Free CONCEPTION (The Others) by Sarah McCarty Page A

permission to view them.” Bohdan explained very
gently. Too gently.
    “View them? As in sticking your mind into mine again?”
Revulsion tore through her weakness, giving her the strength to resist. She
shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
    Strands of hair bounced into her eyes. Deuce’s hand met
hers, his fingers entwining with hers, catching the frustration in her gesture,
softening anger to affection, his fingertips lingering on her face after hers
fell to her side.
    “You will.”
    She snatched the handkerchief out of his grip and crushed it
between her fingers “No. I won’t.” Nothing could make her go through that
again.
    Deuce tilted her face to his with the side of his hand, his
thumb resting against her lips. “You will.”
    She jerked her chin. He didn’t let her go, just held her
there, her gaze lifted to his will. As if that was going to convince her of
anything. She could match him for stubborn any day of the week.
    Instead of reacting, Deuce merely lifted a brow at her.
“What choice do you have?”
    She couldn’t, however, fight the truth. She closed her eyes
and drew in a breath. None. She had no choice. Again. More than she hated
knowing that, she hated Deuce knowing it. But hating looking like a total
failure before the man she’d once thought to impress didn’t change her options.
It just made them harder to swallow. But, swallow them she would. She needed to
live to save the baby. Period. Nothing else mattered. Not her ego. Not Deuce’s
preferences. Not her grandfather’s obsession with immortality. The only thing
that mattered was that she survive long enough to kill Clay Lavery and give her
baby a chance at life. Which meant she had to let Bohdan try.
    Inside, the alien “Voice” that had guided her from her
prison, and saved her from the Coalition, stirred in protest. She squashed it.
Her chances for survival were caught somewhere between slim and none. Even the
most insubstantial of opportunities needed to be explored. She met Bohdan’s
patient gaze over Deuce’s shoulder with an assurance she didn’t feel. “Do you
really think you can fix me?”
    “With enough time and information, I am positive I can.”
    It didn’t take a genius to interpret the glance Deuce shot
his brother.
    “But you’re not sure about how much time I have, are you?”
    Bohdan didn’t answer. Deuce’s finger slid down her jaw until
he supported her chin in his palm as he stood. “I will ensure he has as much
time as he needs.” His eyes were dark, bottomless pools of temptation, drawing
her in. Random red lights flickered in the depths, the pattern almost, but not
quite coalescing into something she could recognize—understand.
    “Thank you.”
    Inside the “Voice” clawed free of her hold, sending its
conflicting message into the mix. Resist.
    She closed her eyes as its power swept through her, seducing
her will. Deuce’s grip on her chin tightened. Did he hear it, too? It took all
her strength to lift her lids.
    Before
her Deuce stood, shoulders squared, legs braced apart, head tipped back in that
arrogant challenge that was so much a part of him, reeking of more confidence
than she could scrounge on her best day, asking for her trust with the
steadiness of his gaze and the surety of his grip. Not by a bat of an eyelash
did he indicate anything was amiss. Inside her, the “Voice” fought harder,
yelled louder, equally determined to be obeyed. Was the “Voice” that powerful,
that she could evade detection, or merely crafty?
    Eden
licked her lips, tasting the remnants of Deuce’s touch, the echo of their past
flowing through her, full of the subtle nuances that had made their time
together magic. The laughter, the love. Oh, how she’d loved him. She wrapped
her fingers around his wrist, digging into the muscle and bone, needing
tangible proof of his strength. She could either trust an amorphous voice in
her head or the strength of the emotion she’d once felt for this man. “Do