Romancing the Raptor

It was the face of someone who had seen more violence than she cared to imagine.

"I'm the one who should apologize, sergeant. It's been a long time since I've had a regular conversation with a man—with anyone, really. The past year has put most of my dealings with men into one of two categories: seducing and killing them, or avoiding them altogether because they barely get past 'hello' and a deep inhale before their dicks take over. Some of them even skip the hello part."

It was Sergeant Thompson's turn to smile.

"Hard to imagine you killing someone," he said, his eyes meeting hers. They were nice eyes—kind eyes.

"Four times in the past year... but they were murderers and they deserved it. I don't just go play shoot 'em up for the hell of it."

"No doubt, ma'am."

"You know, you can use my name. We're going to be working together for thirty to forty-eightish hours... plus the 'ma'am' thing—I really haven't had a good experience with it lately."

"I can do that, Summers."

Chastity nodded in acceptance.

Sergeant Thompson sighed, "I suppose we should get you in your bunk for the night. We've got five people to find in the morning."

"Six people," Chastity corrected him. "Tom is out there somewhere."

***

Chastity was up with the morning sun.

She pulled her bodysuit's zipper down and mumbled as it peeled away from shoulders, back, and then legs. It felt like she had molted a second skin. She dropped it in a small bundle at the foot of her cot.

She had slept in it and her skin felt sticky. Being confined in tight quarters with men she didn't know had her on edge, nasal nerve blocks or not. Looking around the room, she saw something familiar that she didn't bring. It was a plastic storage bin with a pink lid, like the ones she kept at Brinkley's.

But this one wasn't just like them, it was one. She walked over and popped the top off. There was a soft musty smell that drifted out.

Chastity recognized the contents immediately. They were her clothes, at least part of the ones that had been confiscated in Brinkley's house.

She slipped on a pair of cutoff blue jean shorts that rode low on the hip and high on the thigh. It was her favorite pair and she was glad to have the chance to pull them on again. She paired it with a plain jersey tank top that was snugger around her breasts than she remembered.

She walked outside and looked at the golden curve of the rising sun. It was just beginning to show over the peaks of the mountain range far to the east. The brush of its warm rays felt good against Chastity's bare skin. It felt like freedom. For a year, she had hidden herself away, only going out after padlocking her body in layers of antiperspirants and itchy bodysuits that absorbed the mancandy that streamed from her sweat glands. At least here, she had a chance to enjoy

"Looking good, Summers," Sanchez said from his spot leaning against the corner of the closest building. "Sarge is reviewing the overnight data from the drones. He wanted me to bring you this. Said you'd know what to do." He held up a small plastic box. It had the three intertwined circles of the Tauron Pharmaceuticals logo stamped on the cover. It was identical to the box she kept in the drawer beneath the bathroom sink, except this one was bright red instead of black.

"Wonderful," Chastity said dryly.

"What is it?" Sanchez asked.

"You know how they make a medicine that helps block the pheromones that we make?"

"Sure."

"This one does the opposite. For some reason, some schizo pharmacist thought it was a good idea to make an accelerator to ramp up production. An hour or so after I inject this, every man for a mile downwind is going to feel the effect."

"Effect? What's that mean?"

Chastity smiled. "Imagine a sex addict that's gone without for a month."

"Wow. Gotcha."

"Not yet you don't. Take that month and add five years to it. Then you've got it."

"Damn," Sanchez said. "I guess we better reinforce the door on the holding pen. They aren't the biggest bunch I've seen, but get them working as a team and they might pop enough rivets to get out."

"Hey, now that you mention it, I noticed that when I got here. I thought these were super-max prisoners. The ones I saw in the holding cell looked... well, kinda geeky. I expected muscles, gang tattoos, and shank scars. These guys look like they'd be more at home in an office than a prison yard."

"Don't know, Summers. Only report that we got was that they were high-security prisoners and we needed to retrieve as many as possible alive. Has to be something special about them. I figured you might know."

"Clueless. I just know that I'm getting paid enough to be comfy for a long time."

"Got something else for you," Sanchez tossed a canvas sack at Chastity's feet.

"I appreciate the outfit you got on." He eyeballed the meager amount of clothing, eyes lingering a little too long where sweat made fabric cling to curve. "But Sarge would murder me if you got ate or something by one of the things out there."

Chastity looked at the tree line. It hid things that fascinated and scared her at the same time.

"Body armor. It's self-fitting," Sanchez said, nodding at the sack. "Lightweight and strong. Yours was made with extra ventilation."

Sanchez gave a crooked smile that made Chastity worry what extra ventilation really meant.

***

The aluminum door banged against the metal wall as Chastity exploded into the command center.

Sergeant Thompson's eyes shot up from the topographic map on the folding field table and focused on the surprise visitor.

In less than a second a mélange of expressions skimmed across his face. Tense eyebrows arched into surprise. Surprise slipped into recognition. Recognition slipped into a smile that might have been somewhere between absurd and salacious.

Then blood welled beneath the tanned skin of his cheeks making the blond stubble seem even lighter. Embarrassment was obviously something he was not able to hide.

"This better be some kind of damned joke," Chastity said as she flicked her fingers at her body armor she was wearing

The body armor that Sanchez had given her could only be described as the love child of chain mail and a hooker's cast off fishnet bodysuit. The plate armor was sparse, consisting only of a breastplate that made her sluttiest lingerie look like daily wear in the nunnery, and a triangle of metal over the groin small enough to make Chastity glad that she had bikini waxed before the mission. Everything else, from neck to ankle was covered in a thin metallic mesh of body-hugging filaments.

"It's not that bad," Sergeant Thompson said.

The fact that he had averted his eyes and fixated his attention on counting the rivets in the wall said otherwise.

"Fluff my hair and I'd look like a teenager's sci-fi jackoff material. How the hell is this 'body armor' going to help? I'm not wearing this."

"Apologies for the look. I wasn't in on it. The design team wanted to leave a lot of bare skin because of the way your condition works. And," he added a little uncomfortably, "they wanted it to be... sexy. You know, to help bait the prisoners in."

"Sexy? Try slutty."

Thompson smiled but still didn't look at her. "You'll be thankful for it when we're out there today."

There was a camouflage jacket, lightweight and four sizes too large for her, hanging on the back of an unused chair. Chastity snagged it and put it on. It was long enough to make everything modest.

Thompson must have picked up the added attire either through his peripheral vision or hearing the rustle of cloth because interest in the minutiae of everything that wasn't Chastity faded.

"Don't believe me?" Thompson asked, still smiling.

"It's metal bikini with chicken wire how's that going to—"

Chastity saw everything that happened next in slow motion. Thompson grabbed the table and flipped it almost to the other side of the room. As she started to flinch, he bounded through the now empty space and spun into a roundhouse kick. The rubberized tip of his boot connected with her left flank.

"What the hell!" Chastity shouted, pushing him back.

"Just breath. Give me a second to talk, then if you want to smack me you can smack me." Thompson was close to her, his eyes meeting hers, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Did you feel it?"

The shock of what had happened cleared enough for Chastity to process what he said. She hadn't felt it... well, a nudge maybe. That kick should have knocked her to the floor—maybe even ruptured her spleen, but it didn't.

"The mesh reacts to pressure. The non-sciencey explanation is that it will keep you from getting crushed or bruised up too bad. Rated to stand up to 2000 psi, but I've never had the chance to test it up to that."

"What about teeth? Some of the things out there bite," Chastity asked.

"The only real danger is if the power pack is damaged. The suit won't function without power. If a tooth hits one of the openings in the mesh it might break the skin, but shouldn't go deep enough to do any major damage. But we're not going to let that happen. Get in, get the prisoners, get out." He stuck out his index finger and made a pewh pewh sound. "If it comes down to it, we've got guns—big guns. Take 'em down before they get close enough to even smile."

"Sanchez said you were looking at drone data this morning. Any sign of Tom?"

Thompson righted the overturned table and straightened the map. "They picked up human life signs here and here." He pointed at two areas on opposite ends of the base camp." A group clustered at the ridge to the north, and one two clicks to the south in the thick of the forest."

"The single one—that has to be him. We need to get to him now."

"We'll get him, Summers, but the group is the priority. They're the reason we're here and they're in the most danger. They're close to a pack of what we think are some type of raptors."

"A rescue team can go for him while we go for the others."

"Can't do that. We don't have enough men for two teams. It's going to take all the resources that we've got to get the group."

"Then let's get our asses in gear and go." Chastity didn't like it. She would have to find something to do about it.

***

Chastity stood on the ridge, trapped in a body that wanted to run and fight and scream and smash things. The pulse of blood thundered in her temples and ears. Midmorning light poured through dilated pupils, making the world painful to look at. Lungs expanded so far that each breath hurt.

The booster circulating in her system had spiked and pushed her sympathetic nervous system into overdrive. Her skin was drenched with dripping sweat and smell of her body had taken over everything around her.

She looked down from her spot on the ridge. It wasn't her first choice to situate herself. There was no cover. The only escape options that she had were to scramble along the rocky ridge or to slide down the almost vertical drop of the cliff to the south. It wasn't like she had a choice in it, though. It was the only place that she could stay to ensure that the prisoners were downwind of her and Thompson's team was upwind. The last part had been her demand. Olfactory nerve block or not, Chastity knew what happened to even the nicest of guys when they smelled a succubus. In a place like this, it could get them all killed.

Chastity flinched as the drug recirculated through her adrenal glands, forcing a spasm and gush of adrenaline.

***

Thompson rotated the focus ring on his binoculars until Summers' image sharpened.

She was trembling, but standing firm. She was tough. He hadn't expected that.

He skimmed the ridgeline. Something about the size of an iguana scurried into sight. It looked cautiously in Summers' direction then disappeared out of sight behind the peak of the ridge.

Thompson refocused his binoculars on Summers. There was a silver flash of reflected light that slid up her leg as she moved. He was glad that common sense had won out and she decided to wear the body armor. She had kept it, but added the white tank top and cut off jeans.

He had to admit. It was sexier—definitely sexier.

He angled the binoculars higher and focused on the hard angles of the breastplate. They stood out under the snug shirt. He let his gaze linger on them.

Stop it, he reprimand himself. He couldn't let his attention wander. He didn't have the luxury of losing focus. The stakes were too high.

But the girl was beautiful. No doubt about it.

Wounded, too. He saw it in her eyes as soon as they met: the unease about being assigned to work with a squad manned with pure testosterone, the walls she had built up.

He was just an ex-jarhead, but he could read people, and she was nothing like what he had been briefed on.

Thompson had never seen McMurtey before the mission briefing and he hoped he would never have to see him again. McMurtey was the kind of career man that made him sick, more politician than anything else. With him it was about control and personal power. Thompson knew, he read the practiced voice and tailored suits like a book.

Antisocial. Unstable. Dangerous. Those were all words that McMurtey had used to describe Summers. Thompson only agreed with the dangerous description, but not for the reasons McMurtey laid out. The danger came from the changes the infection had caused and what they could do to any man with a functioning nose.

He had followed up on the briefing with a background check of his own. The first page of results showed the things that would show up on anyone. Bank accounts... Deeds... Credit history... Doctorate in Cryptozoological Studies conferred by the Trans-Allegheny Community College... He skimmed the rest until he reached the second page.

That's where the meat and potatoes were. It detailed the findings of the Judiciary on four acts of self-defense. Thompson had jotted down the names of the attackers and found that they had all been convicted of multiple rapes and attacks on women—and suspected of far worse. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Summers was taking a stab at being a vigilante. He found it a little commendable, taking a bad and using it to inflict some justice on those that deserved it.

"Sarge," Sanchez's voice came through Thompson's earbud. "We've got movement."

"Skin or scales?" Thompson asked. He turned his binoculars and scanned the crest of the ridge.

"Skin. Human. Eleven o'clock. Coming up the western slope."

"Not in my range yet. Count?"

"Eyes on three."

Three. Dammit. He was hoping for five. That left two still in the wind.

"Jones, report."

"Same count, Sarge. I've got three in my sights."

Thompson saw the three men rise over the crest of the ridge in a bow-legged sprint. The high definition adjust on the binoculars made it pretty clear why. Each of the three was sporting a tent in the fly of their white prison coveralls. The stain leaking down the left leg of the middle guy made it pretty clear he had already shot a load or three on the way up.

As a visual, it was funny. The cause of it wasn't. This was an exaggerated example of what Summers had to live with every day.

There was no time to wait for the other prisoners, this trio was getting close—too close for Thompson's comfort.

"All right men, target and prepare to fire."

Thompson dropped the binoculars and slid behind the scope of his rifle. He adjusted the angle and lined up the sight on the leaker in the middle. "Middle man is mine. Jones, take the blond. Sanchez, take the one with the crooked nose."

Thompson took three long, slow breaths. On the exhale of the third, he squeezed the trigger. The kickback against his shoulder was almost nil. Tranquilizer darts just didn't have the same recoil as the live rounds he was used to.

He continued to watch through the scope, keeping the leaky guy in the crosshairs. He could see the red tail tuft of the dart bouncing. It was a dead on hit to the chest. Thompson counted out five seconds and started to worry. Leaky should be face down taking a dirt nap.

But he wasn't.

The dart hadn't even slowed him down.

Thompson squeezed again, his aim a little wider this time. The dart struck in the paunch of the belly. Not the best spot because the fat would slow absorption.

There was a perceptible slowing in the run, but not a stop.

Thompson jumped to his feet and broke cover. He leapt over the skeleton of a decomposing log that he was using for camouflage and started running up the rocky ridge towards Chastity.

***

Chastity saw the three men scurrying up the ridge toward her. The pheromone booster was still sucker punching her adrenal glands, sending an overflow of adrenaline and pushing the fight-or-flight response into overdrive.

Three men became two as one faceplanted into the dirt. Number Two followed seconds after. He had been close enough for her to see the off-angle nose. Landing face down like he did wasn't going to add any to his looks.

Number Three, though... Number Three was a problem. His eyes were intense and fixated on her, and he wasn't stopping.

Chastity hadn't even thought about being worried about this. She had never seen it personally, but had read about it. Alex kept up on every rumor, news flash, and scientific study on the succubus syndrome. He had summarized this to her a week or two ago. Some men had a heightened reaction to the pheromones. At the time, she had joked about what 'super horny' might look like... this wasn't what she expected. He looked feral—or rabid, definitely rabid.

He was closing the distance between them. Chastity took a sidewise stance and shifted her weight to her right foot. He outstretched his arms, preparing to lunge.

Before he could, Chastity flexed her left leg, brought her knee high to her abdomen and drove her heel into his knee with a sidekick. She could feel the pop of his tendons tearing and kneecap dislocating.

Number Three fell, but he was too close. His fingers caught and curled around the waistband of her denim shorts.

He was too heavy. His added weight pulled her off balance and she fell in the dirt.

"Come here!" Number Three yelled as he fumbled with the buttons on the shorts. He ripped the zipper open and pulled the gap wide. He grabbed at the alloy plate that covered her sex.

Chastity felt the mesh weave that protected her go slack. He must have gotten lucky and dislodged the power core.

She was in more danger now than she expected, but she didn't care. Her muscles pulsed with inflated strength from the booster shot. She had been pushed past the edge of fight or flight and by damn she was going to it.

Chastity grabbed handfuls of the man's hair to hold his head in place then drove her knee up into his chin. There was a crack and the man spat out a mix of spittle, blood, and fragments of at least three teeth.

"You bitth, you gon'na pay for that," he said as he tried to climb back on top of her.

"I don't think so," Chastity said. She untangled her hands from his hair and gave him the middle finger. Under the black painted nail was a bloody scraping of skin and hair from his scalp. "Fuck those weak ass tranquilizer darts, you just got dosed with something that carries a hell of a kick."

Chastity could feel the tremor starting in Number Three's muscles. His hyped up metabolism was spreading the neurotoxins from the scratches at record speed. The depth of his breathing was decreasing.

Thanks to the nonfunctioning slut-suit body armor, Chastity felt it when his full weight slumped down on her.