Claiming Cure (Dauntless Cyborgs #3)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Cyra couldn’t look at her cyborg medic. Not without falling apart.

She didn’t have to gaze into his eyes to know what he was feeling. His robotic voice told her his state. He had reverted back to his machine side because his big cyborg heart couldn’t handle the sorrow.

Kritalin lay motionless on the sleeping support. Her pulse under Cyra’s fingertips was very weak.

There was no need to scan the girl.

Kritalin was dying. And there was nothing she could do to stop that.

That frustrated and angered Cyra. But she accepted it.

“Does she need pain suppressors?” Cyra kept her voice soft.

Kritalin’s mother shook her head. “She said earlier she was feeling no pain.” The older female kept her gaze fixed on her daughter’s face. “You’re not here as healers. You’re here as Kritalin’s friends.”

Fates. Tears trickled down Cyra’s cheeks.

“She’s a wonderful friend to us.” She glanced at Cure. His face was a blank mask. “And to everyone at the medic bay. Her visits always brighten our spirits.”

“She loved seeing everyone there wearing her head coverings.” Kritalin’s mother smiled at her daughter. There was pride and so much love in her expression.

“Did she?” Cyra encouraged her to say more.

And Kritalin’s mother did exactly that. She talked and talked and talked, telling them about her daughter, about her hopes and dreams, about how she’d cut holes in her father’s serviceable garments as a child, trying to make the gruff, serious male more fashionable.

The father had died four solar cycles ago. He had worked in the mines for the Humanoid Alliance. His tumors had been numerous and quick growing.

All Cyra could do was ease his pain. And comfort Kritalin and her mother as best as she could.

The current situation felt eerily similar to that planet rotation.

Moments passed.

Cyra sat on the edge of the sleeping support and leaned back against Cure. She needed that physical link with him. It soothed her a little bit, giving her strength for what would soon come.

Her cyborg medic placed one of his hands on her shoulder. He stood straight and tall and unbending behind her.

Every so often, he’d touch his wrist decoration as if assuring himself it was still there.

The two of them listened as Kritalin’s mother poured out her heart, reliving the key moments she’d experienced with her daughter.

There were so many good times, funny times, loving times.

“And she came home from her lessons with the prettiest rocks she could find, fastened to her boots.” Kritalin’s mother’s lips curled upward. “She could barely lift her?—”

“Mom.” Kritalin’s eyes opened.

“I’m here, baby.” Her mother patted her hand.

“Love you.” The girl’s fingers twitched.

“I love you too.” Kritalin’s mother bent over and kissed her forehead. “More than I could ever express. You’re so brave and so strong.”

“Not strong. Not anymore.” Kritalin sighed. “I’m tired, Mom, so very tired.” Her voice was lucid.

That sometimes happened right at the end of a lifespan.

“I know you’re tired, baby.” Tears rolled down her mother’s cheeks. “You can sleep some more. I’ll be here when you wake.”

Cyra covered Cure’s hand on her shoulder with one of hers.

If the girl slept, it was unlikely she’d ever wake.

“Maybe I’ll sleep for a—” Kritalin’s gaze then shifted slightly to the left. “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “He’s here, Mom. Do you see him?”

The girl’s mother looked in that direction also. “I don’t see anyone other than Healer Cyra, Healer Cure, and you, baby.”

Cyra didn’t see who Kritalin was looking at either.

“He’s standing right beside you, Mom.” The girl was insistent. “That’s him. That’s the male from my dreams, the one with the blue eyes I told you about. He’s real and he’s found me.”

Cyra placed one of her palms over her mouth, physically holding back her gasp.

Cure squeezed her shoulder.

“You are?” Kritalin spoke to the male no one else could see. “Mom, he says he’s my mate and I have to go with him.”

Her mother choked back a sob. “Then go with him, baby.”

“Are you sure, Mom?” Kritalin didn’t look away from the spot to her mother’s left. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be okay.” Her mother kissed both of her cheeks. “You go with him. Be with your blue-eyed mate.”

“I’m going with him, Mom.” Kritalin’s smile was dreamy. “Love you.”

She sagged against the cushions.

Her face slackened.

All life left her eyes.

But remnants of her joy, of her peace remained.

“I love you too, baby.” Kritalin’s mother folded her form over her daughter’s. “Your blue-eyed mate will take good care of you.” She wept. “I know he will. Your father will take care of you also. And you’ll feel no pain. You can be happy.”

Cyra cried as silently as she could manage.

She had lost so many patients, so many beings she loved.

As had her cyborg. He hugged her closer to him.

The grief never got easier.

Fates. She wished the dying would end.

* * *

The sun was rising by the time they exited the domicile.

Litph promised to take care of Kritalin’s mother. The female wouldn’t be alone.

Cure scooped Cyra into his arms, plopped their medic packs on her lap, and carried her at a dizzying speed back to the medic bay. Their surroundings blurred.

Which matched the fuzzy state of Cyra’s brain.

When they arrived at the medic bay, there was a long line of patients waiting outside the structure.

“I need to tidy myself first.” Cyra yawned.

“You need to restore your energy levels.” Her cyborg medic conveyed her into the medic bay. “Zorelle, inform the first-shift patients they’ll be tended to by Healer Cure. Alone. If they wish to see Healer Cyra also, they’ll have to wait until second shift.”

“I can see them.” Cyra struggled to keep her eyes open.

“You can’t see them. Not until you’re rested.” Zorelle, that traitor, tucked two beverage containers between the medic packs on Cyra’s lap. “One of those is for you, Healer Cure. I want both of you to finish them.”

The or else was unspoken but Cyra heard it in her friend’s voice.

“The nourishment will be consumed.” Cure sounded as adamant as Zorelle was about that.

“I’m fine,” Cyra protested. “I just have to close my eyes.” She held up her right index finger. “But only for a moment.”

“Uh-huh.” Zorelle expressed her doubt.

“Then close your eyes, my female.” Cure’s voice was soft.

But Cyra heard the challenge in his words.

She’d prove them both wrong. “I’m closing my eyes.” She allowed her eyelids to lower.

And she fell into a dark, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Cyra woke, she was pressed against her very large, very handsome cyborg. They were both naked except for the wrist decorations Kritalin had given them.

“I thought you were seeing the first-shift patients,” she mumbled against his bare chest.

“I saw the first shift patients.” His voice lilted with humor. “And I saw the second-shift patients. It’s now the rest cycle.”

“Fates.” She tilted her head back and stared up at him. “I slept that long?”

“You slept that long.” Her male’s eyes glittered. “Your energy levels were severely depleted.”

Her grief had increased her tiredness. “How did it go?”

“There was excessive giggling.” His lips twitched. “And pain suppressors and tumor-slowing pills were distributed.”

She grinned. “That sounds like it was a success.”

One hundred planet rotations ago, she would have said no Cancri would ever warm to her cyborg medic. His persona through the communication lines had been aloof and arrogant and cold.

But she’d witnessed how he’d progressed over their time together. He had showed more and more of his caring, his humor, his acceptance.

And now, the Cancris embraced him.

Especially the older females. They sparkled around Cure.

“Thank you for tending to our patients.” She pushed him onto his back. Her bigger, stronger male allowed her to do that. “I think we should celebrate your triumph.” She climbed on top of him. “Savor your success.”

She bent over and skimmed her lips over his. He tasted of metal and minerals, the building blocks of life, and she relished his unique flavor.

His growl wet her pussy. He clamped his big hands on her hips, securing her to him, and ravished her mouth. His nanocybotics bubbled inside her. Her lips hummed from the erotic abuse.

She wiggled, rubbing her pussy against his hard shaft, branding him with her scent. The pressure was divine. She wanted him. Now. Always.

The previous planet rotation had emphasized how short and fragile life was.

She was also acutely aware she could be called upon to blow up the Humanoid Alliance weapon and end the lifespans of their leaders at any time. The incident the Rebel Female was orchestrating could be occurring right now.

Cyra would be killed during that mission. Cure had helped her with the fabrication of the bombs. She’d finalized a killing compound. But she couldn’t figure out a way to survive her assignment.

She wouldn’t die before she fucked her cyborg medic one more time, however.

If that was possible. She rose and fell against him, rose and fell against him. That might not be possible.

The highest she could reach was three-quarters of the way up his shaft.

Her legs were too short for her to mount him. She huffed. And he was too large. All over.

Cure gazed up at her. The cursed male’s eyes gleamed with humor.

He knew she couldn’t ravish him the way she was attempting to.

She struggled for a few more moments.

Her frustration and her need built.

“Help.” She swallowed her pride and pleaded. “I need some help, my Cure.”

His cock bobbed against her. She had noticed her male liked it when she called him her Cure.

It was the truth. He was hers. And she was his. They were, using the Cancri word for it, mates.

Her cyborg medic cupped her ass and lifted her. “Issue the orders, my female, and I’ll follow them.”

That response and the power it gave her turned her on.

Cyra looked downward. “Align your cockhead with my pussy hole.” She grasped his forearms to steady herself.

He did as she had commanded.

“Yes, perfect.” Her lips curled upward. “I?—”

He brushed his tip along her intimate lips and she quivered.

“I don’t remember asking you to do that.” Her voice grew husky.

“I projected your next command.” He teased her again with his cock.

She trembled. “That wasn’t my next command.” She licked her lips. “That was…better.”

“There’s nothing better than touching you, my female.” He glided his flesh over hers.

“The way you touch me is too good.” She would come if he continued his teasing. And she wanted to be all around him when she found release. “Lower me upon you, medic.”

“Your medic,” he corrected her.

“My medic.” She smiled at him.

He lowered her. Slowly. His tip stretched her pussy hole open.

Her humor faded, replaced by passion.

She descended more and more.

He filled her completely. There was no experience to match their fucking. She always felt as though she was coming home. Every single time. They fit like they were made for each other.

Her pussy lips flattened against her cyborg’s base. She sat proudly upon him.

Their gazes met. In his eyes, she saw a desire matching hers.

And she saw something more, something she wasn’t ready to name, yet knew in her heart.

She squeezed him with her inner walls.

Energy flashed in his eyes. A rumble rolled up his chest.

She rode those erotic vibrations. Her wanting spiraled higher. “Lift me.”

He did so as slowly as he had lowered her.

Her pussy lips dragged along his shaft. Her body and her mind protested the retreat, the emptiness. She didn’t want to be separated from her male in any way.

He must have felt that same way because he stopped the ascent when she reached his rim.

They maintained their physical connection. The tension ratcheting upward in her form eased, replaced by more wanting.

“Drop me.” She needed faster, harder.

He released her and she fell.

She braced for impact.

Her wet flesh collided with his unyielding physique. A tinge of pain radiated from the point of contact.

Both of them shuddered. She moaned.

“Lift.” She tightened her grip on his forearms.

Her cyborg moved her up his shaft and let go, up his shaft and let go. She issued commands faster and faster.

Her pussy juices splattered her inner thighs. Her arms and legs trembled.

Passion was riding her hard.

As hard as she was riding him. But soon even that wasn’t enough.

“More.” She didn’t know what she was asking for, but she knew Cure could give it to her.

His eyes glinted. He slammed her down on his shaft, impaling her on him.

She gasped.

He did it again. And again. And again.

His grunts preceded her exhalations. The sounds of their fucking echoed in their small private chamber.

The link between them, always present, tightened. She felt him deep in her core, in her heart, in her soul. And that bond added to her need.

“Close.” She was so very close to the edge of fulfillment.

That vortex of pleasure was within reach.

Cure raised her using only one hand. His strength awed her.

And he slid his other hand, palm upward, toward his cock.

Then he released her.

Cyra cupped her breasts as she plummeted. Their forms smacked together.

She pinched her nipples between her index and middle fingers.

Her cyborg medic brushed the heel of his hand over her clit.

The combination pushed her into the abyss. “My Cure.” She screamed his name, squeezing his shaft with her inner walls. Pleasure wrapped around her.

“My Cyra.” Cure’s bellow nearly deafened her. He drove his hips upward, delving deeper inside her. His eyes went dark. Nanocybotic-infused cum shot from his tip.

That heat hit her intimate flesh, and bubbles of bliss exploded all over her. She screamed again, louder, clenched his cock harder.

More of his essence transferred to her. More sensation, more elation swept over her. She gyrated on top of her male as the cycle repeated.

The pleasure was too much, too good.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t.

Then the bombardment eased, her fervor softened, and she could.

The soul-ripping ecstasy became an euphoric haze.

“Fates.” Her voice was hoarse. She folded over him. Her forehead rested on his heaving chest.

“My female.” Her cyborg wrapped his arms around her.

Moments passed.

Cyra savored the strength of their bond, the warmth of his big form, and the glow of his adoration.

Pain and illness and death was all around them, but in their private chamber, when they were pressed against each other, there was joy and caring and intimacy.

They could also chatter freely.

“The deaths gut me. Every time.” She skimmed her fingers over her wrist decoration. “She was so young, so full of hope and love and kindness.” Cyra sighed. “Maybe you were right and I was wrong. Maybe we should put emotional distance between ourselves and our patients.”

That might be easier.

“I was never 100.0000 percent able to put emotional distance between myself and a patient.” Her cyborg shocked her with that confession.

“What?” She propped her chin on his chest and met his gaze.

His eyes had returned to their brilliant blue. “I always…felt.” His lips twisted. “As you say, the deaths gut us. Every time. But that pain, that sorrow makes us better. It pushes us to do all we can to repair our patients.”

She tilted her head as she thought about that. “That’s true. We wouldn’t work the long planet rotations and do everything we could do if we didn’t care, if we didn’t…feel.” She narrowed her eyes at Cure. “But you gave me so many lectures about how emotions have no place in repairing.” She imitated the cold robotic voice he’d used over the communication lines. “You told me to stop treating the impossible-to-save patients and focus on the others.”

If she had done that, she wouldn’t have known Kritalin as well as she had. She wouldn’t have had the girl’s joy and light in her lifespan.

Her cyborg winced. “To survive my time under Humanoid Alliance control, I had to push my emotions to the back of my processors. I made decisions based on my machine, on logic.”

He paused.

She waited. The pain reflecting in his eyes made her want to cry.

“I lost so many brethren, my female.” His voice lowered. “So many.”

She cradled his handsome face between her hands. “You did your best.” She did her best also. “You didn’t save everyone. That’s impossible…for either of us. But you saved some of your brethren. Those beings are alive this planet rotation because of you.”

Her cyborg swallowed hard and nodded.

“And we’ll save more beings in the future.” Cyra would do that with her final act.

She’d end the enemies’ stay on Cancri B.

Permanently.

“We’ll find a repair for the tumors.” Cure had a different plan for saving beings. “And then no more young females will have to die.”

He touched his wrist decoration.

“That would be a good tribute to her.” And it would be a great legacy for Cyra. “Kritalin would like that. Those beings will meet their mates. While living.” The girl had met hers in death. Cyra blinked back tears. “I doubt any of them will have brilliant-blue eyes like you do.” She forced that joke.

“That probability is low.” Cure’s brilliant-blue eyes glowed. “But it’s not zero.”

The probability she’d meet a male like her cyborg less than ninety-five planet rotations before she sacrificed her lifespan to save the planet had been low also.

But it hadn’t been zero.

And for that, Cyra was extremely grateful.

She smiled at Cure.