I’ll be sharing the first chapter from Defying Death over the next few weeks.
Here is the first scene
Need twisted Death’s circuits.
He gritted his teeth as he strode along the empty hallways of the freighter. He was a J model cyborg, one of the best of his batch. He could control himself.
Until he reached the ship. Then he’d indulge his desire, his frame-deep yearning for the human female he hadn’t yet met.
Tifara, due to a fluke of genetics, was destined to be his, forever. He would lead his brethren to freedom, fulfilling his duty to his kind, and then he would retrieve her.
She was safe. His female was positioned on a battle station far from any fighting.
The urgency he felt to claim her was illogical.
He’d find release in private. That would relieve the stress on his processors, on his systems, and he’d return to being the cool, collected rational warrior he’d been trained to be.
Death entered the docking bay. There were two small ships in the space. It was almost as devoid of life as the hallways were.
Menace leaned against the ship Death wanted to access. The J model casually polished one of his long guns, his movements slow and sure. His coloring resembled Death’s, his eyes and hair brown, his skin tanned, his model number inked on his cheek. They were both dressed in their black body armor, always ready for battle.
Fighting was what they were designed for. It gave them joy. And now they fought for themselves. They’d escaped the cruel control of the Humanoid Alliance. Their freighter was headed toward the cyborg Homeland.
Death didn’t trust that freedom.
“Why aren’t you in the holding chamber with the others?” His voice rang with command. They’d left Earth Minor two planet rotations ago, dropping off some Tau Cetian orphans. Crash, the warrior representing the cyborg council, had called a meeting to discuss the next steps.
Menace straightened. “There’s no need for my attendance. Mayhem is broadcasting the information to me.”
They openly displayed their friendship. Death thought that foolish. The humans could use that to their advantage, damaging one to damage the other.
But he had more urgent issues to consider at the moment, his yearning for his female and his need for release growing. “The third engine isn’t operating optimally. It requires investigation.”
Menace slung his long gun over his right shoulder. “Others are more skilled at engine repair.”
Death looked around them. “Those others aren’t here.”
“I’ll investigate.” The warrior stalked toward the exit.
Death waited until Menace left the docking bay and then hastened up the ship’s ramp. Cyborgs couldn’t lie. The third engine wasn’t operating optimally. It had been damaged during their escape. The repair required parts they didn’t have. Menace would figure that out and soon return.
Death closed the ship’s doors. He had to find release quickly. He stripped off his body armor, baring his body, leaving on his boots.
The vessel belonged to Safyre, Crash’s female. It was cluttered with personal objects, a concept foreign to cyborgs. Cyborgs were given one set of body armor and their weapons. They had no other material possessions.
Only one of Safyre’s material possessions interested Death. A white scarf once belonging to Tifara twined around a column.
He leaned forward, brushing the tip of his nose against the fabric, and inhaled deeply, sucking her scent into his lungs. The desire sweeping through him hardened his cock and threatened to bring him to his knees.
When he had first discovered the scarf, he visited the ship once every five planet rotations. The planet rotations between visits had reduced to four, three, two, until he had needed to imbibe her scent once and then twice a planet rotation. He was addicted to her, to a female he hadn’t yet met. Death gulped the musk-filled air, opening his mouth to take more of Tifara’s aroma into his body.
He’d seen the images Crash’s female had collected, had replayed them in his processors one thousand, two hundred and seventy-one times. His Tifara was lush and round, with big breasts and even wider hips, perfect for a large cyborg such as himself.
Her hair was long and curly and brown with streaks of red in the strands, like lava flowing through rock. Her brown eyes were often soft with emotion, with caring. When he imagined her looking at him that way, his chest heated.
Cyborgs rarely showed emotion. The Humanoid Alliance, their makers, considered it a malfunction. Warriors were decommissioned if they smiled, sliced into pieces while they remained alive.
Death would protect Tifara’s smile. He’d fight, kill to ensure she could always look at him that way.
She’d reward him with her pink lips, her always-laughing mouth.
Frag. He stroked his hard cock, sliding his hands up and down, up and down his shaft, from his hairless base to his tip. She’d be warm and wet and willing, engulfing him in her delectable scent, surrounding him with her softness.
He’d drive into her, seeking the sanctuary of her form, the bonding, the connection only she could give. Death, conscious of his greater strength, of how fragile and breakable his little human was, would be careful with her, giving her all pleasure and no pain. She’d pant, her gorgeous breasts heaving, her pink lips parted.
He’d thrust harder, deeper. The little medic would call his name, her voice breathy with passion. Death rolled his aching balls, his fingers trembling.
Tifara was his weakness. That both frightened and thrilled him. No one could ever know how valuable she was to him.
That was why the scarf remained wrapped around the pillar. The primitive possessive part of Death roared at him to remove the cloth, to hide it from the other males, from his possible rivals, to not allow anyone else to breathe her scent, to think of her with lust, that emotion now flowing through his circuits.
But taking that action would be a declaration of caring. He’d never put his Tifara at risk. She was everything to him; his sole chance at happiness, at having offspring, love.
Read the next scene (available April 27th) here: http://tasteofcyn.com/2016/04/27/second-scene-from-defying-death/
He’ll risk it all for one moment of happiness.
Cyborgs don’t show emotion. Death learned that lesson early in his long lifespan. To survive, he hides his fierce passions behind a stoic wall. He calls no warrior friend. He never admits to caring for any being.
Even the human female he’s destined to love.
Tifara is Death’s obsession, his sole opportunity for happiness, to express the all-consuming passion burning brightly inside him. He’ll do anything to obtain the curvaceous medic: defy a direct order, abduct Tifara from her battle station, and wage war on his fellow cyborgs.
To earn her love, he’ll have to risk much, much more.