The Perfect Hero
She glided one perfectly trimmed finger along the sensor track in front of her computer, edging the man's hair from an otter-pelt brown to a deep raven black. Then she lengthened it from the neatly trimmed cut into a display of samsonic strength. The clothes had to go, too. Casual yet serviceable slacks and polo shirt transformed into a skin-tight black military uniform, highlighted by slashes of blood-red piping. The earnest and sincere brown eyes became intense green lenses reflecting her focus and revealing nothing of the machiavellian plots hatching in her hero's soul.
Her pulse beating faster, Sy'lar swept her fingertips over the sensor track, molding the man's expression from good-natured interest into dangerous arrogance, moving his stance from relaxed to controlling, and tailoring his physique from fit to lethal.
She punched in the command to begin synthesis. The cylindrical chamber before her filled with roiling smoke, lit by flashes of violet and silver. Gradually the smoke lifted, revealing shiny black boots, clinging like plastic wrap to muscled calves. The black uniform pants stretched over slightly bent knees, the crimson piping emphasizing the size and strength of his thighs and -- Oh, my!
Sy'lar leaned back against the computer console, fanning herself with a file folder and struggling for breath. She forced her gaze up, to the narrow black leather belt, edged with silver, and the black and red shirt tucked inside it. After two buttons, the shirt parted in an opening vee, revealing rippled abdominal muscles and a broad chest. A black cord holding a silver totem circled his neck, beneath his strong jaw. Now the smoke had almost entirely lifted, showing white teeth bared in a feral smile. His nostrils flared, scenting her feminine weakness, and the hypnotic green eyes trapped her with promises of her future at his hands.
She swallowed nervously, suddenly uncertain about the changes she had made. The smoke cleared, and the man stepped forward, pressing his hands to the chamber's glass doors and forcing them apart. The doors squealed in protest, but submitted to his inexorable pressure, finally flying apart. The man smiled in satisfaction, lifting his head in a motion that tossed waves of raven tresses like a field marshal's banners, and stepped through the opening.
Sy'lar stepped back, matching him pace for measured pace until the cold plaster wall slapped her back. He grinned mockingly, slowing his approach to allow himself time to peruse her trembling body.
The outer office door opened, and K'riss stepped inside, his ridiculous broad-brimmed hat tucked under one arm, and smelling of the horses he rode for parade duty. Sy'lar's man sensed a challenge and turned, breaking eye contact with her. In an instant, she dove for the computer console and slammed her fist against the override button. The chamber filled again with smoke, drawing the man back inside. He howled with outrage, then pain, then fell silent.
Sy'lar turned off the computer.
"Another failed hero?" K'riss asked, his lips quirking in amusement even as he tried to keep his dark brown eyes stern.
Sy'lar ran her fingers through his short brown hair, so soft it felt more like fur, and leaned against the reassuring warmth of his fit and trim body. She rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes in pleasure as his arm curled around her to hold her closer still. "Not a failure at all."
A HREF="http://members.aol.com/yeep/">Jennifer Dunne has several publication credits and her novel, Raven's Heart, will be available from New Concepts Publishing November 1998. Jennifer is the Editor in Chief and Publisher of an outstanding newsletter Science Fiction Romance.