“Bye for now, Ashlyn. Sleep well. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Her eyes widened as a look of revulsion filled her features. She rushed across the room to check the bed. He wished he could stay and tease her more, but he had work to do. He stepped out and mentally closed and locked the door.
The monsters were calling him. And where the monsters were, so was Flynn.
Merc walked into the crowded square. He’d learned where the mine workers liked to hang out. Shielding himself, he went to that cantina. Flynn’s energetic shield also covered the workers, but in a less stable way. His protection of them only meant their thoughts were fuzzier to mutant infiltration. The more a worker knew about what was happening at the mine, the higher the degree of fog that covered their minds.
Merc had found several that had an intense degree of shielding, but one of them had a weak spot—he hated his work. More than hated, he was terrified of it. That fear was a road Merc could ride into his mind. The ethics of doing that, however, were something he was going to have to clear with Liege.
I found the one, Merc said to Liege. He’d previously explained to his boss his plan to target one of Flynn’s employees, using Flynn’s own technique.
Do it. But remember, you’re strictly an observer. Don’t influence him in any way. No more playing God.
I wasn’t playing God. I simply misdirected my rage.
What you see may be triggering again. Pull out if you need to. If you don’t, I will pull you out.
Copy that, Merc said. He’s in town for a bit. Not sure when he’s heading back to the mines. Until he does, I’m going to practice connecting with him.
Doing this crosses a line, Guerre said.
Merc wasn’t surprised that the healer spoke up. Guerre was often the conscience of the team. And convos like this with Liege were usually open so that the group in Colorado stayed informed.
There are no lines, Guerre. There is only beating the Omnis at their games, Merc replied. Something of critical importance was happening at the mines, given the intense security surrounding it. If it took possessing someone to get inside, he was going to make it happen.
Be aware that some of your mark’s energy may cling to you when you exit him, Guerre said. I’ll clear you if that happens.
18
There was no air conditioning in her little rented room, but the bars on the windows let her leave them open to get the tropical cross-breeze without sacrificing her safety. Unfortunately, the nighttime temps weren’t significantly cooler than the daytime, and the breeze was nearly nonexistent.
Ash lay in her bed, listening to the sounds of the town. Having done little more than catnap on her long trip out, she thought she’d be overtired and unable to sleep, but that wasn’t the case. As soon as she shut her eyes, she didn’t open them again until the sun was high the next morning.
She felt great. It had been a long time since she’d slept so well. No nightmares. No strange visions. No panic or anxiety.
For that alone, she was glad she’d come back.
She smiled as she looked up at the ceiling. She’d had a pleasant visit with Merc yesterday. Surprisingly so. She still held a violent level of lust for him, but it seemed there might be something beyond that. Maybe they could be friends…and that might lead to the way out of this twisted attraction she held for him, a preoccupation that was at the front of every thought. If that—and some great sleeping—was all she got out of this return trip, it was worth it.
She got out of bed and went barefoot to the little kitchenette, searching for coffee-making supplies. Except for a few mismatched dishes, there was no coffee pot and no coffee—ground or not. At this point, she’d settle for chewing on a few roasted beans.
Someone knocked on her door. Was that Merc? Was he back for his shift with the room? Her heart started a rough beat as she hurried to the door.
There was no peephole, so she spoke through the wood. “Who’s there?”
“I have breakfast for you, señorita.” The voice belonged to an adolescent. Not Merc.
“I didn’t order breakfast.”
“It is a gift.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know. I was just told to bring it to you. There is a note, though.”
Ash sighed. All her well-honed experience as a lone traveler told her to turn away strangers with gifts, but something compelled her to open the door. The kid held a small brown bag and a paper cup with a lid. He took off as soon as he’d handed them to her.
She didn’t see a note. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to eat food she hadn’t ordered. But damn, the Perico coffee smelled divine. She set it down and took a peek inside the bag.
Double dammit.
There was a still-warm chocolate croissant with a folded piece of paper. Never in her life had Ash thrown away a fresh chocolate croissant.
This was pure hell.
She took the paper out of the bag and set the treat aside. The handwriting on it was unfamiliar.
Morning. Can’t make breakfast. Do what you came to do, but don’t talk to strangers. Everyone is an enemy.
~Me
P.S. Eat the croissant. I am NOT an enemy.
She smiled. That declaration made her ridiculously happy.
Merc had put the order in for the coffee and croissant last night, with the instructions that it wasn’t to be delivered until he sent for them. He’d wanted Ash to have a good night’s sleep—not only for her own health, but it let him continue the work he was doing looking for a host among the mine workers.
He was already in the room with her when the food arrived, but he kept himself hidden. All mutants transitioned easily into voyeurs after their change. They were wired for reconnaissance—soldiers and sex slaves alike. He felt no guilt spying on Summer’s friend. What he did feel was a burdensome and unfamiliar heat. For ten years, he’d missed his libido. And now it was back with a vengeance.
He didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust any sudden changes in his biochemistry. He’d learned during his transition that such changes brought painful lessons, ones he could never see coming. Maybe it was the Matchmaker’s doing; maybe it was some nefarious game the Omnis had cooked up.
Either way, his hunger for Ashlyn was debilitating. He should have found another room to stay in, somewhere away from her. He could have crashed with anyone without being discovered. This close, it was almost impossible to resist his need for her.
He wanted her to drink the coffee he’d sent and eat the chocolate pastry so he could taste those things from her mouth. He wanted to breathe the scent of her sleep-warmed body. He wanted to see the hunger in her eyes as he fucked her. He wanted…her. All of her.
He understood now how resisting the Matchmaker’s Curse meant the end of the mutant. Seeing his female, knowing her, needing her, caused in the mutant a necrotizing hunger, one that had to be sated else it devoured its host.
She was his hell and his hope, both.
He pushed a thought into her mind: Eat your croissant—it’s still warm.
She pulled the pastry from the little bag. She took a big bite of the thing then moaned, which shot a frisson right to his groin. She closed her eyes and smiled at its delicious texture and flavor. Her tongue swept around the contours of her lips. He’d have thought she’d eat fast, enjoying it as she was. But no, she ate slowly, eyes closed, moaning here and there.