Alexa got her family. Hysterian made sure of it.
He would make sure of it…
In return, he not only won more of her trust, but also her happiness. She smiled more each day. And during the night shift, the morning shift, the evening shift, he relished in her, happy knowing she was here, on his ship and in his arms.
But he hadn’t been able to touch her.
Not in the way he needed to, that they both needed him to. He always wore his nanocloth covering now to protect Alexa when she forgot he was dangerous, when she was so desperate for affection and comfort that she touched him.
For a time, he wondered if she was addicted to him. But she never sought his bare skin, and so he refused to dwell on it.
With each passing moment, Hysterian’s need forheraffection grew. She was the fantasy in his head that played out on loop, but with each play, his hands were upon her body. He would take her mouth and drink her down. He would feast on her flesh, slide his tongue over her curves, and spread her pale thighs.
He would kiss her there, lick her, stretch her with his tongue, and then he would secrete all over the lavatory shower unit, climaxing at the same time as the water burned off his flesh.
Sweetness bloomed from her, scenting the air, and it made him ravenous. Even if it was just in his mind.
It was all he thought about when he wasn’t lavishing her with gifts.
Clothes, jewels, stones, guns, fresh fruits, fresh coffee, and chocolate from every planet. The crew. Even Raul was a gift—one Hysterian hadn’t wanted to give.
But she wanted the one thing he craved as well: his touch, his kiss, untainted by poison. And it was the one thing he couldn’t give. They’d been lucky so far with her recoveries—she’d never gotten a full dose of him, thankfully—but if she ever did, she might not survive the third time.
He was adamant that would never happen, although Cyborgs could still make mistakes.
So as the weeks rolled on, and Earth remained billions of miles away, he’d begun to avoid her for fear that he’d lose her all over again.
Alexa’s smiles wavered when she realized what he was doing.
It had taken a lot longer to get to Earth than he originally planned…
Hysterian clenched his hands as a cybernetic doctor, and his team of coders, peeled off the skin on the back of his neck and plugged him directly into a supercomputer. A computer made specifically for the very task of correcting the hundreds of millions of codes in his systems. For the first time since his creation—as the cryoliquid pooled around him to keep him from overheating—his mind went blank.
The last thing he saw was Alexa the first day he met her.
He awoke three months later.
Disoriented, his systems surging to life, Hysterian slumped forward onto the ground as the liquid drained. He gasped as three months of information poured into him instantaneously. His fingers curled against the metal floor.
Naked, wet, and cold, he immediately thought he was secreting profusely—like he had when he’d awoke the first time, killing one scientist and putting another in a coma—but after a moment, sense returned and he wiped the cryoliquid off his face.
“You’re awake,” a voice he knew all too well said.
“No kidding,” Hysterian spat. “Where’s Alexa?”
Nightheart grabbed his arm and helped him rise. “With the rest of your crew, housed in the EPED suites. How do you feel?”
Hysterian glanced at the doctors, scientists, and even the coders who’d helped build a supercomputer strong enough, fast enough to take on the webs of codes and DNA that made him who he was. Cypher was among them.
Of course he was.
Hysterian looked down at Nightheart’s hand on him.
Hysterian waited for his glands to open, to release poison he didn’t want to be released, but as the seconds passed, nothing happened.
“Hotter,” he demanded.
Nightheart heated his hand.
