Intimidator Read online

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her legs gave out and she kneeled on the bath mat, with her forehead on the cool painted timber, and the toothbrush still rattling away.

  “Well,” she mumbled, switching it off with her thumb. “Fun.”

  How decadent. The crotch of her panties felt slippery with her moisture. She very carefully cleaned her toothbrush, glad she hadn’t succumbed and tried to put it inside her. That would be so slutty, so bad, so disgusting. But she had thought it for a second or two.

  At least now she had it out of her system. An orgasm a day keeps the mind from wandering. Damn, it was hot in the bathroom.

  Hot, oh yes. Stom was that by far.

  Already she had ideas. If he’d been here, right now, she’d have jumped him. Alien nutter story or not.

  Embarrassing.

  Think work. She had the firefighter training run in a few days. Tomorrow she’d have a go at jogging over the course. She’d be well enough by then. There weren’t going to be that many chances to get into the next trainee firefighter intake and all this strangeness wasn’t going to stop her.

  Willow fanned herself. Her face was flushed. Maybe she should wait before going out where Ally could see her.

  Maybe she could try the toothbrush again to see if she could do it twice?

  She switched it on, feeling even guiltier, but found a second climax elusive. Apart from sending her clit numb, nothing happened.

  All that day, she tried, using her fingers and her super-throbby vibe, cursing her horniness and even eventually, the absent Stom. She couldn’t, quite, come. So close but no relief arrived.

  The inner certainty that Stom could help her go over the edge became such a draw that it sank in and made a light bulb flicker on. He had done something to her. Bastard.

  How? Not possible.

  “Damn.” While staring up at the darkened ceiling, she wriggled against her fingers. She needed sleep, and she wasn’t getting any – sleep or orgasms.

  “Fuck you, Stom. I will not be dictated to.” So she rolled over, punched her pillow and shut her eyes, determined to ignore the throb in her groin.

  She drifted into sleep, only to dream of sitting atop Stom and slowly sliding down onto his cock. She woke in the middle of that one and lay blearily looking past her forearm at the darkened room, feeling her thoughts assemble.

  How dare the man invade her dreams? She closed her eyes and imagined running Stom over with a stampede of baaing sheep. Willow smiled. That helped. She snuggled deeper into the bed.

  Morning arrived. She awoke and found herself sweaty and so wrapped in tangled sheets that it took a whole minute to free herself. Her damp underwear had left a wet spot on the sheet and her inner thighs slippery. Yet she remembered nothing of the rest of the night. Dreams were such sneaky things.

  Face in hands, Willow sat on the edge of the bed, tired, and still aroused.

  She slumped through breakfast, munching corn flakes, raising a brow at the chatter of the overly cheerful Ally. Afterward she ventured out onto the back concrete step, coffee mug in hand, to sit contemplating the gray curve of the concrete reservoir that overshadowed the rear of the house.

  This had always been a good place to sit and think. Even Ally liked it out here and on a few occasions, they’d climbed the ladder together to the top of the reservoir. They’d lain up there looking at the sky and the wandering clouds. Brilliant times.

  Life had become strange. She’d been meaning to jog today, to keep fit for the firefighter tests, but her brain had kicked back into gear. What the hell had she been thinking? Jogging? Now, when her life was in a mess? Either Stom was an alien, or worse, he was a loony. Either Kasper was after her and aiming to kill her, or he wasn’t, and what had happened was an isolated assault.

  An isolated assault that no one else had seen or remembered? Which wasn’t possible, was it? Where did that leave her?

  The sick feeling in her stomach solidified into a lump. She had to sort this out. Either way, Stom was right. She should be running – either from Kasper or from him, or both.

  Did aliens exist? She pulled her phone from her pocket and began searching. Google wasn’t the be all and end all but it was a beginning.

  Are aliens real, she typed.

  Could anyone sane be thinking about this question? There was an Australian Cynics Organization or ACO. The cynics were into debunking alien and paranormal theories and sightings. Better to talk to someone who had their feet in the real world, surely? A tiny unpolished website led her to an actual phone number, as well as an email and, what the hell, could it hurt?

  Someone answered.

  “Hello?”

  At the other end of the line was a man who sounded about eighty but after some cautious questions she asked him about aliens and how to tell if she met one. He gave her a whole spiel about higher technology and different bodily appearance and the communication difficulties that would be likely.

  “What if they look like us?” she asked.

  After a short silence he said what seemed a key point. “Something will be different. The more you look, the more you would find.” He paused again. “Why do you think this person is an alien? The simplest explanation for anything is often the correct one. If they’ve told you they are one, it’s likely they’re not, but that somehow, that lie helps them. Are they asking for money, personal details? They could be dangerous.”

  Willow swallowed. Her heart was thumping on her ribs. She could feel it in her neck arteries, in her temples. How had he picked up on the fact that she’d met someone she suspected? She must sound such a doofus.

  “He called himself a hunter. He…they, seem to be able to wipe memories.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay. Then how come you remember him?”

  Good point. She slowly lowered the phone to her knee, listening to the distant squawking before pressing end.

  This was impossible to figure, unless Stom gave her some more clues, and he wasn’t here. Maybe he wasn’t coming back? Maybe he was the most insane man she’d ever met.

  Kasper was real, though. Even if she wasn’t on his hit list, she couldn’t tell that for sure, and she definitely should do something positive. Dying was hard to come back from. Kasper might not be a psychopath…then again, he might be. She’d heard bad things.

  But, leaving here, on a whim? The men who attacked her had said nothing about Kasper being after her.

  She put her finger to her mouth and nibbled on the stub of a nail.

  They couldn’t run, not without Ally being far more prepared.

  “So.” She squeezed the phone until the edges hurt her hand then did it again, because it made the headache go away. “I guess I need a gun.”

  Nicolai. Bonus points, he knew people who knew Kasper, and would tell her things if she asked nicely. Probably. Maybe. Gossip might be her savior, even if she dreaded knowing, even if the gossip was bad news.

  She dug her nails into her palm. Wanting the pain. The distraction. “I hate this.”

  Her palm had a row of red crescents.

  She wanted to go back to being anonymous, like she’d been most of her life. If this was Kasper’s doing, rescuing Monique must have been the catalyst. Had the house failed her or had Kasper been reminded of what had happened by someone in the car? She didn’t know the distance the house’s effect worked for, only that it did. Unless…it was wearing off?

  When she first recognized what was happening, she’d wondered if it might be her aunt’s ghost helping them out. If so, would she some day move on and leave them to fend for themselves? And if it was simply the house, why and how?

  Aliens weren’t that far a stretch when your house might be alive.

  The reservoir loomed high above her. By midday it would be radiating heat. You could put your palm on it and be pleasantly warmed on autumn days. You could lean on it and be comforted, like a child cradled by their mother. It was so big, so indestructible, and so solid.

  She’d be sad to leave here, didn’t want to leave
here.

  Like someone stretching out to check their lover was still in bed with them, she placed her hand on the timber of the back porch then heaved in a long breath. This place was in her blood. Most of the years of her life had been lived here. No way was she upping and leaving just ’cause someone told her she should.

  Ally came out wearing one of the light summer dresses she favored, sat beside her on the step and said, “You okay?”

  The clarity and brightness of Ally’s gaze often surprised her.

  “Yes.” She squeezed Ally’s hand. “I’m fine.” Telling her about her weird deductions was out, especially about getting a gun, except maybe, just in case they did have to, she had to be told about the move. “We might have to leave the house, for a while. Go stay somewhere else until things settle down. Is there anywhere you want to…”

  Her gray eyes widened, alarmed. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. She looked away, down at her knees. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “What if we have to?”

  “No.” Though she said it sharp as a nail banging into a wall, her voice shook.

  “It won’t be straight away. I’d have to organize stuff. Ally?”

  “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t!”

  Ignoring her, the girl rose and went back inside, the fly-screen door snapping closed behind her.

  “Fuck.”

  That had gone well.

  Willow took a few deep calming breaths then picked up the phone and found Nicolai’s number. She was pretty sure she recalled his code for buying off him. He wasn’t a man for exchanging long messages on text. A minute later, she had a place to meet and a date to collect the gun. Tomorrow, six am. Two hundred dollars, cash, and that was at a big discount from memory.

  The old piggy bank, her purse, the change in the car, and the coins she scrounged from around the house brought her up to being only three dollars short. Going out, weaponless, to visit the ATM made her feel queasy. This would do. It would have to, though they wouldn’t be eating much even if she braved the ATM. Not with her not working.

  For all her attitude, she was scared. Stom had planted a seed of disturbance. Being beaten while held against a wall by two thugs had a part in that too. Fucking scary. She’d need to be ice woman for that to not bother her.

  She piled all the money on the quilt of her bed, spread the coins around. “If I spend this on a gun…” And if it turned out Kasper didn’t want to skin her alive after all… Skin her alive, shit, that was a scary thought. Yeah, spend all this and not need the gun? She added in a deadly quiet whisper, “I’d almost be disappointed.”

  The throb in her groin took her by surprise. Heat. Wetness. Visions of Stom over her, lowering himself, impaling her on his cock.

  What. The. Fuck?

  She buried her face in her hands but the animalistic need stayed, banging away at her, swelling outward and making all her sexual bits, and then some, drum at her hotly.

  Shit. She hurried out and found the lighter in the kitchen drawer then went and sat on the porch again, spent a moment with her fingers pushing onto her pussy through her shorts. Her tight grasp on the lighter dug its plastic edges into her other hand. Such potential there, to defeat this bodily need.

  Stom.

  Willow groaned softly. This wasn’t going away. She didn’t need this shit. This ridiculous want, this lust for a man she barely knew.

  But she’d not done this for years. The melted scar on her forearm reminded her of why she did this, and yet also, why she mustn’t.

  She flicked on the lighter. The heat seemed to radiate outward to her eyes…dancing.

  Using it beckoned. She hated doing this but the eternal fascination with fire lured her. The sweet flickering yellow and orange.

  She held her hand six inches above the fire, three inches, two.

  Heat. Flame. The smell brought memories back. Bad ones. She needed this pain, deserved it so much.

  A tear blotted onto her forearm then another.

  Nothing beat the pain of fire. Nothing. The little tongue curled and strained upward toward her skin.

  Lust vanished, hissing into the concentrated heat of the lighter flame licking across the palm of her hand.

  Yes.

  Oh yes.

  Forearm tensed, she screwed up her eyes and let it take her. Stopped. Held her hand out. Did it again.

  She deserved this for not saving her parents. Fire had taken them, why not her?

  Her sobs were quiet because she didn’t want to disturb Ally. This was between her and the fire.

  Chapter 7

  Stom slammed the heel of his hand into the base of the glass console. “What is she doing? She’s burning herself? Gods! And she’s getting a weapon? Why isn’t she running like I told her to?”

  He glared at the one active, glowing square in the long, curved bank. That screen showed the view from the surveillance drone he controlled. The thing was the size of a bug and poised above where Willow sat on the back steps.

  Brask barked out a laugh and smiled. “I thought she wasn’t your concern?” The Igrakk Preyfinder was lazily reclining on the long white seat. “Hmm?”

  The off-duty dark shirt and pants he wore were a lie. Stom eyed him sourly. If he hadn’t grown to like the man, he’d have punched him, despite the audience behind them. Curse the Preyfinder system. None of them were ever truly off duty.

  He never had a moment alone to contemplate what was happening…why he wanted so dearly to dive back in and slap some sense into Willow… He glared again at the screen, and at her, where she sat in her shorts, the sun gleaming off her long thighs. Slap her, then, in the dirty earth syntax, fuck her brains out.

  “She’s not my concern. But I gave her an out. If this woman would use it she’d survive for many years before this Aids takes her life.”

  What a waste that would be.

  “I’ve been watching as you have. You know why she’s not running. It’s her friend, Ally.”

  She’d stopped burning her hand, had put away the device with the flame. Now, demons take everyone and chew on their bones, she was only crying quietly.

  This earth woman was slowly killing him.

  He sighed, sat back, and let the tension subside. “Yes. I know. She cares for her and this other one has problems adapting to new situations.”

  He absentmindedly traced the red spiral groove on his left bicep, remembering the first time he’d seen the matching one grow on Nasskia – a smaller, beautiful copy of his mark. Such wonderment had possessed him at the realization that he’d found his bond mate. Then he’d lost her and he’d vowed never to forget her, yet here he was lusting after this earth woman. Terrible.

  What sort of person was he to so easily forget a vow?

  “Even Feya sometimes take pets, Stom,” Brask said gently.

  “I never thought I was so shallow.” He swallowed, unhappy at how he must look, sad, perplexed. The Preyfinder needn’t know his every weakness.

  For a second Brask lowered his head then he looked Stom in the eyes. “You’re a Feya and a man. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Vows are not seeds blown in on the wind, they are rock.”

  “What did you avow?”

  “Never to forget her.” He inhaled, exhaled, thinking back to the time of her death and the destruction of Grearth. “Never to take another mate.”

  An Igrakk’s hand descended on his shoulder and squeezed. Jadd, another of the big Preyfinders and one he knew had found a bond mate among the earth women.

  He squatted beside Stom then gestured at the screen. “I know of your troubles but consider this. Sometimes we don’t find our mates, they are given to us. I see much emotion in how you regard her.”

  “Emotion?” He shook his head, chuckling. “This is a hunt, not a women’s meeting. And calling her my mate? You pervert the word. We are blessed with one true mate in our lives. One! I will not diminish that.”

  Perhaps he’d insulted Jadd. The man was trying to aid h
im. The two Preyfinders stared at him, saying nothing even though it made the silence ever more awkward as the seconds piled up.

  He looked from one to the other. “You think I should go after her? Both of you think that?”

  “I only give you a new fact to consider. It’s up to you what you do.” Jadd unfolded his legs and stood.

  “Go after her?” Brask pulled an ugly face then gave Willow a long examination. “No. I think you should go fuck her.”

  “I see. I’m grateful for your astute advice, Brask.”

  “Of course you are.” He grinned good-naturedly. “You know you want to.”

  “I do not want to go fuck her. I want to go drag her out of the danger area. I want to kill her enemies.”

  “And then?”

  “Nothing. Leave.”

  But he stayed at the post watching her for many more hours, even as night descended, thinking, debating within himself. No one else was allowed to steer the drone, or to physically aid him in this surveillance. He had to sleep sometime. The nano-chem would have matured in her system by now. He could, theoretically, go out there, pretend to chase her, lose her, and leave this planet behind him, until naught was left of his memory of her except a scintillating warp trail disappearing into the black of space. His obligations would be done.

  He could.

  When it was one am, he parked the drone on the roof of her house, and shut it down. Then he turned onto his side on the thinly padded recliner, and forced himself to wind down.

  She had a meeting tomorrow with this gun seller.

  The truth was, he longed to do what Brask advised. He just didn’t understand his desires. Why? Even while concentrating on battle he’d encountered many females, and he’d never desired any of them. Why Willow? Why did he also detest the thought of leaving her to her fate?

  He set his internal wake-up to five am. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was her worried face as she chewed the nails on her pretty fingers. And the burning. He imagined himself cuddling her into his side and soothing her with touches and words. He smiled and the gentle tide of sleep washed over him.

  The lightness of cloth registered on his skin. Someone had covered him with a blanket. A woman spoke, gently resting her hand on his arm. “You’ll find your way, Feya. You will. You remind me of Jadd when he came to me. He and I will be one forever.”