The Legend of Michael — Excerpts

Nevada’s AREA 51 was not only the subject of government conspiracy theories; it was now, officially, her new home. A good hour before sunrise, Cassandra Powell pulled into the military parking lot outside the launch pad leading to the top-secret underground facilities where the launch of the Project Zodius GTECH Super Soldier Program was a year under way. The ride from her new on-base housing had been a whopping three minutes, which considering the inhuman hours the military favored, she could deal with. The simplicity of a standard green army skirt and jacket—required despite her contract status—seemed to be working for her as well. The cardboard bed, not so much. It had, however, made a great desk for her laptop and all-night reading.

And considering she was only three days on the job—taking over for the former head of clinical psychology who’d transferred to another department—she had plenty of work to do. The prior department head hadn’t done one fourth of the studies that Cassandra deemed critical to properly evaluate these soldiers. And while the counseling aspect fell outside her clinical role, she wasn’t pleased with what was being offered. She’d certainly be nudging her way into that territory.

Files in hand, she exited her red Volkswagen Beetle, and pushed the door shut with a flick of her hip. She walked all of two steps when the wind whipped into high gear, fluttering her suit jacket at her hips and tearing to pieces the blonde knot tied at her nape.

She shoved at the loose locks of hair and drew to a shocked halt, blinking in disbelief as four men dressed in black fatigues materialized in a rush of hot August wind at the other side of the long parking lot next to the elevator. She drew a breath and forced it out, trying to calm the thunder of her heart pounding her chest. Apparently she wasn’t quite as prepared for the phenomenon of GTECH Super Soldiers as she’d thought she was. Or at least not this thing her piles of paperwork referred to as “wind-walking.” It was one thing to be inhumanly strong and fast, even to be immune to human disease, but to be able to travel with the wind was downright spooky—and suddenly, so was the dark parking lot as the four men disappeared into the elevator.

Eager to get inside, Cassandra started walking, but made it all of two steps before another man appeared beside the elevator, this time with no wind as warning. Good grief, she hadn’t read about that stealthy little trick yet. Special Forces soldiers were already called lethal weapons, but these men, this one in particular, were taking it to a whole new level.

Still a good distance away from the building, Cassandra slowed her pace, hoping to go unnoticed, but she wasn’t so lucky. The soldier punched the elevator button and then turned and waved her forward. Oh no. No. No. Not ready to meet anyone yet. Not until she had a few of her ducks in a row. Cassandra quickly juggled her files and snagged her cell from her purse as an excuse to decline joining him, holding it up, and waving him off. He hesitated a few moments as the doors opened before he finally stepped inside and disappeared.

Cassandra started walking instantly, determined to get to the darned elevator before another soldier appeared. By the time she was inside, she had her file on wind-walking open—a good distraction from the entire underground, bomb-shelter-style workplace that made her more than a little uneasy.

Absorbed in her reading, head down, Cassandra darted out of the elevator the instant it opened, only to run smack into a rock-hard chest. She gasped, paperwork flew everywhere, and strong hands slid around her arms, steadying her from a fall. It was then that she looked up to find herself staring into the most gorgeous pair of crystal blue eyes she’d ever seen in her life.

She swallowed hard and noticed his long raven hair tied at the back of his neck, rather than the standard buzz cut—a sure indicator he was Special Ops. He could be one of the two hundred GTECH soldiers stationed at the base. A Wind-walker, she thought, still in awe of what she’d seen above ground.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was…” She lost the final word, her mouth dry as she suddenly realized her legs were pressed intimately to his desert fatigues, and her conservative, military-issue skirt had managed to work its way halfway up her thigh. “Oh!”

She quickly took a step backwards, righting her skirt in a flurry of panicked movement. Three days on the job, and already she was putting on a show. She pressed her hand to her forehead. “I know better than to read while walking. I hope I didn’t hurt you.” He arched a dark brow as her gaze swept all six-foot-plus of incredibly hot man, all lethal muscle and mayhem, and knew that was unlikely. She laughed at the ridiculous statement, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. She was five four in her bare feet—well, on her tip toes—and she bet this man towered over her by nearly a foot. “Okay. I didn’t hurt you. But, well, I’m still sorry.”

He stared down at her, his gaze steady, unblinking, the chiseled lines of high cheekbones and a square jaw, expressionless. Except deep in those strikingly blue eyes, she saw a tiny flicker of what she thought was amusement. “I’m not sorry,” he said, bending down to pick up her files.

She blinked at the odd response, tilting her head and then bending down to face him. “What do you mean?” she asked, a lock of her blonde hair falling haphazardly across her brow, free from the clip that was supposed to be holding it in place. “You’re not sorry?”

He gathered the last of her files, then said, “I’m not sorry you ran into me. Have coffee with me.”

It wasn’t a question. In fact, it almost bordered on an order. And damn, if she didn’t like the way he gave that near order. Her heart fluttered at the unexpected invitation. “I don’t know if that is appropriate,” she said, thinking of her new position. She stalled. “I don’t even know your name.”

The elevator behind them dinged open, and Kelly Peterson, assistant director of science and medicine for Project Zodius, appeared. “You’re early, Cassandra,” she said, amusement lifting her tone. “Morning, Michael.” She continued on her way, as if she found nothing significant, or abnormal, about Cassandra being sprawled across the hallway floor with a hot soldier by her side.

Cassandra popped to her feet, appalled she’d made such a spectacle of herself. Her sexy Special Ops soldier followed. “Now you know my name,” he said, and this time, his firm, way-too-tempting mouth hinted at a lift. Not a smile, a lift. God… it was sexy. “Michael Taylor.”

“Cassandra,” she said, unable to say the last name, dreading it more with this man than with the many others she’d been introduced to in the past few days. What was she supposed to say? Hi. I’m the daughter of the man who changed your life forever by injecting you with alien DNA without telling you first, and then claimed it was to save you from an enemy biological threat? Now you’re a GTECH Super Soldier for what we think is the rest of your life, but who knows what that really means long-term for you. But hey, I promise I’m one of the good guys, here to ensure you aren’t used and abused just because you’re a macho, kickass, secret government weapon? And did I mention I’m nothing like my father?

“Cassandra Powell,” he said, handing her the files, leaning close, the warmth of his body blanketing her in sizzling awareness. “I know who you are. And no, that doesn’t scare me away. I never run away from anything I want.” He leaned back, fixing her in another one of those dreamy blue stares. “So how about that coffee?”

She nearly swallowed her tongue at his directness, but, a true general’s daughter, she managed to recover quickly, remembering her duty in a painfully responsible fashion. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He studied her a moment before stepping into the now open elevator doors. “I’ll ask again,” he said as he turned to face her. She found herself lost in those addictive crystal blue eyes—eyes that had promised nothing, but somehow, promised everything—until the steel doors shut between them.

Cassandra inhaled, the scent of him still lingering in the air, and she bit her bottom lip. Too bad she’d sworn off soldiers years ago, because he was one heck of a man. Oh yeah, he was. But she’d seen her mother fret and worry over a man who was gone too often and might never return, right up to the day she’d died two years before, and Cassandra already had her father to worry about. So why was she wondering when he would “ask again”?

Awareness rushed over Cassandra, her skin heating, her senses tingling with lethal warning. Michael. Michael was here. And she didn’t know how she knew—but he was most definitely, angry, possessive, ready to rip Brock apart. And Cassandra was scared, not for herself, but for Brock. She yanked her hand away from him at the same moment that a bosomy waitress appeared at the table to refill their coffee mugs. Cassandra vaguely welcomed a refill, trying to calm her racing pulse, to get a grip on the whirlwind of emotions assailing her. The conflicting parts of her that both reveled in Michael’s silent claim over her and felt angry that he dared flex a role he’d left behind two years ago.

The lieutenant colonel chatted with the waitress who was flirting outrageously with him. Cassandra took the opportunity to escape and pushed to her feet. “I’m going to freshen up before the second wave of press arrives.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She had no idea what Michael might do if she didn’t go to him. The government might not fully understand the lifebond connection, but she did. She knew full well how possessive, how consuming, that bond could be.

With quick steps and a racing heart, Cassandra walked toward the bar and asked for the location of the restroom. Then she walked toward the lobby knowing Michael would follow her, that he would find her. She entered a hallway, stepped toward the women’s restroom. She hesitated before entering, pressed her fist to her chest, and drew a deep breath that did nothing to calm her. She shoved open the door. The instant she entered, Michael was there, stealing the very breath she’d just taken.

The door slammed shut behind her, her back suddenly pressed against the hard surface, his big body fitted over hers, a rough palm rasping over her thigh as he lifted her leg to his hip, and good Lord, settled his cock between her thighs. Heat rushed over her, fire like she had not felt in the two years since his departure, lust that threatened to consume.

“If he touches you, I’ll kill him.”

If you stop touching me, I might die. “You don’t get to decide who touches me, Michael,” she hissed, the desire he provoked downright frightening.

He stared down at her, his long, dark hair wild around his face, passion harshly edged in his dangerously beautiful face. “You are my Lifebond.”

She shivered at the possessiveness of his words, aroused when she should have been outraged. And damn it, she hated how he stole her control, how he could make her melt no matter how much time had passed.

“Don’t call me that,” she proclaimed defiantly, reminding herself of his betrayal, telling herself this was nature at work, not Michael. She was over him. She would not fall for him and be hurt again. A hiss slid from her lips.

“Don’t act as if the mark gives you some claim over me. It doesn’t. Not anymore”

“Ah, but I do,” he said, his eyes alight with anger. “And we both know it.” His free hand ripped open her blazer, his hand sliding beneath, palm branding her side as little silver buttons flew through the air, clattering to the floor. He tilted his head down and rested his cheek against hers. The heat of his chest framed hers, rushing over her like a warm, erotic blanket.

Her hands closed around his arms, muscles flexing beneath her touch. “Michael,” she whispered desperately, a plea to stop, a plea to continue. “You can’t just show up again and…”

His lips brushed her ear. “Your words deny me, but your body does not.” Possessively, a man confident of her body, his hand swept up her side, fingers stroking her breast, teasing her nipple into a stiff peak. She should demand he let her go, but she said nothing for fear she would instead beg him for more.

“I remember how sensitive your nipples are,” he whispered, a strand of his silky raven hair brushing her cheek, and she shivered with the featherlike erotic sensation even as he pressed onward, pressed her further under his spell. “Remember how much you like them licked and sucked.” His warm breath touched her mouth, teasing her with the possibility of a kiss. “I remember everything.”

“I don’t want this,” she whispered.

“Liar,” he purred, nipping her bottom lip with his teeth, but denying her the taste of him she craved. She was lost in that craving, in her need for him—helpless to stop his hand traveling up her thigh and firmly covering her backside.

Cassandra gasped as he shoved aside the thin strip of her thong and ruthlessly sought the proof of her burn for him, stroking the sensitive flesh beneath. “Already you are slick and ready for me.” His fingers slid along her core as little darts of pleasure shot through her body, her hips arching into his of their own accord. Arrogantly, he promised, “I can make you come right here and right now.”

Yes. Please do. She grabbed his shoulders. Told herself to shove him away. She didn’t have the will. She should hate him—she did hate him—yet, she wanted him, desperately wanted him. “Someone is going to find us,” she offered weakly.

“Ask me if I care.” Steel laced that statement; magic laced his fingers. She gave up, let her head fall against the door, let the pleasure roll over her. Allowed those nimble fingers of his to intimately explore, deftly pleasure. Let the waves of passion rush over her, the possibility of discovery set aside. “That’s it, my sweet,” Michael murmured, his lips dragging along her jaw, her neck. His finger slid inside her, caressing her. She was hot, aching with need. Her nipples tightened, her core gushed. The rise of release came on her quickly, embarrassingly so, but she could do nothing to stop it, nothing to hold back. Not with Michael, she could never hold back with Michael.

Cassandra tightened her hold on his shoulders, buried her face in his neck. She felt her core clench at his fingers a moment before she shook with the intensity of her release, waves of pleasure rushing over her, born of years of needing, fantasizing, longing.

When finally she calmed, the heat from her body flooded her cheeks. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t know what to say. Michael eased her leg to the floor, but held her close. His hand slid over her hair, gently, tenderly, reminding her there were two sides to him, reminding her of the lover and the fighter.

She didn’t want to remember. She didn’t want to feel these things. Slowly, she lifted her head, tilted her chin upward to look at him, and defiantly lashed out. “This changes nothing. It proves nothing.”

Torment flickered in his eyes a moment before an arrogant, hard look slid across his face, and his hands pressed on the wall on either side of her. “Word of warning, Cassandra,” he said softly, lethally. “Seeing you again has ignited possessiveness in me like nothing I have ever felt in my life. When you deny wanting me, I have a sudden urge to prove you wrong. So if you wish to leave this restroom, I suggest you stop denying what we both know is true.”

Oh good Lord, why did his words have her nipples aching again? She tried to calm her shallow breathing, to will her heartbeat to slow. She didn’t know how to respond, and thankfully she didn’t have to. He moved from personal to business, if that was possible between them.

“Now onward to that help you’re going to give me with Red Dart.” He reached in his jeans pocket and presented her with a silver flash drive stick. “Go through airport security—point two. Someone will be there to ensure your laptops get switched. Go to the restroom and insert this into Brock’s laptop. You’ll need twelve minutes to get a full hard drive copy. Remove it, and I’ll come for it. There are cameras in your offices, so it has to be done in the airport.”

Her gaze jerked from the flash drive to his face. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t want innocent people to die. And because you want to know who is lying—me or your father?” he said bitingly, the words holding the harsh reality of cold, hard truth. “Otherwise you would have already told your father I came to see you. And we both know you didn’t.”

She didn’t take the stick. “I received the phone, but no phone call. I won’t be used or manipulated, Michael.”

“Caleb has probably been trying to call you all day,” he rebutted, snagging his cell from his belt and punching in a number before handing it to her.

“There were unavoidable circumstances last night, or he would have called,” he said.

She swallowed and took the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Caleb, Cassandra,” came the familiar male voice. “Michael is one of us. He’s always been one of us. I’ll call you later tonight if you want to talk.”

Her eyes connected with Michael’s, a combination of relief and hurt washed over her. “Yes,” she whispered in agreement, ending the call and offering the phone back to Michael.

He grabbed it and her hand. “Cassandra… ” His voice trailed off, as if he wasn’t sure what to say, his hand sliding away from hers. Still watching her with those black eyes—eyes that somehow darkened beyond the blackest of black as he stood there, silent, unmoving, towering above her. The mass of thick, raven hair draped over his broad shoulders only added to the primal charge clinging to his presence.

She didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know what he expected her to say. This man, this GTECH soldier, was her biological Lifebond no matter how much the pain of the past made her want to deny the fact. She longed for him as much as she ached to escape the pain that the longing had created. But a lot had happened. Maybe too much.

“I’ll get the data from the hard drive,” she finally said. “But I’m not handing it over until I look at it first.” She wasn’t allowing Red Dart to be destroyed until she evaluated what was really going on and who had what agenda. “Caleb might trust you, but you are too close to Adam to suit me.”

The door jerked behind her, and in one long, agile step, Michael’s palm flattened on the wooden surface, sealing it shut. He was close again, his body heat radiating around her, his eyes pinning hers in a hard stare. “There isn’t time to explain, but the situation with Adam has become increasingly dangerous.”

“Make time,” she demanded urgently. “What does that mean?”

“Hello!” A woman’s voice sounded from the other side of the door.

“It means I am no longer undercover with Zodius,” he said. “And if I had any other choice but to have you get this data, I would take it. We have to find and destroy Red Dart before it’s too late.”

Her breath lodged in her throat. That meant… oh God. “You said Adam—”

“He’ll never get to you.” He took her hand and closed it around the stick. “I’ll kill him, or anyone, who tries. I’ll be close, Cassandra, watching you.Protecting you. Use the phone we left you if you need me otherwise. I’m programmed in the autodial.” He brushed her cheek with his finger, a shiver racing down her spine with the contact as he said, “And don’t let West touch you. It pisses me off. And I am really good at being pissed off.”

He let go of the door, forcing her to scramble as it started to open. A second later, Michael disappeared, and a little old lady appeared in his wake, scoffing at Cassandra’s obvious disarray. The woman huffed in disgust and marched to the stall.

Cassandra ran her hand down her flared black skirt, thankful the silky material didn’t easily wrinkle. She wasn’t going to crawl around for her buttons; she took off her jacket and marched to the mirror.

The quick inspection proved, indeed, she was a mess, her hair all over the place, a glob of smudged lipstick on her jaw and chin. She looked… Cassandra frowned, heart suddenly racing as her eyes dilated and changed, fading green to black, green to black. Cassandra gasped, trying to control the panic threatening to overtake her. She leaned on the sink as if a closer look would somehow change the reality of what she was seeing. But it didn’t. Her eyes were definitely black now—so black, that against her pale skin, with her blonde hair pulled neatly back at the nape of her neck, they all but consumed her face.

She pressed her hand to her forehead. This couldn’t be happening. She’d managed to get her hands on Ava’s lifebond research after Adam’s takeover, and she knew a blood exchange was necessary for her to be converted to GTECH and fully linked to Michael. Her mind raced with the possibility that the lifebond process had evolved, that Michael might know it, that he might be using their bond to get to Red Dart, to her father.

She grabbed the sink again with both hands, her knees wobbling with the thought. “What have you done to me, Michael?” she whispered.

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