bed?
Because that’s where Alexa was now, locked in his room, away from all the medical equipment she could use to create a weapon or hurt herself with. He made sure there was nothing in his room she could use—if that’s what she planned now that she’d been found out.
He needed to keep her close until he figured out what he was going to do with her.
Hysterian rested his palms on the wall as the water washed over him. What the fuck am I going to do with her?
The heat comforted him, took some of the pressure away, and he wanted to laugh because it was heat that could kill Alexa. The same fucking heat I crave.
How was it that he’d spent his life fantasizing about a hot-blooded woman, only to fall for the first cold-blooded one he came upon?
He pushed off the wall, denting the metal.
She won’t fucking talk to me. Part of him wanted to wring her pretty little neck for that alone.
After he had Horace drag Pigeon to the brig—because the guy wouldn’t leave—Hysterian sat by Alexa’s side until she woke and was well enough to move on her own. Even if he was the most dangerous being to be around her, the part of him that was human needed her to get better.
He needed it more than his next breath. Hysterian clawed at his skin, scrubbing his secretion off with his nails. He hated it. She nearly died because of him, because he’d let his guard down.
It hadn’t even been his skin that poisoned her; it had been her underwear.
He’d left the pair in his bathroom after he had changed. He left them there after they’d been wrapped around his cock all day. They would’ve been dry by the time she’d showered and found them.
She’d put them on, and whatever poison that had absorbed into them had been enough to penetrate her flesh and fill her with the destructive nanobots within it.
If he hadn’t discovered the poisoned underwear and removed them sooner, she’d be dead right now.
Hysterian slammed his fist into the wall. The metal echoed through the shower unit, paining his head.
He shut off the water and stepped out of the unit. He dried, dressed quickly, and was outside his quarters moments later.
Alexa was lying asleep on the sofa when he walked in.
He was about to grab a blanket before he stopped himself. She’s a fucking Trentian. She won’t want a blanket. Blankets would just heat her up. The room was frigid for a human, but for her, she looked more comfortable than she had been the entire time she’d been on his ship.
His hands fisted.
She looked so innocent sleeping. She hadn’t looked like a Trentian at first after he’d found out. But then again, she was only a third. Whether it was her father or her mother who was a half-breed, he wasn’t sure yet.
Raphael hadn’t gotten back to him, and Hysterian was sure as hell not going to be asking another Cyborg for help now.
They’d tell him to eject her from the ship, at worst. At best, they’d want him to hand her over to the government. She did lie to them.
She’d been on Earth.
Trentians—half-breed or pure—weren’t allowed to step foot on the home planet, regardless of how much they had. A crime punishable by life in prison.
And if Nightheart found out Hysterian had a Trentian spy on one of his ships? Working for him? Privy to classified information? Hysterian tensed.
Hysterian hadn’t decided whether he was going to tell his boss about this problem they both faced, but he now thought it would be better if Nightheart didn’t know.
She doesn’t look like a spy…
Hysterian crept to the sofa and kneeled.
He’d verified Alexa’s educational credentials; she hadn’t lied about that. She was at least qualified for the work she was doing. He also knew she had access to information, and to him, more than she should have. And if she was out to steal secrets, or to kill him, why the hell would she sleep with him?
She’d let him strip her naked, leaving her at her most vulnerable, had given him her virginity, and if she’d pretended she hadn’t known about her heritage, he might have believed her.
He’d had her screaming in his bed as he sank deep inside her.
Me. Trentians hated Cyborgs more than Cyborgs hated them. Being programmed to hate was different than full-on, natural hatred. She had to have known before she even applied for the job on his ship that she