Carson Evolved Ch. 05

"He took a round in his shoulder. It passed through someone else and a car seat before it hit, so I don't know if there's structural damage. He's lost a lot of blood, though."

Dr. Tharp was impressed with her assessment. "You a medical professional?" he asked.

Tilda shook her head. "No, ex-soldier. They showed us some stuff in training. Since I got out, I've had a little more experience dealing with this kind of thing."

"And you're mister..."

"Jayne. With a 'y'."

"You're Mr. Jayne's wife?"

Tilda chuckled. "Actually, I'm in charge of his security detail."

Gathering as much information as he could, Dr. Tharp asked, "Do you happen to know his blood type? It would save us some time in getting him hooked up."

"Actually, I do. He's AB⁺. But I'm O^-, so I can give him blood now, if you've got a transfusion filter," she said. Years of battling to get volunteers to stock blood banks had eventually led researchers to develop a real-time, person-to-person device that was capable of processing blood between a donor and recipient without other intermediate processing. It had greatly helped with rapid treatment of injuries involving blood loss.

"That's fantastic." He looked at one of the ER nurses. "Nurse Parker? Would you prep Miss..."

"Grimaldi."

He nodded. "Would you prep Miss Grimaldi for rapid transfusion into Mr. Jayne?" The woman nodded and led her away to get ready for the procedure. It wasn't long before Tilda found herself scrubbed, gowned like a patient, and lying in the emergency operating room on a gurney next to Carson. She watched as they commenced the transfusion process while working to patch the hole in Carson's shoulder. Because the bullet had entered cleanly, there was very little tearing around the wound. The surgery took less time than the transfusion process, given the nanotechnology available to close and repair the wound. In a few days' time, Carson would probably have a small scar where the bullet entered and a little soreness that would quickly go away.

Once she was comfortable that the medical personnel had the situation well in hand, Tilda's thoughts turned to the events of the morning. How was she going to track down the person or persons who wanted Carson dead if they apparently had enough power to initiate a suicide in their people? She could only hope that examination of the shooter's phone would yield a lead.

Several miles away, Atropos, Lachesis, and Clothos were meeting to discuss the morning's events. They rarely met in person, preferring to maintain physical separation whenever possible and relying on video or audio communication. However, given two failed attempts on Carson's life in a week, their target was sure to respond in some fashion. Things were about to get much more difficult for the collaborators. If word got out that someone was threatening the lives of council members, it would be next-to-impossible to coerce the other members without drawing attention to their actions.

"Tell me again how we missed him," growled Clothos.

"Incomplete intelligence," stammered Atropos, nervously. "He was supposed to be alone. Our man saw the driver, who looked a lot like Carson, and took the shot. We didn't know he'd hired security personnel."

Lachesis twisted the knife a little. "Isn't intel supposed to be your area of responsibility?" Atropos clenched his fists to keep from wrapping his hands around her throat.

Through clenched teeth, he angrily replied, "If you hadn't decided that we needed to move against him with such a showy assassination in the first place, he wouldn't have had anyone around him. And, I believe Yulich was your call."

Before she could respond, Clothos angrily cut them off. "Enough! You two bicker like children, when we need to act like adults and figure out how to recover from this setback." The other two fell silent, ceding the point. "Now, can we get to him at the hospital?"

"We've already had someone do a walk-through and he's got security posted outside his room, and he's surrounded by his wives and the other women in his life," said Lachesis. "There's no way we could physically get to him without making a big move that would attract a lot of attention. If we want to get him there, it would have to be something subtle. The problem is, now that he's out of surgery, they'll probably discharge him later today. He'll have an arm immobilized for a day or two, but he'll be back to normal soon."

Clothos groaned in frustration. Carson Jayne seemed to be living some kind of charmed life. The others waited while he considered the next course of action. After a couple of minutes, he came to a decision. "As much as it pains me, we need to put the problem of Carson Jayne on the back burner for now. After this, he's going to be on his guard anyway." Turning to Atropos, he said, "Are you ready to move forward with the marriage we discussed? For the long term, we need to block Jayne from others in the golden lines."

He wasn't really happy about it, but Atropos was committed at this point. He nodded and said, "She'll do what I tell her to do. Your son will have a connection to our family, as promised. Have you made any progress with the other families?"

"It's slow going," admitted Clothos. "I can't exactly come right out and say why I want to make the match. The delicacy required is maddening; I'm not a patient person." Neither of his companions commented on that observation.

*****

Carson rolled out of the throw and sprang back to his feet, immediately recovering his guard. Good thing, too, because Tilda was not holding back today. As soon as he was on his feet, she threw a quick side kick-cross punch combo. He blocked most of the kick by tucking his arm against his side and managed to knock her arm off-line so that the punch missed his chin. He used the momentum of his action to follow-up with his own counter punch; Tilda managed to duck his effort.

"Good!" she called, dancing back a few steps. "You almost caught me with that one. I still think you're holding back, though."

Carson was in good shape. Check that, Carson was in fantastic shape. Two months ago, when he'd started training, he was in good shape. Ever since his visit to the hospital, he'd dedicated himself to preparing himself in case he was faced with a life-or-death situation where his physicality and skills would be needed. His nanites came in very handy. In his mind, he had half a dozen martial disciplines at his disposal. What he needed now was to engrain those moves in his muscle memory so that they'd be available when required.

Despite his heavy training regimen, Carson was breathing heavy now. They'd been sparring for the better part of an hour how, and it seemed every minute, Tilda ratcheted up the intensity a bit. He'd taken to calling her by her call sign Valkyrie during training, and he never ceased to be amazed at how the female warrior never seemed to lag or tire. She was big and strong for a female, but he figured at some point he'd be able to train his way past her, given the genetic advantages the male design had for physical activities. To this point, however, he was still trailing a little.

He refused to concede that he suffered any distraction from her magnificent bosom, or from the incredible tattoo that adorned the upper left half of her chest. Just below her collarbone, she had a large, 3-D rendering of a winged Norse helmet tattooed. Modern tattoos had become incredibly detailed and life-like. The conical cap of the helmet with its riveted cross-straps bore cuts and scratches, as if it had seen battle. The half-face guard was a shimmering bronze color with Celtic knotwork filigree. The cheek guards, though, were the stunning part of the image. Instead of wings mounted to the side of the helmet, the guards were formed from the body of the wings; the wings extended from just below the chin, up past the face and fanned away from the body. The silver-white feathers were detailed enough that Carson half-expected to see them flutter in the breeze. The entire image was superimposed over a crossed Norse war hammer and short sword. They both looked like they'd seen much action and were ready for use if needed.

The first time Carson had seen her tattoo, he was blown away. When he asked about it, Tilda told him it was both an homage to her heritage, and to her call sign. He wasn't normally all that exercised about tattoos one way or another, but for some reason, he couldn't picture her not having a tattoo very much like the one she did.

Carson called 'time' and headed over to grab some water. Conversion of unused basement storage space into a practice area for martial and physical training had only been completed a couple of weeks ago. Looking around, Carson was very pleased with the result. Comfortable mats on the floor now softened his falls. He was a little concerned that Tilda seemed to think the extra padding meant she could be that much rougher with him; if he complained, she just smirked and made even more fun of him.

The thought of it actually made him smile a little bit. Tilda was an aggressive woman in just about every facet of her life. That included her sex life. While they'd never acted on any of it, she was definitely not shy in her commentary about his sex life, how sexy he was looking, and all manner of innuendo, always delivered with a smirk, and always followed by some comment along the lines of, "Too bad you don't have what it takes."

Carson could have cheated and read her mind to figure out what she was talking about, but he hadn't done so for two reasons. First of all, what fun is that? More importantly, while he was undeniably attracted to Tilda, he was also having more sex than he'd ever fantasized as a boy, so there was no need to rush an addition to his harem. His Pride had put their plan into action once they felt he was completely recovered from his gunshot wound. On Friday and Saturday nights, one or more of the women in his life would accompany him to someplace where they would either meet a pre-arranged date, like he'd had with Calla, or they'd find someone who caught his attention; if he scanned her and saw that she was amenable to hooking up with a possible pregnancy the result, he'd make contact and go from there. As predicted, he was stunned to find how many women were looking to get pregnant for one reason or another; many didn't even care who the father was so long as they had a baby.

The rest of the week, his bed hosted visits by one or more of the lovely ladies who shared his home. He thought that the least he could do was spend the night with them, trying to give equal attention to the different ladies. Sometimes, however, presumably by some pre-arranged agreement that Carson was not a part of, he'd have a quickie with one woman, only for her to leave and another arrive shortly thereafter for her own time. He didn't get involved, and he assumed that Helena was organizing things to keep jealousy from becoming a problem.

Nevertheless, Carson was extremely interested in Tilda. She was very different from the Lionesses, both physically, and in her attitude. The closest approximation was probably Sam, but even she wasn't as brassy as the Valkyrie. Due to his continued interest, Carson had spent time studying the things that Tilda said, and the way that she said them, trying to read between the lines to glean some clues as to her intent. He'd finally come up with a theory, one he was going to test tonight. If he survived, that is.

Swallowing the last of his water, he stood up and said, "Once more?" Tilda raised her eyebrow at this. Carson had been getting stronger and faster more quickly than she would ever have imagined, but she was surprised to hear him wanted to go again; she'd already pushed him hard this evening. But, she took her job seriously, and she wanted him to be as prepared as he could be when the time came. So, she tossed away her sweat towel with a smile.

"You're on."

They circled each for a moment, each trying to decide on an opening gambit. Carson paused and said, "How 'bout we make things interesting?"

Tilda looked at him with suspicion. At no time since they'd begun training together had there been a point where it seemed as if Carson could take her down. What's he thinking? she wondered.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked with a frown.

Carson seemed to pause in thought before grinning and said, "How about this? If I can't make you tap out inside of 20 minutes, you tell me the criteria to be the father of your children."

His proposal washed through her and she managed to avoid visibly shivering. Could it really be? Only one way to find out. She looked at him and laughed. "You and I both know that you have no shot at that happening."

Carson smiled back and said, "I guess you have nothing to lose, then. Unless you're scared." Really? He's mocking me, now? she thought.

"Okay. But I don't want to hear you crying when you lose. Let's see, what humiliating thing should I enjoy at your expense when you lose?" She watched him with her eyes narrowed in thought. Then she grinned broadly as the perfect punishment came to mind. "If I win, you spend next weekend, from Friday evening when you get home from work until 10 pm Sunday night as my slave."

His eyes narrowed as he considered her proposal. He thought he'd progressed enough that he could take her, but if he lost, it was going to be ugly. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I guess.

"You're on, but let's set some ground rules. We're still on the same side here. No intentionally injuring the other person, and no inflicting pain in sensitive areas."

She rolled her eyes and said, "As if I need to resort to a knee to the groin to take you down. Besides, if I did that, your wives and mother-in-law would probably tear me apart with their nails and teeth."

He chuckled. "No doubt you're right about that. So, are we agreed?"

"Works for me," she said. Carson set a timer and the match began.

From the very first day that they'd begun training together, Carson had been reluctant to be the aggressor. Much as he approached most problems in his life, he tended to study his opponent and gather data before deciding on a course of action. Recently, he'd begun to suspect that Tilda took advantage of this passive approach to keep him on his heels, always reacting instead of attacking. He was convinced that he needed to establish the upper hand first. His suspicion proved correct when he immediately feigned a strike to the head before shooting at her legs. The look on her face showed her surprise at his maneuver.

Quicker than she'd seen him move before, Carson wrapped his arms around her knees and used her as the anchor to swing his legs around behind her. With a jerk, he pulled her feet from under her, causing Tilda to have to catch herself on her hands. In a flash, Carson pounced on her back. His left arm passed under her left shoulder before grabbing her neck, putting her in a half-Nelson. His other arm, though, wrapped around her body, just under her prodigious breasts, until his hand rested on her left boob. At the moment, he was straddling her ass, which put his cock directly in line with her crack. At a thought, his cock became an iron bar. Simultaneously, he forced her head towards the mat with his left hand, squeezed her tit, hard, and ground his cock against her.

In response, Tilda gasped, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He leaned in and growled, "Tonight, I'm taking what mine." He wasn't monitoring her mentally right then, so he couldn't know how his words shot straight from her ears to her pussy. Oh God, she thought, he might be the one after all.

She began twisting and bucking, though, trying to dislodge him. She hissed, "You aren't man enough to take me. I'mma make you wear a maid outfit while you serve me." As she said this, Tilda managed to get her knees under her slightly, which was just the thing Carson wanted. He immediately hooked his feet under her thighs, effectively locking their lower halves in place.

He threw his weight to the side. Tilda was a strong woman and taller than him, but over the past few months, his muscles had grown denser and much, much stronger, and as a result, he had a significant weight advantage on her. As his weight shifted, he was able to drag her on top of him, her back to his front. His left hand shifted to a firm but safe grip of her throat, forcing her head up and arching her back. His right hand moved to find the bottom of her sports bra. Tilda felt what he was doing and said, "Don't you dare!" Her hand grasped his wrist, trying to force it away from her bosom.

"Oh, I dare," he growled, as he dragged it up to release the treasures contained inside. Tilda gasped as she fought against the motion of his hand. He couldn't do this to me a month ago, she thought. The fact that he could, despite her best efforts, caused her nipples to harden and her pussy to begin lubricating. I'm not going to be able to stop him, she thought in wonder.

I can't see from this position, he mentally complained when all that tit flesh was bare but facing away. His fingers found one of her nipples; like everything about Tilda, it was oversize. She had fat, gumdrop nipples, and they were currently hard as rock. Internally, Carson smirked. When he'd devised this plan, he had niggling doubts about whether this was what she wanted. To feel her responding this way was encouraging. Of course, he thought, it could just be that she's in a fight and getting excited, or the air is chilly to her. To assuage this little doubt, for the first since they'd met, Carson used his power on Tilda.

A glance into her mind revealed an argument taking place between two Tildas. Tilda A was completely nude and chained to a dungeon cell wall by neck, hands, and feet. Tilda B was dressed in the traditional robes of the judiciary, twirling the keys to her shackles around her finger. Their conversation was quite enlightening.

Tilda A:"He's the one! You know he is! Let me go to my master!"

Tilda B:Dismissively, "He is not your master. He's just another man who takes what he wants without a care for anyone else."

Tilda A:"You're wrong. You've seen the way he cares for the Lionesses. He's a good man."

Tilda B:"If he's so good, why hasn't he approached you normally? Why is he raping you instead of luring you to him?"

Tilda A paused for a moment, and then quietly said, "Because he understands me, and he's giving me what I want. We both know this isn't his nature. But he is willing to do what I want because he cares for me." Her eyes shown with tears. "Can't you see that?"

Tilda B's visage became thoughtful. "Perhaps you're right. But the moment he no longer gives us what we need, he becomes just another man. What then?"

Even in her desperation, Tilda A was confident of the man who'd won her love, despite the way she'd outwardly treated him. "He's not just another man. He's my master. I know that now, and I want to give myself to him. Carson will never let me down," she finished with a smile.

"Well," said Tilda B, "That remains to be seen. I hope you're right, for both our sakes, but we'll see. Won't we?" She resumed pacing outside the bars of the cell, still twirling the keys.

As his sense withdrew from Tilda, Carson felt more relaxed and confident. This was a game, as he'd suspected, and right now, he was winning. He needed to keep playing until the end, though.

With his legs, he wrenched her knees apart as his hand moved from her tit down her body. Reaching the skin-tight stretch pants she was wearing, Carson really wanted to just rip a hole in the crotch for easy access. That would have required two hands, though, and he wasn't about to give up that control. She'd get loose and the whole game would collapse. Instead, he wormed his fingers under the waist, even as Tilda clawed at his arm desperately in an attempt to keep him from his goal.