Chapter 50

The shadow that fell over them had been silent, unexpected. Marilyn screamed, crossed her arms uselessly over her chest. One shot, two, and she’d been drenched in the blood of her househus. A demon of a man stood before her, gun in hand, knife in the other.

“I know who you are,” he said. “No one’s gonna wake up. Not now. Not ever.”

Grief and loss drowned out her fear. She just shook her head, laid down quietly on the floor, the wetness of blood a mere nothing. She took Danny-Allen’s hand, gripped the motionless fingers, still warm, and looked into his dead and staring eyes. What happened after, was nothing. Nothing mattered, not now.

Su’ama shuddered away from that memory. She’d experienced it all, the horror and hollow of Marilyn’s heart. Pain, which she was decidedly unaccustomed to. She was a Flipper. She lived her small, so-important life here in the University, where they were going to solve the mystery of the past; they were going to save the human race.

She got out of the Expedient, headed to her small dormitory where she would rest and recover for a few days before she would be sent back again, searching. They would find it.

She passed another of her fellows; that was unusual. They didn’t often wake at the same time. There were only a double dozen Flippers, and situated all through the timeline, looking, searching, seeking.

The man looked up from his beaker of water and smiled at her.

The smile chilled her, all the way down to her bare feet against the ceramic floor tiles.

“Not now,” he said to her. “Not ever.”Surrender by Lynn Townsend

Mistress Masque removed the green and brown leather demi-mask, signaling that the evening’s play was at an end. Red marks on her face mapped the territory where the disguise had lain, pressed tight against her flesh. She sighed, rubbing absently at her temples.

Bradley lifted his head and rocked back on his heels, a graceful movement, much practiced. He didn’t speak. Technically, she was no longer his mistress, only his friend and co-worker, but it was better to be safe than sorry. She would dismiss him soon enough—and too soon—and then he could ask questions, talk to her, and figure out just what the hell was wrong. And get his street clothes. Having a mistress was all good and well, but sometimes the outfits she put him in, meant to highlight all those desirable aspects of him, were a bit chilly.

“You should just go,” she said. Said. Not commanded. Not demanded. Not even suggested. Just said. Her voice was flat, unemotional. Bradley blinked.

“Mistress—”

“I’m not your mistress!” Her temper flared, as hot angry as the red wigs she usually wore over her normal, sensible, business haircut. In her suits, at work, she looked androgynous, even with the gray pencil skirts that showed her shapely legs. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over the elaborate makeup she wore, sending green glittery smears down her cheeks.

“Of course you are, mistress.” Bradly was openly shocked. Never had his mistress revealed any sort of vulnerability. He could not have been more unnerved if the sofa where she sat had stood up and walked away.

“Oh, knock it off,” she said. She blotted the tears from her face, leaving her makeup in tatters. A twist of emotion—lust, longing, wonder, desire—surged through Bradly’s chest, a lightning bolt of agony. “You know as well as I do that sheset her eyes on you, and you’ll go. Submissives always go to her. You all flock to her. I can’t compete. The best I can do now is turn you loose on my own, so she doesn’t get the satisfaction of taking you from me.”

“Mistress, I would never leave you.” Bradly flushed, his face burning with sudden shame. They’d gone to a party that evening; he’d done everything correctly. He would have sworn to it. He was proud to have her collar ‘round his neck, he’d done everything he could think of to worship and adore her before the other Doms. It wasn’t easy, either. It was a lifestyle for her, not just a whim, not something to do on weekends, and he was still new. She’d only started training him half a year before.

“Mistress, I don’t know who you’re referring to.” Had he smiled at someone? He couldn’t recall. He’d very little notion what to expect from the other Doms, nor what they would expect from him. He’d had a raging erection the entire party. How could he not, with so many women, so many men; whips, crops and belts had been much in evidence and they excited him even more than the near-naked women, or the completely naked men on whom they were wielded.