Defying Death by Cynthia Sax Page A

passed.
She didn’t speak. That was unusual for his normally talkative
female.
    Death listened to her breathe, gazed at her curls,
the red reminding him of the Erinomean offspring’s scaled skin. He
wouldn’t allow anyone to damage his female.
    “You did nothing wrong,” she mumbled, breaking the
silence. “Those trainers killed her. You didn’t.”
    “I knew the rules. I knew there would be
repercussions.”
    “For you. Not her.”
    Death said nothing. She was right. He didn’t know
they would kill the little female.
    “They killed her because you smiled.” She sighed.
“It’s no wonder you’re so serious.”
    “I’m grim as fuck.” As soon as he said those words,
Death knew he’d made a mistake, which was unlike him. He rarely
made mistakes.
    “You are grim as fuck.” Tifara’s laughter was
tinged with sadness. “As fuck—that is one of my friend’s favorite
expressions. Or rather, it was one of her favorite
expressions,” she amended. “Safyre died on Tau Ceti.”
    Safyre, Crash’s female, hadn’t died on Tau Ceti. She
was alive. That was where Death had picked up that uniquely human
expression.
    But Tifara could never communicate with her friend,
could never meet with her.
    Crash was now Death’s enemy. Any interaction would
result in his capture and death.
    Which was kinder—allowing his female to believe her
friend was dead or relaying that Safyre was alive but she could
never speak to her again?
    “I’ve lost so many beings.” Sadness edged his
female’s words.
    He’d caused her to lose Safyre’s friendship, had
inflicted damage on another being he cared for. Guilt knotted his
stomach.
    “You have, too.” Tifara linked her fingers with his.
“But we both remain here. We have a destiny, Death. There’s a
reason why we’re alive.”
    They had a destiny, one shared fate.
    “You have to believe that,” she insisted.
    Death kissed her forehead. He wanted to believe.
    He truly did.

Chapter Eight
    Tifara was a
medic. She was searching for the cure for a brand new strain of
virus. It wasn’t as contagious as she first thought. Only one being
on the battle station had an elevated temperature—the Commander,
and Death insisted he hadn’t shared the same space with her. The
virus must be transferred only by direct contact, though that was
merely a theory. Her cyborg had killed every human or humanoid he’d
touched.
    She was the sole exception.
    Her waking cycles consisted of the investigations
she loved, disproving theories and chasing genetic clues.
    Yet she lived for her rest cycles.
    That was when Death loosened his tight control over
his emotions, showing her everything, roaring his satisfaction into
the darkness. She always feigned sleep, instinctively knowing he
wouldn’t let go if she were awake.
    This rest cycle would be different.
    She woke, straddling him as she always did. Death’s
fit form pressed against hers, his skin gloriously bare. As was
hers.
    He had stripped her of her garments while she slept.
Before the rest cycle ended, he’d clean her, dress her in her
tidied flight suit and medic jacket, set her on the chair beside
his, and act as though they hadn’t rutted until their voices were
hoarse and their bodies were sore.
    Going forward, she wouldn’t allow that. He’d
acknowledge their bond, embrace his feelings for her. She didn’t
expect to hear the words. She didn’t know if she was ready to say
them to him. But he would show his emotions. Openly.
    She wanted that. She wanted him.
    Heat radiated from her cyborg, heat and that
distinctive scent, a mixture of metal and male. Her clit pulsed to
the beating of her heart. Her body craved the fullness only her
cyborg could give her. Her nipples ached for his palms.
    She rubbed against him, seeking more pressure, more
connection. His hard shaft parted her pussy lips. His cock head
teased her clit, the rim in exactly the right spot. He massaged her
ass with his fingers.
    Her cyborg needed this as much as she