Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor (english readers TXT) 📗

inside with her and caught hold of her before she could even consider trying to elude him. She staggered drunkenly as he hauled her out of the bathroom. He caught her against his chest and then bent and scooped her into his arms.

“Wha …?” she managed as he added dizziness to her already teetering world when he swiveled around with her and strode purposefully … she didn’t know where he was going. Only that he seemed in a great hurry to get there. “Whas gon …? Where …?”

“To bed.”

Bronte’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head at that. “Bed?”

He settled her on the bunk where she’d treated the others’ injuries earlier. She fought a short round with him over her cloth, but it was a losing battle from the start even if she hadn’t still been too disoriented to be able to defend herself. When he’d taken it from her, though, he rolled her across the bed, dragged the tucked blanket from beneath her, and then rearranged her on the bed and tossed the blanket over her. She caught hold of it with both hands, snatching it up to her nose and peering at him over it. He settled his hands on either side of her, leaning his weight on them as he stared down at her. “You will sleep here when you need to rest.”

Bronte blinked at him, more because her eyes were still stinging from being so abruptly wakened than because she didn’t understand the order. It wasn’t precisely delivered as an order, but his tone didn’t encourage argument. He studied her a moment longer and finally settled a hip on the bed beside her. Grasping the edge of the blanket, he pried it from her fingers and settled it across her shoulders.

“You are in no danger,” he said quietly. “You do not need to hide in the facilities … and, as you see, it would make no difference if any one of us wished to go after you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Bronte demanded shakily.

He tilted his head at her. “Yes.”

“Well, it doesn’t!” she said forthrightly.

He frowned faintly. “What would make you feel better?”

“Going home.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Finally, his lips curled up in amusement. “Besides that.”

Bronte thought it over. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Nothing.”

She frowned at him. “Then why did you take me?”

“Orders.”

“Orders? Like … military, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Bronte studied him with some irritation. “Can you, maybe, string a few words together so that we could exchange information a little more efficiently?”

This time his lips merely twitched, but she could see a distinct gleam of amusement in his eyes. “I will try.”

“Do you have a name?”

One corner of his mouth tipped up this time. “Yes.”

She waited for a long moment. When he said nothing else, she let out an irritated huff and turned on her side, presenting him with her back. She felt the bed shift as he rose. A moment later, she felt warmth as he leaned over her. “Gideon,” he said in little more than a whisper near her ear.

She whirled her head to see what he was up to as she felt him lean over her. She met him almost nose to nose as spoke next to her ear. For several heartbeats, they merely stared at one another. He seemed as disconcerted as she was, but he made no attempt to draw back. Instead, his gaze wandered over her face. Finally, he straightened. “You do not need to be afraid, Bronte. No harm is intended toward you, and none will come to you … not at our hands.”

Bronte sent him a scared look. “Whose?”

He shook his head. “I can not speak for your own people. Only mine.”

She thought that over. “You’re talking about the militia trying to blow up the ship?”

“It is unlikely we will run afoul of more this far out, but, yes. If they spot us they will try to blow us up.”

He’d nearly reached the door before she thought of another question. “Where are we going?”

“The Cyborg Nation.”

Bronte sat up in the bed and stared at him in horror. Nation? “Why are you taking me there?”

He tilted his head curiously. “That should be obvious—to attend our young.”

Bronte was certain that she was thoroughly awake by the time Gideon left, but, although her mind was busy going back over what he had told her for a good while after his departure, she drifted to sleep again eventually. She had just reached deep sleep when she was jostled awake first by the feel of two arms shoved beneath her and then, when she’d been deposited nearer the bulkhead, the coldness of the sheets above and below her. Shivering, she tried to move back to the spot she’d already warmed. Even as she rolled toward it however, the outside of the bed dipped. The dipping gave her roll more momentum than she’d calculated on. Instead of landing on the floor, however, she came up against something as big and solid as the wall … except a lot warmer.

Disoriented, she sat up and looked around groggily. The man who’d just climbed into bed beside her pushed her down on the pillows again. “Go back to sleep.”

“Ok,” Bronte mumbled and rolled onto her side, planting her butt next to the warmth in the bed. The little space left for her, however, was the patch of ice next to the wall, for he took up most of the bunk.

He stiffened when she wiggled her ass up next to his warmth, but after a moment he rolled onto his side facing her. “You are cold?”

Bronte nodded instead of answering, but he apparently took that as a yes. Shifting closer, he draped an arm over her waist and dragged her toward him until she was nestled snugly against him. His warmth immediately began to filter through her entire back. Dimly, she realized she shouldn’t be snuggling so cozily, but she was cold and he was warm and that was