Tempt Me Eternally (4 page)

Her cheeks colored prettily, and she growled, “What about rip it to shreds?”

If she was half as passionate in bed as she was now in the face of danger, she would burn him alive. And, oh, he wanted to be burned. “If you ask nicely, yes,” he said honestly. “As long as you draw no blood.”

“Fuck you.”

“I hope so,” he replied as his men returned, shaking their heads. No one was out there, and there was no sign of anyone having been there. He relaxed.

His female was still choking out a breath. “Never,” she finally managed.

“Never is a long time. Perhaps we should negotiate.”

No reply. Instead, a look of intense concentration claimed her features. Her eyes narrowed, the blue somehow darkening, becoming . . . golden? Impossible. Yet as he watched, her body seemed to grow taller and more muscled, her clothing ripping to accommodate the new bulk. Within moments she was his exact height, her features realigned to match his.

He was gazing at his own face, he realized, mouth falling open in shock. The green-eyed temptress
was still underneath, still barely visible, but that didn't dampen the shock of seeing
himself
in place of the sweet-faced blonde.

“How did you do that?
What
did you do?”

She peered down at her hands. No—
his
hands. Turning them over, studying them. Big, golden, calloused. Reeling, he considered the rest of her. She no longer had breasts but was solid from head to toe. She even had a bulge between her—his—legs. A nice sized one, if he did say so himself.

“Will I be able to move like you, do you think?” she asked, more of herself than of him.

His
voice. She did not merely look like him, she now spoke with his voice. How was any of this possible?

Breean reached out to touch that familiar visage. What would he feel? Warmth? Cold? Surely this was an illusion. But just as his hand was about to make contact, the . . . whatever she was disappeared and his hand swiped only air.

He blinked. Confusion, anger, and more of that shock pounded through him. He glanced left, then right, but saw only the sway of trees and the swirl of snowflakes.

Brow furrowed, he wheeled and confronted his men. “Where did she—I—go?” More to the point,
how
had she gone? If she had always been able to move as swiftly as him, why had she not done so before now? If she hadn't, and this was as new a development as her appearance . . . damn. She might posses
all
of his strengths now. “Did you see her?”

Expressions as baffled as his must be, they searched the clearing for some sign of her.

From the corner of his eye, Breean caught a blur of movement, a flash of white and gold. That blur paused directly in front of the first pyre-gun he'd liberated from the woman. A second later, her—damn it,
his
—image solidified. She wobbled on her feet as though dizzy, weariness glinting over her still-masculine features. A frown pulled at her brow while she rubbed her temple with one hand and snatched up the weapon with the other.

He pounded toward her, intent. Sensing him, she looked up. Their gazes locked, gold against gold—and, thankfully, that hint of ethereal green. Sweat beaded her forehead, and she was panting. With fright? Fatigue? Or with the thrill of the chase?

A moment later, she grinned. Thrill of the chase, definitely, for that grin did not belong to a frightened female but to a taunting agent. Surprisingly, that aroused him all the more, this new challenge of her.

He didn't whisk to her, but stopped, continuing to watch her, curious about what this human—alien—would do next. What race could assume another's appearance, as well as another's abilities?

She threw an I'm-the-boss look at his men and barked, “Stay where you are. This is between the woman and me.”

They had been inching toward her with determined expressions, but now they froze in place.

“Which one is which?” one of the men asked, glancing between the two of them.

“Look at the clothing,” someone said. “Hers is a different material and ripped.”

“But what if even that is a trick?”

“Stay where you are,” Breean told them, parroting the female. “I will handle her.”

“
I
will handle her and the prisoners,” she said as if she truly were him. That intense glaze of concentration fell over her, and once more she disappeared.

His eyes narrowed as he searched the field, trying to zero in on a blur . . . seeing nothing . . . nothing . . . there! She materialized in front of the sleeping agents and crouched.

Her back was to him, and she seemed to shrink before his eyes. Her short golden hair lengthened and paled, appearing exactly as before. One of her hands shot out, slapping a human across the face. Pause. Another slap. Pause. She leaned to the side, muttered something, and slapped a second agent.

Who was she hitting? Slight as her body now was, it still managed to block Breean's gaze. He was afraid to move, however. Afraid she'd change personas or leap into motion again. Afraid he'd lose her.

A second later, she shoved to her feet and faced him. Leveling two guns, she edged to the center of the clearing, her left shoulder toward him, her right shoulder toward his men.

When had she picked up the second gun?

“Why won't they wake up?” she demanded angrily.

As he soaked in her blue eyes and womanly form, relief was like a living entity inside him. Much as he
liked himself, he didn't want to seduce himself. Well, not anymore. There'd been enough of that over the past two years to last a lifetime. “They are merely sleeping.”

“You had better wake them up. Or, to answer your earlier question, I'll shoot you with
this
.”

Fierce, passionate, and now protective. His admiration spiked, and yes, so did his desire, damn his hot-blooded nature. And damn his abstinence. Yet he couldn't deny that he was glad the first woman he'd stumbled upon was this one. Even though he could not control her, she was delectable. To have her the way he wanted her, he would have to calm her, something else he had no experience with.

“Be easy,” he said. Surely that would work.

“Don't just stand there,” she snapped. “Wake them.”

Or not. “Your commands will continue to go unheeded.”
That is not how you calm a female, I don't think
. It was just, Rakan females had striven to do all they could to satisfy those around them—before the disease, that is. They'd rarely argued and had never disobeyed. They'd accepted and they'd agreed, as though the need to please had been ingrained in them at birth.

This woman obviously bowed to no one. That should have angered him, or at the very least deterred him. Yet he could suddenly imagine being tied up,
dominated,
helpless to this female's pleasure as she ground herself on his cock.

Interesting, but not something he could allow.
There was just too much risk. To give up control was to invite bloodshed.

He stood there, unsure how to proceed. How
did
you calm a female you could not bend to your will, if silken commands failed? His men shifted uncomfortably, as if, like him, they were trying to decide what to do. They meant well, but he didn't want one of them to take her down or touch her in any way.

“Hold,” he told them.

The woman's hand shook—what was her name? He found that he wanted to know as intently as he wanted to know what species she was. Which also happened to be as intently as he wanted to lick her until she came, starting with her breasts and working his way down.

“Didn't I tell you once before to get that look off your face?” she said breathlessly, then fired both guns simultaneously.

He easily leapt out of the way, the blue stun-beam sailing past him. As fast as he could move, the gun's rays were slow motion to him. But one of his men, Eton, did not see the approaching beam and was nailed, instantly freezing in place. The other warriors glanced to Breean, clearly angry that another of their brethren was immobilized and would have to be carried. They wanted to act.

“No,” he said. “Mine.” To her, he added, “What look?”

“Like you're going to eat me. I don't like it.”

“The look will disappear, I'm sure, after I
have
eaten you.” The good kind of eating, too. Not the
kind his people had enjoyed, there at the end. He shuddered. “Do not worry, though. I promise not to use my teeth.”

Scowling, she fired again, but once more he easily dodged. “Will you just be still already?” Her gaze circled the clearing and she pushed out a frustrated breath. “Come on,” she muttered, though he didn't think she realized she'd said anything aloud.

There'd been no sign of anyone out there, but she obviously expected someone to show up and didn't like that they hadn't yet. Better they came here to fight amid nature than to fight amongst the innocents living in the city. He, too, would wait for them. Silver lining: another fight might help dull his arousal.

“What is your name, female?” he repeated, remaining on alert.

“Why did you come here?” she demanded, pretending yet again that he had not spoken. “What do you want from us?”

There had to be a way around her reluctance to share. “Why should I answer your questions when you refuse to answer mine?” Excellent. Soliciting her sense of fair play.

A heavy pause. A grind of her teeth. “My name is . . . Macy.”

Macy. It was a lovely name, as stunning as the woman herself—whichever face she happened to don (even his)—but it didn't fit her. Still, it was worthy of shouting while pumping inside of her. Over and over again. “I am Breean, and I'm here to make a new home for myself and my men.” He'd been
searching forever, it seemed, but he'd finally found the perfect place to relocate.

They'd spent the last several months coming and going, preparing. Earth had everything they needed: water, technology beyond their comprehension, medical supplies, and warm female bodies. More than that, the people here knew how to survive. If plague struck, they most likely had a cure. If not, they could create one.

Never again did he want to watch those he loved die of debilitating sickness, helpless as a craving for living flesh bloomed inside them. Never again did he want to feel powerless as others died and he remained strong.

“Earth might play host to all manner of alien races, but its people are in no way welcoming,” she said, and she sounded bitter about it.

Did she have firsthand knowledge of that lack of welcome? “Humans will have no choice but to accept us.”

“Oh, really? Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He hoped. “And now, this standoff is becoming tiresome, Macy.” Waiting, he decided, could be done in a more pleasurable way. He approached her, his yearning intensifying—soon, he would be touching her—the scent of honey drifting from him with increasing potency.

Her nose crinkled as though she smelled something distasteful, but her nipples were already pearled for him, pretty and perfect against her clothing. “What
is
that smell?”

“Arousal,” he said, seeing no reason to deny it. He hadn't smelled the lust-craze, which was far more pungent than his fight-craze, in so long he'd despaired of ever smelling it again. Right now, he reveled in it. “Do not try to pretend it displeases you.” Not while he could see the rosy flush of her cheeks.

Macy's lush mouth floundered open and closed, and her hands shook. “Arousal makes a man burn, yes? Well, I'll show you something else that burns.” Using her thumb, she changed the setting of the pyre-gun and fired at him. Just as before, he grinned and sidestepped the beam—a yellow beam this time, which meant she was through trying to stun him and now wanted to fry him.

Swiftly he closed the distance, stopping mere inches from the barrel. “I believe I mentioned that I'm growing tired of this.”

She almost fell backward with the force of her gasp. “And I grow tired of telling you to stay back!” Another shot.

This time, close as he was, he wasn't quite fast enough to dodge. The yellow-gold flame singed his upper arm. “That
hurt.
”

“Really? I thought you liked to burn.”

The scent of honey should have dissipated as that small patch of skin blistered and sizzled. It didn't. In fact, it only seemed to increase. That he desired her enough to emit the telltale perfume despite being injured was baffling. Even with his two-year abstinence, which blew his “I'm just desperate” theory.

How was she drawing more desire from him than any other female ever had?

She wasn't (naturally) golden, as he would have preferred. She wasn't biddable, as he was used to. Being perplexed by her, even enchanted, he understood. She was a novelty. But this much desire? Just then Breean suspected he would have wanted her even if he were sated.

Quite simply, she tempted him on every level.

In theory—he was full of those today—he could have disarmed her, and had her on the ground, penetrated, before she even realized what was happening, the lust-scent making her want it despite everything around her. While some part of him would have enjoyed that, because God knew, he was a man, the rest of him knew that her willing, wholehearted participation would be a thousand times sweeter. The hardest battles, he'd come to learn, elicited the most gratifying victories.

“You're surrounded, Macy. Drop the weapons and admit defeat. No one is going to hurt you.”

“I'll admit defeat when I'm dead. How's that?”

“I'm afraid I cannot grant your request. Your death would disrupt my plans for you.”

Her cheeks drained of color, and she lost some of her bravado. “W-what plans?”

Rather than answer her, he tilted his head to the side and regarded her intently, drinking in her sparkling blue eyes with that hint of green and remembering the way she'd moved only a few minutes before. “What planet do you hail from?”