Chapter Twenty

Hope hunkered low on the small berth where Kryn had left her, listening to the rumbling sounds of the ship. Vibrations shot through her body; the cruiser's lurching and tilting occasionally caused her to rock slightly where she sat. In general, her unsettled equilibrium led her to believe that they were dropping low over the earth, not going farther out into the stratosphere, as Scott had predicted. Man, she'd do anything to be close to him again, to touch him … to hold him. Locked away as she was, she couldn't be sure what his enemies might be doing.

She'd been given a meal, allowed to take her accompanying insulin shot, and now that her immediate health needs were secured, she could only imagine the worst for Scott. What he'd said about being at the top of these Antousians' kill list haunted her. Leaning back on the narrow bench seat, she pressed her ear against the side of the craft, trying to discern whether they truly were landing—or even where they might be headed, period.

There was just so much Scott didn't know. Like Jake's real identity. And the truth of what had happened in their future—some future— including the fate of their sweet baby girl. Hope stifled a sob, pressing a hand against her eyes, determined to maintain clarity of mind.

Keep it together, girl. Keep it fucking together for him.

If Scott's predictions were true—if these enemies wanted nothing more than to extract a pound of his flesh—then her training and smarts might be his only prayer for survival. She couldn't afford to ruminate on futures that might not come to pass, or baby daughters that they might someday lose. All that mattered was the here, the now, and what she could possibly do to secure Scott's freedom.

The craft dipped, sending her back against the pillows of the berth; they had to be coming in for a landing. As outlandish as such a public exposure might seem, she'd already learned a lot about aliens in the past few weeks: Their craft could come and go at will, never revealing their location to human radar or USAF tracking. These alien transports brought a whole new meaning to the term stealth technology, which served only to fuel her thoughts that nobody—absolutely nobody, human or alien—could find them now that the Antousians had taken them prisoner.

Suddenly the compartment door slid open, making a hissing sound. Hope tensed, alert and waiting for someone to speak. Hard footsteps echoed off of the steel-framed flooring, moving with cold calculation in her direction.

"Who is it?" she called out, folding her arms about herself protectively.

"I'm asking the questions here." The voice was male, harsh and hissing.

"Well, pal, you'd better identify yourself if you want answers," she said, squinting against the dim cabin lights. Without warning, a fist struck her across the jaw, sending her sprawling against the wall.

So much for putting on her tough-gal routine, she thought, giving her head a shake.

Before she could sit up again, a pair of rough hands slipped about her throat. "Listen, human, I can fuck you blind right now. Rape you. Kill you. So you'd better start showing a little respect."

She pulled at the stranger's hands, trying to breathe. "I already am blind, you freak," she squeezed out.

"Good, then you won't mind"—one of his hands slid down the front of her sweater, palming her breast—"if I take whatever I want."

She screamed, trying to bite his hand, but he just slammed her up against the wall, pinning her. For a moment everything within her said she was going to die … or worse. Then, just as suddenly, he released her, and she heard him back away.

"This won't get either of us what we want." His tone had changed, becoming perversely jovial.

"I want off this ship."

"Not to worry, Ms. Harper. That will happen soon enough." He let loose a sneering laugh. "And when that time comes, you'll know exactly why I'm the most feared Antousian among your friend Dillon's pitiful ranks."

Rotating her head sideways, she planted both palms against the wall. She couldn't see much, but the man seemed tall, towering over where she sat. It took everything within her, but she forced herself to appear calm and collected.

"I'm new around here." She rubbed at her jaw. "You have to help me out some. What's your name?"

"'What's your name, sir!'" he corrected in a thundering voice that caused her to shiver.

Did this alien maniac really think she'd call him sir?When silence grew between them, he pounced on her again, twisting her hair in his hand and jerking it hard. "Show respect, human."

"What's your name, sir?" she asked weakly, feeling dizzy and terrified.

"Call me Veckus. That's the only name you need to memorize around here."

"Strip that soldier down," Veckus ordered, glancing between his two captives. He'd brought them to their current warehouse hideout, the one where a number of his grunts had been making base in Montana for the past month. He could have kept them in orbit around Earth indefinitely, but something in Veckus's gut told him that down on the ground would be the best place for interrogating Scott Dillon. Yes, right on Earth was the place to act out the final scenes of this little drama. Oh, it would be fine torture indeed, extracting every detail of the Refarian operation—and he planned to take his time about it. Nothing he'd ever dreamed of could be such enjoyable sport as personally torturing Lieutenant Scott Dillon. He licked his lips, practically feeling himself grow hard with arousal at the prospect.

He perused the scene before him—Scott kneeling at gunpoint, and his companion, Hope Harper, mirroring the same position. The female was a luscious little human, all ripe and full-breasted. Plus, when she'd gotten so feisty with him, it had been more than a rush. Too bad he'd chosen not to rape her. For now, he told himself, just for now.

Then he turned and faced Scott Dillon. So many years he'd been plagued by this one. He shook his head, trying to decide the best and most delicious plan for exacting payback in exchange for every time Dillon had outflanked him— most recently at Warren. Veckus rocked back on his heels, meeting the man's steady, hard gaze; perhaps what made him sickest of all about Dillon was that he was a traitor to his own people. Watching the small blind woman shiver, a faint smile formed on Veckus's lips as a plan began to blossom in his mind.

"Strip that soldier down, Lieutenant," he ordered Dayron again with a flick of his wrist. "All the way down."

Strolling slowly past Dillon, he eyed him. "Get ready for the longest night of your life," he promised, exposing his teeth in a threatening gesture.

Scott glowered at him, never so much as blinking. Veckus knew the soldier wasn't intimidated; from what Veckus had learned about his adversary over the years, nothing ever frightened him.

Dayron wrestled hold of Scott as two of Veckus's other under-lieutenants began jerking off his jacket, shirt, and every last item of his clothing. Ah, yes, Veckus would ensure that Scott Dillon passed a very long night in hell.

Objective: to learn the location of Jared Bennett's main bases from Dillon, using the cold night—and as much torture as possible—to achieve that aim.

Planned result: Veckus would firebomb the Refarians' secret installations, annihilate them, just as he'd done to their Texas facility years ago. In the process, he would quell their intolerable rebellion once and for all.

Dayron shoved Dillon to the hard warehouse floor, sending him sprawling face-first. Veckus studied the man's naked form, saw the battle scars and lines of hardship in the soldier's body. But he would never pity a traitor like this fellow Antousian rebel.

"Sir, what would you like us to do?" Dayron prompted him, planting a boot in the center of Dillon's naked back.

"Our goal is simple—I want to know if Dillon is our future traveler, the one I sensed traversing the time-space continuum." He wouldn't let Dillon in on his plans for learning the facilities locations—not yet. "And if this is not our man, Lieutenant Dayron, then we will learn who we should be pinpointing … perhaps the other rebel Antousian who was there at the mitres. The one who took out two of our soldiers. Either way, Dillon knows the truth, and I intend to extract that knowledge out of him … piece by bodily piece, if need be."

"Very well, sir." Dayron nodded in understanding. "Usual methods?"

Veckus smiled. "I like the idea of the cold as a tool," he hissed. "Let's try that one this time."

No matter what, Veckus had narrowed his search down to just two men. It was either Dillon, right here before him, or the other Antousian they'd pursued on the snowmobile. One of them had traversed time itself, and whether he had to torture Dillon or kill the luscious human woman, he would learn the identity of his future traveler.

Result: Veckus would learn the secrets of time, and would thereby guarantee the defeat of the Refarian resistance once and for all. A most satisfying result indeed.

Chris sat in his rat hole of an office in Jackson, ready to strangle someone—anyone—if he didn't get clear facts as to his sister's position, and soon. This was the office that he normally worked out of, and in all fairness it really wasn't a genuine rat hole—just small, and a one-man shop. The situation at Mirror Lake had reached a crescendo, then fallen flat before he and Blake had even arrived in Jackson. Now he sat in his home office, smelling the lingering perfume of the woman who'd been temporarily manning his desk during his absence.

Blake leaned against one of Chris's top-heavy filing cabinets, doing what he always did best: running scenarios in his head. "So her cell phone fix faded in and out, kept changing. When they dialed it, nothing happened."

"Airborne," Chris told his supervisor dully. In some ways it was unfortunate that the two of them were such close friends; it gave a lot of leeway for Chris to question the agent's analysis about things rather than accept his leadership. On the other hand, given their mutual line of work, there weren't that many guys who understood the way they lived. Or accepted aliens as a natural fact.

Blake opened and closed the top drawer of the file cabinet, not really looking at his surroundings, just absently fumbling with things. "They chased the lead into the park, but then hit a dead end," he explained.

"Because, again, they're fucking airborne!" Chris shouted again. "Geez, people, how hard is this to figure out?"

Blake shot him a look, and Chris mumbled under his breath, shifting weeks' worth of piled-up paperwork atop his desk. "So Denver has nothing on her now? Nothing the fuck at all, huh?"

Blake looked away. "The signal went dead, Harper. They'll keep trying to triangulate her position. Until then, we don't have any leads."

"So what are we even doing here?" Chris kicked back in his chair, cursing Hope for her stubborn streak, her ability to always seek out danger.

Blake shrugged into his suit jacket, giving a brisk nod. "Agent Harper, we get ourselves out to Mirror Lake. We'll comb that site until we come up with something—anything at all—that might provide a lead. I want to get your sister back as much as you do, all right?"

Chris didn't question that fact, although he did seriously doubt that Blake would ever find what he wanted in terms of his sister's affections. What he'd told his parents about her falling in love had been true, even though he'd hedged about that alibi with Blake. He'd known Hope all his life and they shared a connection as twins that most people would never understand. That connection gave him an understanding that defied surface explanation at the moment. But it boiled down to one clear fact: his sister had fallen seriously and unquestionably in love … with an alien.

Scott shivered, huddled naked on the warehouse floor, wondering what Veckus's next move would be. He'd been bound about the neck, hands, and feet—even his waist—with reflexive metal cuffs. It was a type of alloy forged only back on Refaria, a psychic metal that reacted to mental energy. If he wanted to flee, the bonds would cinch about him much tighter. If he sought to rest, the metal would loosen somewhat, but would always anticipate his next move, so there was no hope of ever getting away.

He was manacled, pure and simple, by a living alloy that served as Veckus's most personal henchman, binding and restraining him before Scott could even dream up his next step. Veckus had gleamed with pride as the restraints had been placed upon him, rejoicing in such a base victory. To have Scott this low—naked, freezing, and bound to the highest degree—was what his enemy had spent years anticipating. Now in the dark, unable to detect Hope's whereabouts, Scott felt more frightened than at any other time in his military career.

And it didn't have a damned thing to do with the restraints binding him against the shoddy and cold warehouse wall. No, it all had to do with Hope: with the fact that the woman he loved needed him, but he was held captive by reflexive cuffs that wouldn't allow him to so much as contemplate an escape strategy.

Night had fallen an hour or so ago, the last of the day's light shafting through the broken overhead windows of the abandoned warehouse. Fortunately it wasn't entirely frigid inside the large and vacuous room; he would have died from exposure already were that the case. No, there was some source of heat, just enough for his captors to keep him alive. Just enough that he could hover in and out along the cusp of consciousness, praying that All would intervene in some way that he couldn't quite imagine.

A single chain led from his neck cuff, leashing him closely to the wall. Occasionally he was foolish enough to crawl a few steps outward, working his way along the length of his chain toward the dilapidated room's center. And each time the reflexive metal would respond accordingly, choking the breath from his throat until he collapsed onto his knees, begging the psychic alloy to release him, at least a little bit. And, perfectly reactive, it responded to his entreaties, but only enough to allow him to gasp some much-needed air.

Scott pressed his forehead against the floor, drawing on the last of his remaining internal heat. Any human would have died by now from the exposure, but Veckus had been banking on Scott's hybrid nature. His Antousian self was a natural power inferno, but after being naked for the past several hours, in the extreme cold, even he had few energy reserves left to tap. Sure, he could have shifted into his ethereal self, but the reflexive metal would have held even his core, ghostlike self. There was literally no move, not a single step for him to make; not bound this completely.

Where were his captors, anyway? They'd cleared out hours ago, leaving nothing but the sparseness of the warehouse and the icy cold that kept wrapping itself around his very bones. And Hope? Of course they'd ferried her far away, well beyond his grasp.

"Oh, Hope," he moaned against the cold floor. "Where are you, my love?"

From the darkness beyond there came a stirring, as if in reply to his lament. Gasping, he managed to lift his head. "We can bring her to you," some faceless Antousian promised. "You just have to cooperate."

He shook his head, ready to hurl expletives, but the cuff about his throat choked the words out before he could form them.

"If you'll but watch yourself, Lieutenant, you shall get what you want," the faceless man promised.

"Who … are you?" he rasped, clutching at the band about his throat.

"Someone who can bring her to you." A small light appeared, giving the soldier's face a ghostly, eerie illumination. "You want?"

He bobbed his head, struggling for his voice. "Of … course."

Lights came on, flooding the warehouse, and he saw that he wasn't alone, as he'd imagined, but surrounded by a small cadre of his enemies. The woman he'd heard called Kryn swooped close, snapping her fingers, and Hope was immediately hustled into the room. Her large gray eyes were wide, frightened. He rose up on his haunches, clawing at his bonds, only to find his breath nearly strangled from his lungs.

"Settle down." Kryn narrowed her large brown eyes at him. "You know what we want, and you can get what you seek. But you have to cooperate."

For a moment he swore that Hope stared right at him, even though it had to be his muddled imaginings. Still, very he briefly he swore that, locking her gaze with his own, she shook her head, telling him not to give in.

"I won't …  tell you … a thing," he barely managed to rasp.

"Very well," Kryn said, and the next thing he knew, he was being strung up facing the crumbling warehouse wall.

"What are you doing to him?" Hope shouted.

"Extracting," Kryn volunteered cheerfully.

The hard lash of a whip slapped him across the lower back. He buried his forehead against the wall, bracing for the next blow … and the next.

"Extracting what? His life?" Hope demanded. "How stupid are you people? If you kill him, you'll never get what it is you're after."

Tilting his head sideways, Scott watched Hope arguing. He couldn't hear her words, not really: the sound of the whip cracking across his bare skin, over and over, was too loud. But he'd never loved Hope more. Blind, chin stuck in the air, she was waving and gesturing, totally holding her ground with Kryn.

One last stinging impact of the whip against his skin, and then it seemed to stop. Slowly he slid to the ground, the chain that linked him to the wall practically tangled about him.

"We won't let you die, Lieutenant," Kryn told him softly, almost soothingly. "But you will certainly wish for death before Veckus is through with you."

Scott was passed out on the floor beside her, breathing unevenly, and Hope hadn't been able to do much beyond just listen to the sounds all around her. She certainly couldn't see a freaking thing. After many, many minutes, she finally heard a stirring sound from the other side of the expansive room. The approach of footsteps—softer ones, not hard and heavy—that obviously belonged to a woman.

Maybe Kryn? In the darkness of the warehouse she couldn't make out any details; she was fully blind here. The steps came nearer, then stopped right beside her. A warm hand took hold of her shoulder; then she felt the grip of the manacles on her hands ease up, loosen—but after that slight taste of freedom, the unknown woman never said a word, just walked away. Hope almost called after her, but decided she'd take this latest good fortune as the kindness it was. It had to be Kryn: She was the only woman evident in the Antousians' gathered ranks.

Who was this Kryn Zoltners? Hope wondered. Well, she was obviously Antousian, and perpetually delivered mixed messages; that much was fact. She'd masterminded Scott's recent and terrible beating, but she'd also given Hope access to her medicine. And now, her latest maneuver seemed to make freedom a real possibility for Hope.

She worked at the bindings around her hands until amazingly, she managed to free them, and once she'd gotten her hands loose, it was simple enough to begin untying her feet. This stab at freedom might be nothing more than a setup, but Hope had no time to dwell on that possibility as she bolted to her feet and followed the sound of Scott's shallow breathing. She still had her folded cane in her back pocket, but didn't dare use it to navigate, not with the slight noise it would make.

She took several more steps, listening to Scott's exhalations, and when she knew she was right upon him, dropped to her knees. Immediately her hand met his bare skin, and as she stroked his arm, her fingers met silky hairs and scars. She slipped her palm along his body, stroking his upper thigh, outlining him, just making sure he was solid and real. Shivering all over, he jerked and shook with the tremors; he had to be on the verge of hypothermia. She draped her body atop his, remembering that the best help for someone suffering from exposure was the warmth of another human.

He was chilly to her touch, but still somewhat warmer than she expected—at least, considering how long he'd been naked in this frigid temperature. She put that much down to his alien abilities, but quickly jerked out of her jacket and stripped off her sweater, until she knelt over him in nothing but her bra and blue jeans. Their captors might discover her half-naked any moment, and might choose to work "extraction" on her, but she had to get some heat into Scott's vulnerable body as quickly as possible.

She kept pressing her warmer skin against his, but he didn't wake, not even when she began whispering his name. Perhaps he was unconscious from the brutal beating, or perhaps from hypothermia; either way, she slid her arms beneath his back, wrapping him in her embrace.

Despite her terror, the rough feel of his masculine, chiseled body caused her own to tighten in awareness. For long moments she continued to will her warmth into him, until his tremors grew more subdued. She traced her fingertips over his chest, sweeping upward over his neck, but was stopped. Her hand intersected with hard, freezing metal, a circlet that she could feel was locked snugly around his neck. Alarmingly tight, it held him fast. Pressing her face against his, she whispered, "Scott, wake up."

He didn't stir.

"Scott, you have got to freaking wake up now." Her voice was urgent, and this time he did respond, the horrible tremors in his body growing much more extreme.

"Hope, gods.…" he began, but made a horrible choking sound, slapping at the manacle about his neck.

"What is that thing?" she hissed quietly, leaning atop him again, her much smaller body covering his bigger one.

He felt him shake his head, rasping, and it was obvious the cuff wouldn't allow him to speak.

She began petting his hair, trying to sooth him the best she could. "You have to talk to me, Scott. You're in bad shape, and I need to know what we should do," she told him softly, "or what I should to do to help you. I can't see enough to figure a way out of here on my own."

"Can't," was all he managed to squeeze past his tight throat.

After that he wrapped her in his arms again, running his hands through her hair, kissing her suddenly. The chains that ran from his hands to the wall behind them were cold against her cheeks. Yeah, maybe he couldn't talk, but he sure as hell could still kiss, and he told her everything—everything she'd ever need to know about his feelings for her, about his plans to survive—with that one deep kiss. His lips smoldered against hers; his hands wandered the length of her body, sliding underneath her jeans to clasp her from behind.

All of a sudden, he pulled away. "What? Do you hear something?" she asked, whipping her head around.

He shook his head. "Looser." He gasped, drawing her hand to his neck circlet. "Keep … kissing. It knows … thoughts."

"What knows thoughts?"

"Reflexive … metal. Psychic."

She braced both hands about his head, noting, too, that his tremors had totally died down. With a quick and pointless glance around the dark warehouse, she leaned in closer, putting her mouth against his ear. "Umm, Scott, can I ask a really basic question about your species?"

He nodded, stealing another quick kiss, licking the side of her face with the tip of his tongue.

"When you get aroused, does it … well, does it change your body temperature? Because this kissing and touching seems to be helping you a whole lot."

He gave a low, rumbling groan of pleasure, then whispered, "Yes."

"So this isn't just stupid or foolish, to be making out at a time like this?"

"Hope … you are saving"—he hesitated, making a slight choking sound—"my life."

"They'll be back any minute." She touched his face. "We have to have a plan."

"The metal relaxed while we kissed." He covered her hand and brought it against his cheek. "My bindings are still looser than they were. The metal knows my thoughts psychically, emotionally, and is programmed to act against me."

"Metal knows your thoughts?"

"Not like we … understand. Basic." He groaned, sputtering and coughing. Obviously this reflexive metal didn't like being talked about, either.

"It's programmed for torture," Hope thought aloud, adding, "So maybe kissing falls outside the program? Maybe that's why it loosened up?"

"No context." He clawed again at the metal collar about his neck, and Hope wasted no time whatsoever.

She planted a slow, languid, and heated kiss against his lips. Dragging her mouth across his, she thrust her tongue into the warmth of his mouth without hesitation. Deep and twining, their tongues warred for dominance, sought more of the other. His body was completely naked beneath hers, still too cold and, rising up on her knees, she unsnapped her jeans and stripped out of them. She stood in the dark above him, wondering if he could make out her silhouette from some source of light that she couldn't see.

Slowly she dropped to her knees, whispering, "I'm going to cover your body with mine. Allow you to get more of my body heat."

As she slid atop him, his swollen cock bobbed against her belly. Even cold and imprisoned, Scott had an absolutely unstoppable libido. He lifted his hips against her, begging her to come so much closer.

Scott purred and groaned. Yes, from arousal—tasting Hope this way was beyond nirvana—but also because it seemed the reflexive metal was particularly confounded by his intense pleasure. With every stroke of her tongue against his, with every lift of their hips, the bonds about his wrists and neck and legs grew looser and looser.

Gods in heaven, please don't let them come in now, he thought dazedly, truly losing himself in Hope and the sensual pleasure of the moment. Here he was, in chains and bondage, and she held the keys to his captivity. It was a deeply erotic thought on some perverse level; if only it weren't his present reality.

She still had her panties on, and although he slid his cock between her legs, he couldn't quite get to the position where he was so desperate to be—right up inside of her. With every thrust of his erection, that damp sheen inside her panties only got wetter; the lingerie pulled and gave as he pushed at her opening like some erotic webbing. He wanted to pierce through that membrane and then surge upward inside her lithe body until she shouted his true name: S'Skoutsa! He could practically feel it vibrating through his chest and it drove his desire to an even higher crescendo.

Her hands were in his hair, touching his face, pulling at his neck manacle. She pressed her face against his for a moment, collapsing atop him, and he felt dampness. Oh, sweetheart, he wanted to say. Don't cry for me! This is everything I've ever wanted, being with you like this.

"We'll get free," he dared to whisper against her damp cheek. "Let's make love … let's confuse the hell out of this thing." He tapped at his neck circlet.

Maybe it wasn't the way she'd dreamed they'd finally come together, but if it meant her lover's freedom, hell, she'd take it any way he wanted to deliver it: cold floor, shoddy motel room, wherever. All she wanted was Scott Dillon, for all time.

She'd never known such intense passion or love. Slowly she peeled away her panties, unfastened her bra, and allowed it to fall to the floor until she was, like him, completely nude. When she dropped back down beside him, Scott struggled to sit up. She knelt, facing him, the freezing floor harsh against her bare knees.

He took hold of her face, holding it in his cupped palm, and leaned up to softly kiss her. In a choking whisper he said, "Love you, Hope. Love you."

She couldn't stop touching his face, feeling his features. The darkness killed her—she needed to see him. "I love you so much, Scott. Please know that." She wondered what he must think about her strange loyalty to Jake Tierny. He couldn't possibly understand. "Don't let anything make you doubt."

"What about Jake?" he managed to get out, clearly understanding her meaning.

"He's connected to you. I know it. It's why I'm drawn to him."

He shook his head, adamant. "Enemy."

"No! No, he's a good man. He cares about me—and you. Especially you."

Scott recoiled, shoving her away from him, but she wouldn't be denied, continued to touch him, hold him. "Why," he barked, "him?"

"There's a connection, an important one," she insisted. "But right now we have to focus on getting these bonds loose." She stroked the length of his muscled arms, dropping her voice into a seductive rumble. "And there's only one way it seems we're going to accomplish that."