No Holes Barred: A Familiar Face Page 3

  "You said his name is ‘Rattler?’”

  She frowned and leaned up on her elbow, plumping her breasts in a most distracting manner. Perhaps the Phrellians had sent her. Never before had he been so distracted by a woman's form. “You can't not know Rattler. He's the guy you had to go through to use The Lounge."

  "What is this ‘Lounge?’”

  "You know. Pink walls, black floor, vids and music and, well, hell, anything you want if you're tight with Rattler."

  He didn't understand, but wanted to know more. “This man you call Rattler. He has gray skin, the snake marker, and piercings?"

  "Metal rods and balls through his skin."

  "Ah.” Holy signs of reflection, and worth. “And they were black, were they not, these ‘piercings?’”

  She nodded. “But why...?"

  "You, Mallory, are a gift.” Might as well blurt it out. Hell, from what she said, she'd met Ratlaharan face to face. And who was he to question the reasons of his god? “The creature you call ‘Rattler’ is indeed the father of the Talian race."

  "Well, he does look like you.” She stared at him, and he wondered if she realized how precious were their differences. Despite the hoards of females coupling in the nest, none had her strength, her inner well of purity that he could feel just by looking at her.

  "I don't think you understand. Ratlaharan is the being to whom we pray, the deity to whom we sacrifice."

  "Deity?” She laughed, long and hard. “I'm sorry. It's just that the thought of Rattler as a god is too funny for words. I mean.... “Her mirth slowly faded, and he could almost read her thoughts. “You've never been to The Lounge?"

  He shook his head, waiting.

  "And you've never met Rattler?"

  "Not personally, but spiritually, I believe, yes."

  She blinked at him and fell back on the bed, crossing her forearm over her eyes. “This cannot be happening. Frank the rat, MacNafee, a double shift.... And to cap it off with the best sex of my life with Rattler's twin? No way."

  "His twin?” Core couldn't help preening at the off-hand compliment, not to mention ‘best sex of my life'.

  "Look, I'm in a crisis here,” she barked, and he grinned openly. A woman not only of great beauty, but of fire, as well. While she muttered under her breath, he took his time studying her, his blood heating at the sight of his seed covering her thighs and the delightful gathering of hair over her mound. So succulent. His mouth watered. How would she taste now mixed with him?

  "Core!"

  "Hmm?” He lazily met her gaze, surprised to see her angry. “What's wrong, kina?” Sweetheart. Hell, he really was going soft, just as Fenin had insulted earlier. But what did he expect, having been so long without a fight, or a female?

  "I'm trying to talk to you and you're too busy ogling my ... person ... to pay attention!"

  He laughed, amused at her senseless modesty. “Your person is very pleasing to me, kina. I would know you again,” he murmured, helpless to stop his growing erection. Just the thought that she'd been sent by Ratlaharan made him more than determined to claim her.

  "Yes, well.” She stared at his cock and licked her lips, and he groaned, his body humming with need. Her eyes widened, and she blushed when she made a similar sound. “I think I'd like to ‘know you’ again, too, but right now I need to know where I am, and how I got here."

  He started to reach for her, to offer comfort the best way he knew how, when someone triggered the alarm.

  "Dress yourself, kina. Hurry."

  He hastily threw on his battle dress and boots, pleased when she stood ready, and drew her to his side, placing her hand on his belt. “No matter what we face, you stay behind me at all times. And don't let go. Understand?"

  She nodded, fingering the shiny band around her wrist.

  They left the room and walked quickly, silently, down the quiet corridors of the sleepers’ berth. The fighting must have driven his men above. Clenching his teeth, and suddenly disgusted with himself that he hadn't personally surveyed lockdown before leaving with Mallory, he drew hard on his fury, pleased the anger made him more powerful than he'd been in months.

  "Hold tight,” he growled, aware her fingers gripped the tak hide fiercely. His teeth itched to tear into enemy flesh, and his sight grew clearer as The Snake within him grew strong.

  But for all his battle lust, he wasn't prepared for what soon met his eyes.

  From a dark corner at the top of the stairs, he surveyed the pleasure grounds. The unrestricted area of the nest was covered in Talian blood and entrails. Several Phrellian soldiers effectively wiped a path through his men using crying and helpless Talian females as shields.

  What made the Talians strong caretakers and effective warriors also made them vulnerable to the enemy. Since a Talian male was unable to cause harm to a female of the species, his men were powerless against this onslaught.

  "Why aren't they doing anything?” Mallory whispered, looking around him.

  "We cannot harm the females."

  She stared, wide-eyed, and whispered, “Why not? I mean, you wouldn't want to, sure. But this is war. And if you don't knock them out of the way, those vampy things are going to kill you."

  "Really?” He glared down at her, furious at the truth. “I am truly thankful for your insight."

  "Look, don't blame me for this. I didn't...."

  A loud cry from one of the females caused him to flinch, and he shook as she fell to the ground, a Phrellian hand having pulled her heart through her chest.

  "Oh, that is just enough."

  He agreed, and fought through years of conditioning grilled into him from birth. Like it or not, he would have to push the females aside. And thought it would probably kill him to do so, it would be the only way to keep his remaining warriors alive.

  But before he could move, Mallory skirted around him into the nesting ground.

  "You there, vampire. Freeze!” She pointed her hand at the nearest Phrellian and murmured foreign words. The Phrellian, the Talian female he held, and all the females behind him suddenly froze over, ice forming over their bodies.

  The silence was deafening. He stared at Mallory, amazed. He'd never before seen such power, such skill.

  "How did you do that?” he rasped, immediately standing by her side, ready to provide cover and/or aid.

  "I'm not sure,” she said breathlessly, watching as his men slaughtered the stunned Phrellians suddenly unprotected. “I was just trying to slow that one in the lead, when a surge of power hit me hard.” She swallowed and met his gaze, hers soft and confused. “The power in me felt alien.” She laughed almost hysterically at her words, making little sense. “Like a gray alien, with a big snake on his body."

  "I empowered you?” he asked, amazed. By Ratlaharan's sword, Mallory had defeated the attack with a wave of her hand and a few words. Think what she could do against a fleet of them?

  "Somehow your strength became mine.” She stared at him, bewildered. “This is all so very, very strange. And trust me when I say I know all about weird."

  "What?"

  He tried to pay attention to her, but several Phrellians thought to eradicate the woman who had soundly trounced them.

  "Go ahead.” She waved him toward the enemy. “I dealt with Frank earlier. You can handle these guys."

  Pleased she wouldn't be squeamish about the necessity, he beheaded three of the attackers and skewered the fourth. Still writhing on the tip of his sword, the remaining Phrellian hissed and cursed, raking at Core with his venomous talons. Slicing off one of the Phrellian's offending hands, Core watched with satisfaction as the creature screamed.

  "Why attack here and now? How did you know about this place?"

  The creature refused to answer, and glared hatefully behind Core at Mallory. “Abomination."

  "Agreed. You are that.” Core withdrew his sword from the Phrellian's chest, and watched as the hole in his torso slowly healed. “But you haven't answered my question.” In a move preternaturally
fast, Core bit into the Phrellian's neck, injecting a painful spurt of venom.

  The Phrellian screeched in pain and began to writhe, falling to the ground in a tortured heap.

  "Again, tell me how you knew of this place, and I will make your death quick, easy."

  The Phrellian moaned, clutching his stomach, and began crying tears of black blood. “Traitor in your midst. Came to us,” he said almost soundlessly. He tried to yank off his ears, ripping so hard at one pointed lobe that the flesh began to give. “Please,” he begged, wishing for death.

  Core beheaded this one as easily as the last, but his thoughts drowned in the Phrellian's information. A traitor within the nest? It made no sense. He stared down at the dead Phrellian, wishing for more time to think. But their safety had been compromised, and everyone needed to move.

  He looked around him, noting the silence within the nest, the utter stillness of his men waiting for his commands. “Luar, Fenin, Blite, gather the others. Go to the underground and await me there. And make sure you take all the women, as well. All of them,” he added, looking to the fallen Talian lying in her own blood. He turned back to Mallory. “We have to hurry. There may be more Phrellians outside."

  She nodded and followed him, saying nothing. Core almost wished she'd protest, or beg for answers. It would have put his niggling suspicions to rest. But Mallory didn't argue. Instead, she moved like a warrior, making him think she had battled and fought before. But not as a Phrellian spy, he reminded himself. As a tool of Ratlaharan, the Cuwenicu. She had to be. Nothing else would explain their connection, his ability to physically release into the woman. And she had just saved his men from death and worse at the Phrellians’ hands.

  "Remember, stay...."

  "Behind you, I know,” she said wryly, but he could feel her violent grip on his belt. Her nerves relieved him, and he begged his god's forgiveness for having doubted him—and his gift—at all.

  Core led them out of the main entrance of the nest into the sandy inner region of his world, Horum Veirus, the god's ground. A small Phrellian shuttle, but one larger than the Talians’ best battle cruiser, waited expectantly for the return of its crew just within sight's distance. Using his inner eye, Core noted several Phrellian guards patrolling the surrounding wooded area. He tensed, knowing he couldn't allow the ship the ability to leave and possibly pursue his people. But how to defeat so many? Likely close to a hundred remained onboard.

  "Uh, Core? You're not really thinking about attacking that ship, are you?” Mallory goggled at the craft, then looked up at the moonspun sky and gasped. “Holy shit, there are four moons up there! Where the hell am I?"

  "It doesn't matter right now. We have more important things to worry about.” He couldn't help sounding harsh. Looking for vulnerabilities in the vessel, he wished he'd taken Luar with them. His second in command knew a hell of lot more about space craft than he did.

  "Oh, it matters, big guy. But we'll discuss it later, that and your attitude.” She sniffed and glanced at the ship. “So what do you want to do? Kill all the baddies on board, or disable the craft?"

  He turned to face her, staring at her in shock. “You can do that?"

  She shrugged. “It'll use my most expensive charm, and a hell of a lot of magic, but that's what it's there for. And seeing as how nice you've been to me, and how rude your vamp, sorry, Phrellian enemies are, I'd say killing a few will feel just like icing a few ghouls."

  He didn't understand much of what she said, but he caught her gist well enough. “Will this endanger you?” Funny, but the protective nature his kind felt for their females started kicking in as he stared at Mallory, and he quickly sent up mental guards should the female suddenly develop that unnerving ability to read minds.

  "Nah. If you're here to protect my body, I can astral project my way around the ship to find their gas tank. You take away the fuel, you deaden the ship. But if you'd prefer we kill them all...."

  "I'd like to gut them one by one, but we don't have that kind of time. And if we don't soon incapacitate their ship, they will kill our surviving nest."

  "Right.” She sighed. “This feels just like what I left. Lots of work, little appreciation."

  Her small breath made him smile. “Oh, no, kina. Should this be accomplished, there will be no end to my appreciation. Count on it."

  She blushed prettily and winked at him. “Well then, Core, hold onto your hat. And make sure you don't damage anything vital while watching over me.” She stared knowingly at three approaching Phrellians armed to the teeth with blades. “Because I want an apology and some heavy duty ‘appreciation’ when this is over."

  "Done,” he growled before launching himself at the enemy. Dispatching the three took little time, but the next oncoming squad would prove a challenge. If only he could have spirited Mallory away with the others. But he was War Leader, and had responsibilities. And leaving this woman with anyone but himself he couldn't do.

  His hormones kicked into high gear at the thought of any vile Phrellian attacking this female, and The Snake ascended, his tattoo winding slowly off his body as his true self was made flesh.

  "What the hell?"

  As he systematically destroyed the enemy around him, he only hoped his true self wouldn't distract Mallory too badly. They really needed to disable that ship, and quickly, before the next few squads reached them.

  Chapter Four

  Mallory did her best to ignore the living snake slithering off Core's torso. Large, with black and green tiger stripes and a diamond shaped head with gray-green eyes, the snake looked as alien as the landscape surrounding her. Four moons.

  She shook her head, impressed at Core's ferocity in dealing with his enemy. The Phrellians could easily have passed for vampires at home, save that they all possessed long white hair and had a decidedly pasty, almost sallow complexion as opposed to a vampire's alabaster white skin.

  Watching how casually the Phrellians disposed of life, and that nasty trick of thrusting a hand through that woman's heart, Mal had no problem whatsoever throwing her lot in with the Talians. Though they might turn out to be as vicious as the Phrellians didn't quite leave her mind, especially watching Core trounce over a dozen of his enemy. But the Talians hadn't harmed any women that she'd seen, and Core had been more than tender with her.

  She blushed, amazed the creature wreaking havoc out there with a giant snake at his side was the same man she'd made love to not half an hour ago.

  Hecate's curse, but she wanted him still. Just watching the play of muscles along his back as he hefted his swords, the sheen of color glistening off his skin, the gray now a vibrant off-white mottled with color. His thighs strained under the weight of two Phrellians and she took an unconscious step forward, intending to help.

  "Dammit, woman. Stop ogling my ass and project.” Core grunted and threw his attackers to the ground.

  Ogling his ass. Not quite, but close enough. Geesh, did he have eyes in the back of his head? She glanced quickly at him and blew out a relieved breath to see that he didn't.

  Knowing he was right, that they didn't have all that much time and more enemy were on the way, she took a deep breath and concentrated. Leaving her familiar and her corporeal form behind, she flew through time and space into the Phrellians’ ship.

  Who had suggested to ‘cut the fuel line'? I'm such an idiot. What the hell do I know about alien spaceships? For all Mal knew, the Phrellians used telekinesis to move. And how did she figure to follow the archaic symbols of the Phrellians’ language? Annoyed with her overzealous ego that thought she could do anything, she tried to figure out a way to disable the ship as she hurried through the corridors.

  Several Phrellians causing fear and dismay in those they passed caught her attention. The taller one wore epaulets with large red dots on them. An officer, maybe? At the least, a source of information. She trailed him into what had to be the bridge. Several subdued Phrellians, all male, she noted, hovered over small computer stations. The entire room seemed like s
omething out of Star Track, until she realized the odd touch of plant life in the room was so much more.

  Green and red tendrils, what looked like branches and odd, black star-shaped flowers, moved through and around the technical equipment. Bursts of light seemed to pulse from the vines into the computers, making her realize the Phrellian ship was not only metallic, but organic in nature. Interesting. Now how to use that to make the ship stop?

  She neared one thick vein of the plant and mumbled a small spell. Placing her insubstantial hand through the wide stalk, she felt for the root of the thing. Sudden flashes of light bombarded the equipment around her, and the Phrellians began screeching, glancing all around.

  Obviously the plant sensed an intruder. But thankfully, she remained invisible. Or at least, she thought she had, until a Phrellian wearing black glasses pointed a finger in her direction.

  Shit. Flying through the air out of the bridge and through several corridors and down several shafts, she traced the plant's foundation, thinking that in disabling the plant, she might also disable the ship. But what she saw when she came to the ship's center made her freeze with shock.

  Within a smaller room of glass lay a bed of dark black soil, almost a liquid pool through which shapes blurred and bumped against the glass. In the middle of the mess stood a huge, almost ten-foot wide dark green stalk with branches and tendrils spiraling over the glass and into the main room. The tendrils probably stretched throughout the ship, to more than just the bridge, as she could see the green and red material plastered to the walls and the ceiling all around.

  At the head of the plant sat a flower, a black tulip-shaped bulb. But what struck her most about the flower was the way it shifted and seemed to hiss at the Phrellians perched on a small overhang next to it. To her shock and disgust, the Phrellians were throwing body parts over the top of the plant, and the hissing was in fact a digestive process, as the plant devoured a foot, then a hand and next a head.

  Phrellian or Talian, the creature seemed not to care what it devoured, so long as it was fed.