James Axler – The Mars Arena

“We could be late getting to Dean,” Krysty protested.

“I know.” She saw the fear in him, then, and knew that no matter what he did, even though it looked as if he were directing the companions on a course that would take them far from his son, Ryan cared deeply about Dean. “But it’s all I can think of to do.”

She kissed him, feeling warmer toward him because of the softness she knew lurked in his savage heart. Ryan Cawdor was a true product of the Deathlands hard, unrelenting and willing to spill any blood that wasn’t his own or that he didn’t want to look out for. But he intended to save Dean.

And that’s all she could expect of him.

“To get to him any sooner without getting captured,” Ryan said, “we’d need a mat-trans.”

“I know.” Krysty started moving on top of him, rubbing her slick sex back and forth across his erection, finally drawing it into herself with her vaginal muscles. She pushed all the insecurity and fear that the visions had seeded within her out of her mind, concentrating on the pleasure she was giving and receiving.

She felt Ryan hard and deep within her, his erection stabbing up into her belly, stretching her tight and making her feel so full. She pressed herself up again into a seated position, her hands shoving against his chest as she lifted her hips and slammed them back onto him, taking him even deeper.

His fingers burned hotly across her bare flesh as he seized her ass and cupped her into him, meeting her stroke for stroke. She let herself go with the pleasure, waves of it cresting inside her, building to something even bigger. She concentrated on the here and now, not thinking about the dangers that still faced them.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Nicholas Brody sat behind his desk, staring across his steepled fingers at Jake. “You’re sure someone was murdered?”

The sec man occupied one of the chairs in front of the desk, his hat in his hands. “Yes, sir. That much blood, had to be someone killed there.”

“And what makes you so certain? That blood you found up in those hills could have been where someone shot an animal, hopeful to provision their larder.”

Jake shook his head. “No.” He opened a fist and displayed several bits of black fabric spotted with rust-colored blood. “That’s from clothing, Mr. Brody. Shotgun pattern killed whoever was up on that ridge and tore bits of cloth from whatever he or she was wearing. We found pellets in the trees.”

Brody glanced out the window at the school grounds. He couldn’t believe something like this had happened. Never in all the years that his institution had been established had something so untoward occurred. “Was it school clothing? From one of the missing boys?”

“Hard to say.”

Brody returned his gaze to the man. Jake had been out searching since that morning’s roster showed the ten missing boys. “Your best guess, then.”

“Sir, with all respect intended, ain’t no way I can tell you that. What I can tell you is thisthe wag tracks on top of that ridgeline are fresh. Still got green plants crushed up in the clods they turned out of the earth. I’m guessing, but mebbe there were as many as six or seven wags.”

“That sounds like more than someone would need to spirit away those boys,” Brody said.

“Yes, sir. I’m thinking so, too. Got a feeling we don’t know the half of it. All them wags, they got themselves a regular convoy.”

“Do you think the boys went with them willingly?” Brody hated asking the question. It made him sound uncertain of himself.

Jake passed over a small object.

Brody took it, examining it carefully, noting its needle-shaped end and the feathers that were obviously there for guidance. “A dart?” He adjusted his glasses, looking toward the sec man for elucidation.

“Trank. Shoot someone with it, knocks them out for a while. Mebbe minutes, mebbe hours, depending on what it’s carrying. Found that one in a tree around the blood site.”

“You’re suggesting the boys were abducted.”

“Yes, sir. Come to find out that Mr. Solomon is missing from the ranks, as well.”