jackson in to take over, it's kind of a moot discussion.”

“Liam, I didn't do that on purpose,” she murmured contritely as she leaned forward to kiss him. “I just . . . you make me forget myself. You've always been able to do that.”

“That sentiment is very much reciprocated,” he said gruffly. “Why do you ask?”

She paused only a beat and then flicked her eyes to his. “Because I recognize that I am rapidly losing control of my ability to be discreet with you. There is a part of me that throws a tantrum and pouts every time I can't show everyone that you're mine. Deliciously, manly
mine
.”

Liam responded to her gentle, flirtatious kisses but as her busy mouth began to travel down his breastbone to his rigid belly, he seriously began to confess to himself that he'd been having the very same sort of internal tantrums.

He closed his eyes in pleasure as her tongue swept down below his ribs, drifting over every muscle in his stomach with attentive licks and kisses. He looked down at her, surprised to find his fingers tangled in her dark hair, hands cupping the back of her head. Every light scrape of her teeth, every exhalation of her breath was torturing him with anticipation and temptation. Her hands were sitting still on his hips, framing him with her fingers curved gently toward his buttocks. Her mouth slipped lower, below his navel, and he felt her breath skipping over his tumescent flesh.

“Devon,” he breathed achingly.

He felt the sweep of her hair brushing over his erection and the taut sac below it, and then her kisses fell to his thigh, completely bypassing the area that craved her attention.

Devon suppressed a smile when he groaned in frustration. She returned her attention to her worship of his smoothly muscled body, loving every contour with her seducing kisses. She was very aware of her power over a very powerful man, and that it had nothing to do with her superior genes and physical advantage. He was in her hands, having placed himself there with amazing trust.

Proving her point to herself, she ran her eager hands and nails up along his thighs, both atop and along the insides. Liam shifted restlessly and he held back sounds of frustration. . . or pleas for her to stop teasing him. Devon slid up his thick thighs and looked at the pronounced thrust of his penis, smiling as it twitched in anticipation of her approach. She pursed her lips and blew a stream of tepid breath across him, watching him in delight as he groaned aloud and brushed anxious fingers through her hair, trying to recapture the head she'd slipped out of his reach as she'd kissed his thighs. She reached for him with a single extended nail and touched it against his shaft, just below the fat red cap at the tip. She drew her fingertip down over his hot, veined skin, so incredibly soft, yet so unbelievably hard just beneath that.

Liam hadn't been bragging when he'd said he was a big man. Even after so many encounters as lovers, she was still impressed by his length and thickness. She smiled, her lip slipping eagerly between her teeth as she stroked him all the way to the base of his cock and then lower, right over the malleable sac beneath. She cupped him there briefly, flicking her fingernails along the back of his balls teasingly until she felt him tighten in her hand and heard him moan out a curse. Then she took a measure of pity on him and closed her hand fully around his delightfully hard erection. She had scooted up far enough to be within reach of his hands and one sank tensely into her hair.

“Babe, you're killing me,” he rasped out, the remark a plea.

But it was her intention to make him the victim of a temporary death. And like most victims, he wasn't going to see it coming until it was too late to do anything about it. She dipped her head to hide her sinister smile and the greed for his pleasure in her eyes. She stroked him with a feathery grip, there but almost not, fingers stimulating his skin but not the throbbing flesh and nerves beneath. His hips shifted, seeking stronger contact, and she denied him until he was nearly thrashing with need.

“Oh God, Devon, this is insane,” he groaned. “You've proved your point already . . . just . . . just . . .”

“Just what?” she murmured sexily, her smile flashing up at him with all the wickedness of a true temptress. “Just this?” Her tongue snaked out quickly to lick over the swollen head of his prick, lapping up drops of liquid she'd tortured out of him. His taste was divine on her tongue, salt and musk and a touch of herself, which she found to be an incredible turn-on.

“Devon!” he half shouted, half groaned, his fingers flexing violently in her hair.

She didn't wait for him to settle, too impatient to tease and torture him anymore. She'd had a taste of him and she wanted more. Her fingers curled firmly around his thick circumference, and she held him against her lips, drawing him slowly over them, back and forth with little slips of her tongue. She circled her tongue around him, tasting him again as she tempted more from him.

When she pressed her lips against him to form perfect suction, his whole body tensed violently in preparation for the suckling draw of her mouth as she drew him in, at first in short strokes and then longer ones.

Liam was in hell. Or heaven. Or purgatory. He couldn't decide. One moment her mouth felt glorious, and desire pulsed through him from head to toe. The next he was being overwhelmed by the urge to lose himself in delight with no regard for anything else, and he fought the swelling responses of his greedy body. Then it was blindness, bliss so utterly intense that he felt almost numb with the power of it.

“Devon, baby,” he croaked out, grateful he could still speak. He tightened his hold around her hair in case she didn't hear him. Just then, her artful mouth swirled snugly around him, her tongue flicking the underside of the head, a screaming sensitive spot. Her hand slid tightly along his length as her mouth retreated, a definite rhythm forming now, one that he lifted his hips into automatically. “Devon!” he barked out as passionate pleasure surged low along the interior of his body. “Devon I want to touch you. I want to make you . . .” Liam gasped as she ignored him and stroked him with hand and mouth working like a beautifully choreographed form of torture. Suddenly she had him so close it was like feeling himself boiling inside. “Baby . . . oh, baby I'm going to come,” he growled out roughly as his entire body tensed in preparation. She didn't relent, not for a moment, tightening suction, and stroke, and her flawless rhythm until he could do nothing but feel, and feel, and feel.

The approach of his orgasm was ravaging and hot; the release itself was violent and blissful. Liam shouted out uninhibitedly, his entire body bucking as Devon delighted in milking him until his outcries told her it was too much to bear a moment longer. She released him at last and he grabbed for her with awkward fumbling hands. She smothered a laugh as she accommodated his wishes and slid up his body and into the clutch of his arms. Liam was rasping hard for breath, his hands still tensing tightly now and then, and his body shaking with aftershocks of pleasure.

Feeling content and very proud of herself, she snuggled down against his shoulder, using it as a pillow.

But before Liam even recovered enough to talk, she said, “Tomorrow we're going to hunt down Ambrose and put an end to this once and for all. I want to go home. I want my family back. I want to live my life again as a free Morphate woman. I want to be Devona Chandler.”

Liam took a very deep breath.

“And I'm going to give you that.”

Ambrose was in the Catskills.

So damn close. This whole time. Him and half his fucking clan, Liam thought as he looked down on the site from a nest, similar to the one they had found, high in the trees at a reasonably good position to view a great deal of Ambrose's compound.

“Well, we could always call the local authorities and rat him out,” Kellen suggested. “Technically, he's not supposed to be off the reservation.”

“Neither is she,” Liam pointed out dryly, cocking his head at Devon. “Anyway it's a gray area. They never punish runaways, just send them back to their own Cities. He's guilty of far more than a simple straying charge.”

“Human law isn't going to apply here,” Devon said softly, narrowing her eyes on the activity around the main house. It was a huge, modern masterpiece, guaranteed to have every bell and whistle money could buy and all the comforts imaginable. Also all the best security. Technology aside, though, Ambrose had a huge crowd of Morphates constantly moving in and out of the main house and huddling around three of the smaller houses on the property. The compound was just about as hard to get to as Devon's property was. “Ambrose has to be made to answer to Morphate law,” she continued. “Which he broke the minute he seceded from the Alpha Council. It's also the only thing we have proof of. The only thing that can have him deposed as Alpha of Dark Phoenix and thrown in an Alpha Council Penitentiary. Everything else, the attempts on my life, the attempts to gain the mercury weaponry for himself, his crimes against Morphates and humans . . . we have no proof of them. He's made sure of that. He's always made sure of that.”

“Why don't we just cloud this guy,” Kellen asked irritably.

“You just answered your own question,” Liam said. “Because he'd go up in smoke and be forgotten in a second. Or be a martyr forever.”

“The last thing we need is a Morphate civil war with the memory of Ambrose at its core,” Devon said bitterly. “But to imprison him and make an example of him, to show other Morphates that his behavior will not be tolerated, that is what is needed. Between his capture and handing over my mercury weapons to humans, we can drastically change the playing field. It will bring others in line very quickly. The Morphates can pursue their rights the way our human ancestors did it. The way women did it. Legally. Politically.”

“Christ,” Kellen hissed. “You have a lot of faith in humans. That they won't just turn on you and start putting the whole lot of you down one by one. We have plenty of examples of that in our history too, you know.”

“I know,” she said softly.

Devon left it at that. They didn't need to talk about just how big a risk she was taking. But she wasn't the one who had started this journey. Kincaid Gregory had started it nearly fifty years ago when he had anticipated the trouble Morphates like Ambrose would cause. And with the newer generations of Morphates becoming stranger and more powerful, it was best they had some way to control them.

“So what's the plan, boss?” Kellen asked, looking through his glasses and watching the way the Morphates moved, looking for patterns that would indicate security teams, routines, and shifts.

Liam looked at Devon.

“What's the plan, Devona Chandler?” he asked her softly.

“Well, I was kind of thinking of knocking on the front door.”

 

“Ambrose, you are not going to believe this,” Max blurted out as he burst into the main parlor.

Ambrose slid a venomous look at the new generation Morphate and wondered to himself why he insisted on surrounding himself with these impulsive, uncontrollable children. Bad enough his final assassin had not checked in for over twenty-four hours. He'd rather expected Rhiannon would fuck up. Had almost counted on it, really. He'd hoped her attack would make Devona flee in panic. After all, having an attacker make it all the way into the bedroom was bound to shake her confidence in the security and safety of her property. Knee-jerk reaction, especially when protecting a precious payload like Devona was protecting, would be to relocate to a place deemed safer. Out of reach. Different. It would have provided him the perfect opportunity to attack her in force once and for all. A caravan was always weaker than a fixed position. He would have achieved all his goals at once: killing the traitor and acquiring the weapons for himself.

But Devona had not budged. Had barely blinked. She had stayed snuggled into her home with her pathetic human security force. What a joke. That something so weak and so fallible could ever stand up to a superior Morphate. Superior in intelligence, superior in strength, and superior in longevity. In a word: perfect. They were perfect.

“Do surprise me,” Ambrose invited the young Morphate darkly, making it very clear that he was thoroughly annoyed.

“Devona Chandler is at the gate requesting an audience!” Max veritably overflowed with the news. And why not? He was right. No one would have believed him.

Ambrose sat up straight, his spine growing long and his shoulders squaring as a sensation of utter delight swam through him. He shifted his gaze to the man seated in the chair across from him.

“Well. What do you make of that?” he asked.

“Hubris,” was the reply. “She's no doubt going to try and negotiate with you the way she has tried negotiating with all the other Alphas on the Council. After all, she has no reason to think you have been the one trying to end her life. You've left no proof. No trail.”

“It's one of my most sterling talents,” Ambrose agreed with a pleased smile. “How exciting. Now I don't have to kill her. I can lock the bitch up and dissect her twice a day for the rest of eternity.” Ambrose sighed with pleasure at the thought.

“I rather like the idea,” his companion agreed. “The possibilities are endless, if you don't mind sharing access.”

Ambrose quickly frowned, then just as quickly shrugged off the covetous craving that caused it. What did it matter who did the poking and prodding? As long as he got to watch it.

“But I am forced to wonder how she knew I was here. Like her, I am using a human persona for my holdings here. I have no choice.” His tone was dripping with contempt at being forced to sneak past human laws. But soon that wouldn't matter. Soon humans would learn what it felt like to be lorded over and treated like second-class citizens. A plan that would be ruined if Devona succeeded in handing over her mercury weaponry. No. It would not do at all if the insects suddenly became venomous.

“She is a brilliant woman and no less resourceful than you are,” the other man pointed out. “I doubt it took much work for her to find you.”

“She only thinks she is clever,” Ambrose bit out. “She's about to learn what a truly superior mind is capable of. Bring her here,” he commanded of Max. “And someone get me Tansy and Jacan.”

 

Devona's heart was pounding at a speed that ought to have killed her, had she not been immortal. She walked up to the house, flanked on either side by Ambrose's Morphates. She wondered how this was going to play out. Wondered if she was just plain crazy for attempting this. Liam had only gone along with her plan after she'd agreed to three ground rules: she'd been fitted with a radio comm to be left entirely open the whole time, they had waited for dark to fall, and his teams were already infiltrating the property. They had moved past the cameras, tricked the motion and heat sensors, and snuck in quite close to the house from all different directions. She had made certain they were armed to the hilt with mercury weapons. The rest was up to their stellar training and the man who led them.

As expected, her arrival caused something of a spectacle. News had flown through the compound about who Ambrose's guest was. She was being stared at from all quarters. Morphates were trying to be discreet and failing miserably as they gravitated toward the front porch to get a look at her. That was very much a part of her plan. To draw them all in. The fewer Morphates they needed to corral, the better. It was best Ambrose's people got a very good look at what was about to happen.

Ambrose was standing in the center of the parlor she was led to. There were other Morphates around, some sitting in chairs, some lounging at a nearby bar. One in particular was a tall, stunning black woman not three feet to his right rear. To his rear left was a very strong and intimidating male in a leather vest with a smaller but tough looking female right at his side.

“Greetings, Devona. Welcome to my home.”

Oh, how smug he seemed, Devona thought as she swallowed back a swell of bile in her throat. He was just so confident of his superiority. He had tried to annihilate her in half a dozen or more different ways, and yet he stood there greeting her as if she were the closest of friends. She had wondered, as she had met with the other Alphas and their lieutenants, time and again, “Is this who wants me dead?” And now, here she was standing in front of him, knowing for certain it was Ambrose, and she honestly couldn't tell herself whether she would have been able to discern the truth from his congenial demeanor as he stepped forward and extended his hand.

She wasn't stupid enough to take it.

She smiled to cover her rebuff.

“Ambrose. Thank you for seeing me without announcement. I know it's terribly rude of me.”

“Oh please,” he waved her apology off. “I'm not the sort to hold the little things against people.”

But the big things, like annihilation of their species
. . .

She could almost hear the words. She could feel the wall of hatred emanating toward her, thinly veneered with these social niceties.

“I was wondering if we could speak,” she said, keeping the façade of her ignorance up with yet another smile.

“Of course, of course.” He moved aside a little, his arm extended behind him. “Come join us. I believe you know my guest.”

Fixated as she was on the immediate Morphates near her, Devona hadn't initially noticed the male in the chair just behind Ambrose. When she finally did, her whole stomach bottomed out, an eerie injection of liquid numbness washing over her at the same time because she couldn't quite comprehend or accept what she was seeing.

“Doctor Chandler,” Dr. Eric Paulson said smoothly as he rose to his feet. “It's been a long time. How have you been?”

Too long. Not long enough. God, help her. She was going to kill him. She was going to die. All of these thoughts and more sped through her mind as she stood frozen in place, staring at him.

“Holy shit, she's in trouble,” she heard Liam announce over the comms. “Move in, people, this charade is finished!”

“I'm fine,” she said a bit dumbly. “Yes, I'm perfectly fine,” she said more strongly, trying to speak to the men lying in wait outside. She was close enough to Ambrose to do what she had come to do, but Paulson was spinning her for a loop. Here was the ultimate criminal. Here was a man hunted by every man and Morphate in the world. In Ambrose's parlor. As an honored guest. If she had not already known Ambrose to be a psychopath, she would have truly recognized it then.

“I'm glad to hear it. I hope you are not like so many of these other Morphates, holding grudges against their creator. They thrive in their new condition, yet still curse me. You are a doctor. A scientist. And though we have disagreed in the past, surely you can agree that there is no value in fussing over what cannot be changed.”

“Change is just that,” she said, but only the man who had become her lover recognized the strange detachment in her words. Devona without emotion was like a night without stars. And here she was, face to face with the man she despised more than life itself, surrounded by enemy Morphates. It changed the entire game plan for him and he knew it changed it for her as well. “Fluid. Ever-moving. Ever evolving. Everything must evolve or risk being left behind.”

Devona lifted her hand, her flowing sleeve falling back as she pointed her fingers at Ambrose's neck, and then closed her fist. The darts filled with mercury shot out instantly, pelting the startled Morphate in the neck. He roared with fury, even as she raised her opposite palm toward Dr. Paulson, braced her feet and shifted her shoulders hard to engage the one weapon she was giving to the humans that meant far more than anything that used mercury. The micro-wiring ran down the inside of her arm, looking no different from a heavy, translucent vein, until it spiraled in the seat of her palm. The trigger was along the back of her arm and shoulder joint, connected to specific muscles that only engaged when contracted a certain way.

The pulse that exploded from her hand hit Paulson dead in the chest, a wall of energy and sound that blew him off his feet, sent him crashing back into the stone fireplace behind him. Ambrose barely got his fingers to his throat, had only an instant to claw at the darts, pulling two of them free.

Too late.

Much too late. His people didn't even twitch as their Alpha evaporated into a gaseous cloud. After he was gone, however, Jacan leapt for Devon, grabbing her in an arm lock that prevented her ability to use her mercury weapon.

“Jacan, careful,” Tansy gasped breathlessly as her lover came so close to such a deadly weapon.

“I'm not here to harm anyone else,” Devona was saying loudly, her palm still facing the stunned Dr. Paulson, even though he was crumpled up into an unconscious pile at the foot of the fireplace. She heard glass breaking, heard the others arriving at her back, felt the tension in the room ratchet up to a point of violence, forcing her to speak louder.

“The Alpha Council passed sentence on Ambrose alone,” she shouted, trying to be heard over the ruckus. “All anyone else will suffer is fines if you don't return to Dark Phoenix or wherever you are from and wait patiently for the Freedom Act to allow us the right to move and live freely in the Federated States. The Council feels confident that once the humans are armed with weapons like this stunner, they will gain more confidence, be less afraid, and more willing to be fair.”