I wasn’t affected as Captain Brooks had been. I was not vulnerable to Hive transmissions, as some were. Hell, I barely had any cyborg parts. The one implant in my left arm so small it had no effect on my body or abilities. But it had been their mark of ownership, their attempt to control me. Enough to earn me banishment here, just like the rest of the castoffs and rejected warriors.
I didn’t have Black Death creeping under my skin or Hive commands buzzing around inside my mind. No, I had a cock stand that could break rocks and a mark that burned for my one true mate. But there was no mate. Lindsey was only in my dreams.
Had the Hive finally broken my mind? All their torture and torment had been designed to force me to impregnate their strange drone females. But Hunter DNA was strong, and seemed to have a knowing all its own. There was no forcing a Hunter to breed. It was, literally, impossible. Stolen seed would die, the progeny never take root in a female womb.
But with Lindsey? Gods, I’d fuck her three times a day to see my seed take root and grow. The urge to fill her with my child was violent and undeniable.
My mate. How the fuck was I dream sharing with a female when there were no unmated women on the entire planet?
I’d gone mad.
“Hunter? You with me?” The Governor’s arms were crossed and his brow furrowed. He tapped his foot in a rare outward sign of annoyance.
Why was I here? Oh, yes. An intruder. “Yes. I’m here.” As much as I could be with the memory of Lindsey’s hot pussy milking me dry still spinning in my mind.
“Find the intruder quickly,” the governor commanded. “Find out what the fuck he’s doing. If he’s an enemy, if he’s working with the traitor, I want him dead by nightfall.”
I nodded to the governor. After all the shit that had been happening on The Colony—death, Hive infiltration, treason—we didn’t need more.
When the traitor had been one of us, he’d had many friends. But now, his name was not spoken, at least not by any who lived and breathed on the Colony. He was simply, the traitor.
I was new here, but I was settling in and considered The Colony my home. I wanted the traitor found as much as the governor and it was my job to find him and mete out justice. I was a Hunter. Vengeance was in my very blood.
If this mystery intruder was going to kill us all, I could hunt him despite my painful need to fuck and a burning mark. That—or whatever was wrong with me—would have to wait. Lindsey would have to wait. Even if I could find her, I would not bring a new mate here under such a threat.
I slapped a hand on the top of the control panel, the sound spurring me into action, the painful strike redirecting my mind off my mark. “Get me the plans for the ventilation tunnels. I’ll find him.”
Chapter Three
Lindsey
I followed the sound of voices, shouting, cheers through the vast network of Base 3’s air shafts. While I’d been given a map showing the spider web path they took, they hadn’t told me the air kicked on every few minutes or that I would be caught up in a hurricane. At first, I’d panicked, thinking I was going to be knocked off my feet and pushed through the tunnel like a tumbleweed across an open prairie. I’d put my hand up on the smooth metal, but there was nothing to grab and hold on to, so I’d dropped to my knees, tucked my head down and waited. It lasted perhaps thirty seconds, then stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
Once it was quiet again, only the lingering roar in my ears remained, I took a few deep breaths, savored the stillness, then continued on. I was supposed to go to the command center first—the heart of the operation within this specific Base—but the consistent blasts of air every few minutes had me wanting out of the super-sized shafts.
Yes, I was hidden in here. Yes, it was an easy way to get out of the storage area unseen. But those were the only positives. If I hadn’t worn my helmet, I would have had no protection for my eyes. The air blew so strongly I wasn’t sure I’d be able to suck in a breath with my face bare. And I could only imagine what my hair would have looked like. I never went in for the whole “windblown look.” I made that mistake exactly once, getting on the back of my high school boyfriend’s motorcycle with my long blond hair flying, whipping behind me like a banner shouting my wild, reckless freedom.
It had been wonderful. Liberating. Exhilarating. I felt like a movie star or a shooting comet. Until we stopped.
Three hours. It had taken my mother three hours, two hair washings and half a bottle of conditioner to untangle the mess and I’d never done it again.
I learned. Eventually. Usually, I learned life’s lessons the hard way—but I did learn.