Page 8 of Come Fill Me

“You sound surprised,” Carreon said. “Why?”

Because Carreon was a lying prick, and Zeke didn’t look like the monster he’d warned her about. Not that that was certifiable proof of anything except her own gullibility. After all, she hadn’t seen the devil in Carreon’s handsome face until she’d doomed herself.

Turning from Zeke, she asked, “When did this happen?”

Carreon’s expression remained stony, telling her he wasn’t about to answer.

Fuck that. “Did he come here? Did you send for him, telling him you wanted to negotiate a settlement?” The same lie his men had used to dupe her into saving him. “Did you ambush him, Carreon?”

With his elbows on the arms of his chair, he tented his fingers and gave her a patient smile, as artificial as his loyalty and love. “Did I ambush him?” he repeated. He grew thoughtful as though considering the matter. “I suppose you might say that, though it didn’t happen here.

“My men intercepted—or rather they ambushed him—a short distance from your office.” His expression became sharp and focused. “For the last few hours, he’s been stalking you.”

Liz stared, unable to believe it, not wanting to. However, something inside her wasn’t so certain, causing the room to spin. She curled her fingers around the bedpost to steady herself. Blood continued to drain from her face, a slight chill replacing its previous warmth. “Why?”

Carreon tapped the tips of his fingers against each other as he spoke. “To kill you, Liz, so you wouldn’t be able to heal my men. Surely, you realize how your death would make Neekoma’s life so much easier.” He lifted his shoulders. “We stopped him from that.”

She tried to imagine Zeke tracking her as an animal would, biding his time until he could take her down. She wanted to see evil in him.

His tranquil expression and relaxed pose wouldn’t allow it.

She pictured his large hands and long fingers curled around a woman’s breasts, not her throat. “Why should I believe you?”

Carreon’s fingers stilled. “Heal him,” he ordered then spoke through his teeth, “Now.”

Why? So Zeke would have another chance to execute her or their people? Or so Carreon could torture him into telling everything Zeke knew. What he saw.

In her office, Carreon had claimed Zeke was more valuable to him if alive.

For once, Liz suspected he’d been telling the truth. As the most powerful seer of his clan, wearing its mark on his left biceps, Zeke Neekoma could predict the future. At least some of the time. He certainly hadn’t envisioned Carreon’s ambush or his impending death.

And now, she was supposed to heal him. If that were even possible with one whose alien blood was different from hers.

“It might not work,” she said, restating the obvious.

“It will,” Carreon countered then dropped his hands to his thighs and smiled. “That is, if you want to live a long life and be there for your father. You do want that, don’t you, Liz?”

She dug her thumbnail into the bedpost’s wood, wishing it were his throat.

Carreon’s grin faded. “Why are you stalling? Go on. We’re waiting.”

That they were. While his men’s expressions remained inscrutable, their eyes glittered with interest. The one on the right studied her breasts, the one on the left her cunt. The one in the middle, who’d had her before, took in her full length.

All three sat with their legs parted. Beneath their lightweight pants, Liz saw the meaty bulges behind their flies, the outlines of their erect cocks.

“You can watch from the great room,” she said, tilting her chin to the ceiling, the close-circuit TV camera suspended from it.

“And leave you here unprotected?” Carreon asked. Giving her no chance to comment, he warned, “Don’t make me wait. Begin the ritual now. Start with your hands. If that doesn’t work, then I expect you to strip.”

Heat prickled her cheeks. Not because she was humiliated at having to disrobe in front of these men, but rather worriedthat she wouldn’t be able to heal Zeke even with her entire body pressed to his.

What would happen then? Would Carreon drag her father in here, forcing him at the point of a gun or with a series of blows to do what she’d failed to accomplish?

Desperate to keep her father out of this, Liz went to the foot of the bed and leaned down. Her hair swung forward, the chestnut-colored tresses falling across her cheek, delivering her shampoo’s violet scent. The delicate fragrance didn’t mask Zeke’s soapy-clean smell. Nor did it hide the odor of gunpowder from his wounds. Given that he’d stopped bleeding, none of the bullets had struck major blood vessels. His unique physiology might have also helped, slowing his eventual demise.

Thankfully, someone had cleaned him of blood, bathing his body in preparation for her visit.

From behind, leather squeaked. Carreon or one of his men was leaning up to observe her more closely.

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