The boos were stronger. A few people shouted Copeland’s name, adding colorful language to it. Fucking asshole seemed to be the favored description.

  “How good of friends were they? When Copeland desired the wife Bryant and the Church kept secret…because, you know, a dozen wives weren’t enough for his holiness…Bryant divorced her and gave her up to him.”

  A swell of shocked disapproval rolled over the rally goers. Kuran wondered if he’d been right to share the information he’d uncovered on Bryant for Stacy’s political purposes.

  She said nothing about how young Bryant’s wife had been. Anyone who knew of Browning Copeland was aware of his predilection for teenage girls. Realization of what Stacy alleged was evident in the shouts against Bryant.

  Kuran checked on Adams again and noted his replacement was staring at the audience to the Nobek’s left. He spoke into his com. Kuran followed his gaze and noted a knot of half a dozen human males he judged to be in their twenties and thirties. They didn’t appear to be listening to Stacy’s speech, except to glance over their shoulders toward the stage as they huddled facing each other.

  Kuran moved toward them, ignoring those he hurried through despite the awful dragging feeling to reach the suspicious group quickly.

  Chapter Eight

  It turned out Kuran wasn’t needed. Human security, responding to Adams’ orders, surrounded and confronted the group. They had the six men face down on the ground in an instant, waving scanners and running rough hands over their bodies as they searched. Others urged those nearby to retreat to a safe distance.

  “We appear to have a potential situation, so if everyone will make room while the officers guarantee we have nothing to worry about, I’d appreciate it.” Stacy’s voice was calm over the ripple of concerned cries. “Please, go to the exits and assist any small children, disabled, or elderly as needed.”

  Kuran was glad to see a couple of Adams’ men escort her off the stage. The rally director took over, repeating Stacy’s request that the able assist those who required it.

  “Check his coat pocket.” A guard waving a scanner over one of those who’d been detained pointed at a large lump in the subject’s coat, which was heavy for such mild weather.

  Another guard pulled a bunch of taped-together metal tubes from the man’s pocket as someone else waved an identical package in the air. “Got another one.”

  A third guard snorted. “Let me guess…innocent fireworks to celebrate the governor’s campaign?” He commed in. “Chief Adams, we have six subjects in possession of what appear to be explosives; fuse-type, no remote detonators.”

  Kuran remained close as they finished searching and confiscating the crude, but what would have been effective, weapons. Afterward, the officers escorted the would-be terrorists to a shuttle to transport them to be booked and interrogated. He admitted grudging respect for Adams and his all-human team for having done an effective job. Grudging, because it brought Kuran a step closer to relinquishing an open presence on Earth.

  No matter. He’d still be on hand to watch over Stacy. He’d keep her and the law-abiding majority of humans safe for as long as he was needed.

  * * * *

  “Always my hero,” Stacy said when she and Kuran were alone in her office a couple hours after the rally’s abrupt end. She ran her hands over his armored chest. She spoke in a low tone, in case her secretary had returned to his desk outside the closed door.

  “It wasn’t me. Adams saw what was happening, Adams sent the men in, Adams got the would-be bombers to talk.” Kuran was adamant about giving credit where it was due, though she thought she detected a hint of bitterness beneath the praise.

  “That may be, but I want to reward someone for a job well done. The reward I have in mind isn’t something I’d give to Mike Adams, as much as he might deserve it.”

  To make sure Kuran understood the nature of the reward, Stacy pulled open the front seam of her blouse until cleavage peeked at him.

  The Nobek’s eyes gleamed a dangerous light. “I hereby accept this great honor on Chief Adams’ behalf.”

  He buried his face in the dark valley between her mounds and finished parting her blouse. Her breasts, clad in black lace, spilled into his eager palms.

  “Door, lock. Windows, opaque,” she gasped as he pushed her onto her desk. She didn’t have a phase device for the occasion, and no one knew Kuran was present. Damn, I’ll have to be quiet. It would be another hour before her secretary quit for the day.

  “Todd’s out there,” she reminded Kuran, who was stripping her bra off.

  “Mm-hmm.” He sucked hungrily, his slurps obscene.

  “Quiet!” she giggled.

  “I’m not the one talking so much. Wait, let me remedy the situation.”

  A moment later, she was gagged by a strip of cloth he’d torn from the leg of his Earth security uniform. “I have two more of these. I won’t need them much longer, and they won’t fit my human counterpart,” he said. “This seems a fine way to retire this one.”

  When Stacy tried to mutter something, he tore another strip and tied her wrists behind her back, making sure to strip her blouse off first.

  “Do you have anything else to say?” he prodded.

  Stacy did not, especially when he went to work once more on her breasts. After all, her secretary was in the next room. Discretion was best.

  It was difficult to maintain silence when Kuran’s hands were just as busy beneath her skirt as his mouth was on her breasts. Stacy chewed on the fabric between her teeth to keep from crying out as thick fingers sank in her pussy and ass and his calloused thumb rubbed her clit. She was forced to clench her bound hands in a single fist to stay propped upright on the desk. Otherwise, she would have been lying uncomfortably on her arms. It increased her helplessness as Kuran fingerfucked her toward nirvana.

  He nipped her breasts between open-mouthed kisses and sucking, darts of pain joining the swirling tide of excitement. Wet sounds of what he did were a symphony of lust, and Stacy was quickly succumbing. Would he punish her if she came without permission? Usually he told her whether she could, but it hadn’t been mentioned. The friction of his fingers and thumb on her sweet spot and clit was ushering her to the point of no return. She had no defense because his muscled frame wedged her legs open. Her desperate kicks punished only the air.

  He drove her relentlessly, inching her ever closer to surrender. Can I, Kuran? She wanted to shout the question, but the gag and self-preservation wouldn’t allow it. Her cunt clenched a warning, but Kuran ignored it. He fucked and sucked harder.

  Tears ran from the corners of her eyes as a delicious spasm of bliss shot through her. She bit hard into the gag, but small moans escaped. Kuran released the breast he was devouring to gaze at her face as her pussy convulsed around his fingers.

  “Naughty,” he whispered. He pulled free. She knew what was coming, but the orgasm continued.

  He swatted her misbehaving pussy. A gorgeous mixture of pain and rapture announced renewed climax. It continued as he spanked her vulnerable flesh. She writhed violently, fighting with all she had to keep from screaming from the incredible sensations barreling through her.

  She was still coming when Kuran freed his cocks and drove them in her. He made her take him despite how orgasm tightened her rhythmically, bringing a fresh rush of exquisite torment. The determined thuds of his animal rutting sounded loud. Her desperate gasps and whimpers were deafening. The idea of her secretary hearing them, of Todd forcing the door open in a panic and seeing them, set her off yet again.

  Bondage, discipline, forced submission, and the threat of being caught. It was everything she lived for when it came to sex.

  Kuran sighed, and his cocks jerked, flooding her convulsing cunt with his seed. It was the reprieve she both welcomed and regretted. She trembled from head to toe. At moments like these, she wondered how she managed to handle three of them at once. It seemed impossible.

  “Whew. That was a nice start,” he whispered in her ear.

  Start? Her eyes widened.

  He chuckled, low and dangerous in his throat. “You have thirty-five minutes until you knock off from work officially. I bet I’ll be ready for another round in fifteen.” He considered her. Topless, her skirt bundled at her waist, panties gone, legs wedged open. His cocks, buried deep, twitched. “Make it ten. Still plenty of time to tie you on your knees on your chair, ass out to welcome my primary. I bet you come without my permission again. If you do, I’ll make it so you can’t stop screaming once I get you home.”

  Stacy whimpered. Her pussy spasmed. She had no doubt he’d win the bet.

  * * * *

  “What are you playing at, Miss Nelson?”

  Selt scowled as Blythe jumped at the low voice in her news floor cubicle. She spun in her hover chair to confront Cal Mitchell. She blinked.

  The Nobek, phased as usual, checked their surroundings. He was standing in a corner of the cubicle, and he had a good view of the news floor and the various reporters, editors, and secretarial staff filling it. It was close to the end of the workday. He estimated a third of the personnel had already left. It left plenty of witnesses on hand to keep the speaker from posing a real danger, but Selt adopted a defensive posture.

  Why? It isn’t as if he’s threatened her life.

  Selt wasn’t sure why his alarms were going off. Mitchell was well past middle age and soft. Nonetheless, the Nobek’s hackles rose at the sight of the ruddy features attempting to hide his anger behind a smile.

  Stand to face him, Blythe. Show him you aren’t intimidated…it’s the best tactic against his kind.

  Selt was glad to see she felt the same. She stood, all five-feet-one of her, a wisp of a woman. There was caution in her expression, but iron too. Strength radiated, and Selt’s cocks twitched.

  “Speaker Mitchell, you surprised me. I’m sorry, what was it you were asking me?”

  “You gave Nichols information I passed along to you to write about. She used it in her last speech.”

  “Oh, you mean her affairs with Kalquorians before Clan Rihep. I didn’t tell her I knew any of it. To be honest, I was shocked she admitted it to the public.”

  The governor had also spun her affairs favorably. She’d cited the terror and confusion that had led her to seek safety, as so many Earthers had after the original Earth had been bombed into a wasteland. Many recognized her struggle as familiar. Selt knew it because he’d been at the campaign rally, tagging along on Blythe’s heels, especially when the group carrying explosives had been taken down.

  “Honest?” The speaker sneered the word. “Somehow, I doubt it.”

  “The lieutenant governor is perfectly happy with my work. As a matter of fact, I spoke to him an hour ago. We discussed the story I’m filing.”

  “Which is?”

  “The attempt to attack Governor Nichols, the second of such efforts, demonstrates the public’s disaffection for her. My slant on the issue has Mr. Bryant’s approval.”

  “He’s playing softball. I told you to level the big guns on Nichols, and I meant it. She isn’t the only woman who’s forgotten her place. I suggest you fall in line, or maybe your affairs and the year of whoring on Dantovon will make you front page news.”

  Blythe paled, but she stood straighter. Though Mitchell’s voice had risen, threatening to be overheard by those nearby, she refused to check to see if anyone looked their direction.

  She spoke softly, her tone as sweet as poison. “Why did you pay your intern David Grange’s entire university tuition and set his parents up with a generous business grant on Mercy two years ago? He worked for you a mere six weeks. Such a short time to grow so close…though I understand you have an agreement to never contact him again.”

  Mitchell damned near turned purple. His eyes bugged, and Selt hoped he was watching the bastard have a heart attack. He certainly wouldn’t try to save him.

  Mitchell failed to drop dead, to the Nobek’s disappointment. However, he did step back.

  “Watch yourself, missy. You can’t tell spout lies if you can’t speak.” Maybe he intended to grin, but it looked like a snarl. “If you know about Grange, then you’ve probably heard about Simons’ shuttle accident.”

  “The intern you had prior to Grange.” Her eyes rounded.

  “It would’ve looked strange for two in a row, but years have passed. No accidents for a while, so there’s room for another. You remember that.”

  He stormed off. A few curious gazes followed him, then swung to Blythe. She sank in her chair.

  She muttered to herself. Selt had to strain to hear. “You might be fucked, Nelson. New Earth, same old bullshit show.”

  Chapter Nine

  Selt’s blood had run cold at Mitchell’s threat. He didn’t know the particulars of the situations involving the speaker’s past interns Grange and Simons, but he could guess at a good deal of what was alluded to. Particularly the referenced “accident.”

  He checked the time and cursed. Kuran would have left for the day. It could be his superior wouldn’t agree Blythe needed personal around-the-clock surveillance for her safety, especially since she was followed by nanobots. She wasn’t a government official, after all. It might be better to avoid checking in.

  Hoping his Dramok was still on the job, Selt plucked his com from its pouch on his belt.

  Deram answered. “I hope your detail isn’t as boring as mine,” he said by way of greeting. He was phased while patrolling the legislative section of the General Assembly.

  “Not by half.” Selt briefly described the conversation between Blythe and Mitchell.

  “Did Kuran clear extended in-person surveillance?”

  “Kuran’s gone for the day.” Selt omitted he hadn’t checked to verify it. “As his second, I’m assuming responsibility for Matara Blythe’s safety. I’m sorry I won’t be home tonight, my Dramok.”

  It was strange to outrank Deram. The long pause following his declaration told the Nobek it had struck his clan leader too.

  When Deram spoke, there was a chuckle in his tone. “Is there anything you wish me to do before I finish my shift, sir?”

  Blythe was gathering her belongings, readying to leave for the day. Selt noted how her hands trembled.

  “You can pray to the ancestors no one moves against my subject. If they do, they won’t see the light of morning.”

  * * * *

  Kalquor

  Ilid woke gasping. He felt restraints tying him down in the blindingly bright room and fought to break free.

  The sound of fabric ripping brought him halfway from of the nightmare of Dr. Umen standing over him brandishing a laser cutter, readying to open his skull. Falling out of bed woke him the rest of the way.

  Ilid sat up, his back resting against the tall mat, which lay directly on the floor of his room in the psychiatric center. His tank top hung strangely, and he realized it was torn. No doubt he’d ripped it during his frantic attempts to escape in the dream. It wasn’t the first time he’d shredded his sleeveless shirts or loose-fitting pants, the clothing of a patient, since being remanded to the fleet’s psychiatric hospital.

  He scanned the room, the lights left up on full power to dispel shadows while he’d slept. He registered his torn clothing clinging to him like a second skin, thanks to a thick layer of sweat.

  He verified there were no Darks. Then he covered his face with his hands and sobbed as his heart began the process of slowing down.

  Breathe, Ilid. Breathe, my son.

  He couldn’t, unless his fathers were there to guide him. Even under their care, tension remained. His chest always felt tight, constricted because his life consisted of jumping at shadows and putting off sleep to avoid the nightmares.

  Dr. Degorsk would send him home soon, though Ilid would return daily for therapy. It was hoped the familiarity of his parents’ care and distance from the fleet would help him regain some semblance of normalcy. Ilid knew it wouldn’t. Instead, he’d upset his mother and Imdiko father. His tears would shame his Dramok father, and most especially his Nobek father.

  They didn’t deserve to be put through the hell of his broken presence. There was no light visible at the end of the tunnel, only dark…Darks…in view. Over the last few days, Ilid had come to the realization he couldn’t handle putting them or himself through his ceaseless torment.

  He glanced at the small black eye in the corner near the ceiling. No orderlies had shown up to check on him. They were used to his nightmares, used to him sitting and crying afterward, used to his refusals to talk to someone or take the sedatives that would send him back into the hell of what had happened. They’d finally told him if he did want sleep assistance or the night therapist to talk to, to push the red button by his bed and tell the desk nurse. Otherwise, they’d let him settle on his own, as he preferred.

  They probably weren’t watching the monitor by now. It was just Dramok Ilid, having his nightly breakdown. No big deal. They had no reason to be concerned over a man who couldn’t cut ties with his bad dreams.

  He felt under his mat, turning so his thighs hid his search. When Ilid had initially arrived at the psychiatric facility, a Nobek patient who’d sat next to him in the dining room had dropped and broken a cup. The pair had been shooed off by the orderlies despite their willingness to clean the mess up ahead of the maintenance staff. Ilid had been sent to another table, but not before he’d surreptitiously snagged a shard of heavy ceramic shaped somewhat like an arrowhead. He’d kept it hidden from the orderlies until he’d returned to his room.

  He'd secreted it beneath the mat. He’d had no plan to use it. The shard was simply an item of security. Its potential as a weapon gave him a small sense of comfort despite it being useless against the Darks, should they show up to attack him. Any weapon, even worthless, was better than nothing.