The Chosen One
Excerpt
Davros located the most recent medical report. Scanning it, Davros noticed Steffan’s comments were lengthy and contained very descriptive adjectives. Steffan considered most humans far too boring to waste his efforts on, yet this particular female had impressed him.
Pulling out the capture sheet, he discovered another interesting theory on the prisoner. “Thought to be a member of the resistance group known as The Phoenix.”
He approached the cell and peered in at the sleeping figure. She did appear young as Margaret had suggested and, Davros admitted, she was very pleasing to behold. The long golden plait looked as if it would feel as soft as her ivory skin, which was smooth and unblemished except for the patch of gauze over her right eye. The white cotton shirt she wore was torn open at the bottom revealing a medical dressing on her side and a patch of skin on her stomach.
Davros’s gaze ran the length of her, studying her feminine curves and the fullness of her lips. He was shocked at his thoughts. Had he been without female company for so long that the sight of an attractive human could spark his lust?
Regardless of his self-chastisement, Davros began to wonder if inter-racial mating would be possible or even pleasurable. He wondered, too, if normal offspring could be born of such a mating. Suddenly, he was a lot more interested in the latest research request than he had been twenty minutes ago.
The young woman stirred, jolting Davros from his shameful thoughts and he leaned into the shadow of the wall, watching as she regained consciousness.
Jesse groaned as she pushed herself to her knees and was relieved to find the pain minimal. After testing her limbs, she got to her feet, and nearly swooned. Leaning on the wall for support until the dizziness passed, she looked around and noticed her vision had cleared. In the dimness of the room, she could see a toilet, a sink, and the now empty mattress, resting on the tiled floor.
It looks pretty grim.
Her holster and revolver were gone. Jesse experienced a moment of regret that she would never see her father’s gun again. Her command jacket was also missing and Jesse sighed with relief. At least no one would recognize her attire for the uniform it really was.
Then Jesse spied the tray. Food! She nearly swooned again and dropped to her knees before the platter. Water, too. Only after Jesse drained the cup did she pause to consider her hasty actions. What if it was drugged? She eyed the rest of the tray’s contents. What the devil was it? She considered it, as her stomach growled. After a hesitant sniff, she bit her lip.
“I assure you, it is quite safe.”
Jesse dropped the cup and leapt to her feet with as much agility as her injuries allowed. When the resulting wave of dizziness subsided, she looked to the Venturian who had spoken.
He produced a set of keys, opened the cell door and leaned against its frame. His thick arms crossed over a clipboard, pinning it to his expansive chest. “It is also very tasty,” he added.
Jesse backed away. The door was open. Only this large Venturian blocked her exit. If they haven’t discovered my switchblade . . . She studied her captor with a glimmer of hope. He is a formidable enemy, but if I surprise him . . . his thick arms hinted at great strength, so she reconsidered. Maybe, I can con him.
He appeared younger than many aliens she had seen from a distance. The velvety covering on his face was smooth and even, but having no idea of their longevity or their aging process, she couldn’t begin to guess his age. His dominant coloring was silver, she noticed as the thick pale silver brows arched over his steel gray eyes. His features were wide and distinctive and Jesse found him neither frightening nor hideous. In all honesty, he was magnificent. He was perfectly proportioned except for the large wings, partially opened, framing his powerful figure. Those white and silver wings protruded through an opening in the back of a white lab coat, which fell to about the middle of his thigh.
Beneath the coat was a pale gray shirt, which crisscrossed the front of his chest, revealing traces of silver there too. The shirt appeared to wrap around his waist, under his wings and knot in the front. His trousers were black and made from suede-like material. The form-fitting trousers, hugging his narrow hips and thick thighs, tapered to his calves where they were stuffed into high sturdy boots.
He was a majestic creature, standing before her with no fear, and, Jesse noted, no weapon. True, his strength was weapon enough, especially since Jesse wasn’t in top form. However, there was always the element of surprise -- The Phoenix’s favorite tactic.
She met his gray gaze, finding patient curiosity in his expression. He didn’t move as she circled the cell. His eyes unnerved her as they followed her progress with a turn of his proud head.
Davros admired the careful way she sidestepped the perimeter of the cell. He found her ginger movements graceful. One small hand lay over her bandaged side while the other brushed the wall as she moved, leg over leg, considering him. Her dark blue eyes narrowed, suggesting deep thought--Davros wondered if she would respond to him. He realized that she was summing him up, as one appraises an adversary, and taking her time to reach a conclusion. Perhaps, this female possesses a great deal more intelligence than the others do.
She came to the end of her circle to stand in line with him beside the bars. Her golden brows rose and she asked, “Who are you?” Her voice was soft, inquisitive, and untainted by hatred or fear.
“My name is Davros,” he said, matching her unthreatening tone. “I am in charge of this facility.”
Practically trembling, Jesse fought to compose herself. He appears so relaxed. I can easily surprise him. Sinking to one knee, in a bogus effort to tie her shoe, she felt the sheath still strapped to her ankle. She prayed the knife was still within it. The Venturian still watched her.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked, surprised at how controlled her voice sounded.
“I have not decided,” he said, glancing down at his clipboard. “For now, may I ask you some questions?”
Jesse settled on one foot, her weight heavy on the other leg, ready to jump. She shrugged, crossing her arms over her bent knee.
The Venturian eyed her tensed position. “What is your full name?”
“Jesse Francis Sullivan.”
“Sullivan,” he echoed. “That is the name of your family line?”
Jesse nodded.
“You are not married?”
“No.”
“Age?”
“29.”
“Any recurrent health problems?”
“Does that include getting shot at?”
He smirked at her. “No.”
“Then, no.”
“Have you ever heard of The Phoenix?”
Jesse tensed. It was time to act. “Yes,” she said, shifting her weight forward. “Hasn’t everyone?” He noticed her movement. Damned steel eyes don’t miss anything.
“Are you involved with them?”
“No,” Jesse lied.
The Venturian took a step toward her. “That is untrue,” he said. “You were heavily armed and the communication device you wore was set to a known
Jesse blinked at him and was about to insist her case when he turned away.
“It matters not,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I am a scientist not a strategist.”
As Davros headed out the door, Jesse sprang at him while pulling the knife from its sheath beneath her high-top sneaker. It was amazing how quickly the Venturian reacted. Grasping her upheld wrist, he crushed her bones in a vice-like grip. The knife clattered to the floor as Jesse struggled to free herself from his hold.
Too stunned to think, Davros could only react. Pinning both arms behind her back, he pulled her thrashing form against him, grabbed a fist full of hair, and yanked it back until she was still. She’s a tall female, for a human, and curvaceous, he thought as he felt her form press against him, yet she is fragile in form. Fortunately, those were the extent of her physical attributes.
“Gondida,” he swore, glaring down at her flushed and panicked face. “Foolish female. You will not attempt anything like that again.”
Despite the frightening fury he felt, the human was undaunted. “Don’t count on it, Venturian,” she shot back and renewed her struggles.
Davros tightened his hold around her but released her hair to close his hand around her throat. “Do not defy me, woman,” he warned. “I could break your neck in an instant.”
“Break away,” she challenged, raising her chin in sacrifice. “I’m not afraid to die.” She glared at him and waited breathless minutes to learn her fate.