 
# Portals: Volume 4

### Gateway to Science Fiction Romance

## Liana Brooks

## AR DeClerck

## K.M. Fawcett

## Sharon Lynn Fisher

## Rinelle Grey

## Lea Kirk

## Carysa Locke

## Rebel Miller

## Elizabeth Munro

## Monica Enderle Pierce

All samples in this collection are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors' imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The samples in this collection are used with the permission of the authors and/or publishers. All rights are reserved to the authors and/or publishers.

"Even Villains Fall in Love," Copyright © 2015 Liana Brooks. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"Forged in Fire," Copyright © YEAR Amy Riddle-DeClerk. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author and publisher.

"Echo 8," Copyright © 2015 Sharon Lynn Fisher. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author and Tor Books.

"Reckless Rescue" Copyright © Rinelle Grey 2013. Used by permission of the author in "Portals"

"Prophecy," Copyright © 2016 by Heather Jarecki. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"Pirate Nemesis," Copyright © YEAR Carysa Locke. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"Awakening," Copyright © 2015 Rebel Miller. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"Constant" Copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Munro 2014. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author and Blue Swell.

"Girl Under Glass," Copyright © 2012 by Monica Enderle Pierce. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

Cover Artwork: © Jennette Marie Powell Heikes. All images licensed and used with permission

ISBN: 978-1-942583-20-2

  Created with Vellum

### Contents

About This Collection

Even Villains Fall In Love by Liana Brooks

About Even Villains Fall In Love

Sample of Even Villains Fall In Love

Forged in Fire by AR DeClerck

About Forged in Fire

Sample of Forged in Fire

Echo 8 by Sharon Lynn Fisher

About Echo 8

Sample of Echo 8

Reckless Rescue by Rinelle Grey

About Reckless Rescue

Sample of Reckless Rescue

Prophecy by Lea Kirk

About Prophecy

Sample from Prophecy

Pirate Nemesis by Carysa Locke

About Pirate Nemesis

Sample of Pirate Nemesis

Awakening by Rebel Miller

About Awakening

Sample of Awakening

Constant by Elizabeth Munro

About Constant

Sample of Constant

Girl Under Glass by Monica Enderle Pierce

About Girl Under Glass

Sample of Girl Under Glass

Need More SFR? Check These Sites!

A Special Thank You

About Science Fiction Romance Brigade

# About This Collection

Welcome! You have arrived at a portal to the galaxy.

Enter, and you'll be introduced by award-winning authors to worlds beyond imagining, with heroes & heroines who dare to take it to the edge and beyond. Count on these adventurers to take their best shot... at their enemies _and_ at romance!

Contains 9 first chapters, with links to purchase any or all of the complete books, should you wish.

# Even Villains Fall In Love by Liana Brooks
# About Even Villains Fall In Love

A sweet Second Chance Romance about a super villain whose life of crime have ruined his chances for Happily Ever After. Book 1 of the Heroes and Villains series.

# Sample of Even Villains Fall In Love

_I knew from the first time I saw my wife that I wanted her naked. Of course, seven minutes later I wanted revenge. It wasn't that she had handed me my first defeat or ruined my chances for world domination that year, it was the way she kissed me good-bye. She sent my head spinning, then walked away as if I were the least important person in the world._

_Once my arm healed, I stole some new equipment, cloned some new minions, and I felt a little different._

_I wanted revenge, with a side order of naked._

* * *

ACROSS THE DINNER table, Tabitha devoured him with dark, ocean-blue eyes. She put a bite of lettuce in her mouth, full lips pursing around it. Eating salad never looked so good. Her tongue darted out to lick away a stray drop of dressing. She winked at him, promising with every move to do the same to him. "It's almost bedtime," she said, her voice husky and luscious.

"I don't wanna go to bed!" one of the quads screamed.

"What about cake? Don't we get birthday cake?" another asked.

Evan winked back at his wife from the far side of the table, separated by a few feet and four precocious just-turned-five-year olds, all as stunning as their mother with big, round eyes and hair that fell in loose curls meant to trap hairbrushes and sticky substances. He had to peek at the eyes to see who was talking. Maria had green eyes, Angela's eyes were blue like Tabitha's, Delilah's eyes were brown like his, and Blessing—their stillborn who miraculously survived—had purple eyes. The waif in question had blue eyes.

"Angela," Evan said, "after dinner it's pajama time, and then story time."

"Mommy doesn't have a bedtime!" Angela wailed.

Tabitha winked at him again. "Tell you what, tonight Mommy will go to bed the same time you do. Right after we eat cake." She leaned over to give Angela a hug.

All Evan could see was the deep V plunge of her tight blue shirt. Oh, yeah. Crime didn't always pay, but altering someone's moral compass sure put the O's back in the bedroom.

The cake was split into fourths, equal parts purple, white, green, and blue so each girl could have her favorite color in the cake. Baking four cakes was unreasonable; there weren't any grandparents left to celebrate with, and neighbors had an annoying habit of asking uncomfortable questions. Saying little things like, "You look just like Doctor Charm! Do you remember him? Whatever happened to that guy? Do you know how hard it is to put together a good Villains vs. Heroes fantasy league without him?" made for awkward evenings.

So they had a quiet family party. Cake, then presents, after which he hurried the girls off to bed so he could read Dilly Duck's ABCs in record time before rushing to the bedroom, hoping to catch Tabitha still in the shower.

She was already out and wearing a blue satin robe that caressed her skin in exactly the way he wanted to. Rose-scented candles cast sensuous shadows on the walls.

Tabitha turned, lips curved in an inviting smile. Long fingers twined with the sash of her robe. She tossed her honey-blonde hair in the way she always did when she was about to argue, posing with feet apart and one hand casually resting on her waist. "Sweetie, we need to talk."

Evan wiped grease-stained hands on his jeans as he forced a smile. "Sure, babes, anything you want."

"Really?" She slunk forward, all sinewy limbs and doe eyes. "Promise?" Tabitha nuzzled his nose. One hand flirted up the back of his neck to play with his hair. The other traveled downward, right to his zipper.

Oh, yes, the little Morality Machine in the basement was working just fine. Another thirty, maybe forty years of this and he'd consider retiring. Or turning the machine down so his wife wasn't quite a sex kitten every day of the week. Maybe only days with Y in them.

"Sweetie?" She nibbled his ear. "I want to go back to work."

"What?" Evan actually pushed himself away from her, something he wasn't sure was possible in any other circumstance.

Tabitha tucked her chin and pouted.

"Tabby-cat, I love you, but work? I've got my... stuff... in the lab. I'm busy. And we can't afford daycare for the girls. We're barely making ends meet as it is. Do you really want to go back to being Zephyr Girl? Crime fighting is a game for the young, baby. You're not nineteen anymore."

"I'm twenty-nine. A very"—her hips pressed against his tight jeans just so—"very healthy twenty-nine."

He shivered at her touch. "You're cheating."

"I want to do this, Evan." She ground against the thick denim.

"You can do me all you want, baby."

She stepped back, frowning. "I'm serious."

"So am I." Evan sighed, reaching for his wife. "Sweetie, I love you, but what's the point in being a superhero? The government stipend barely covers the dry-cleaning bill. If it's money you want, write another tell-all superhero book. The Spanish Mask sold his third last month."

Tabitha crossed her arms. "I don't want to write another book just for royalties while you're between jobs."

He waved a finger at her. "I'm not between jobs. I work freelance in the computer business. I'm self-employed. That's not the same as being between jobs."

"Between paychecks then."

"We will have a solid income. This project I'm working on, Tabby-cat, it's going to set us up for life. We're never going to worry about money again. I promise. Give me a couple of weeks and everything is going to be perfect." He caught her hand and pulled her into his arms. The faint scent of her spicy perfume left him dizzy with need.

She rested her head on his chest. "I want to save the world. Have you seen the news, Evan? An entire town in Kansas held hostage for a week by a bomb scare before a superhero was able to get in to defuse the situation. A week! I could have that done between grocery shopping and paying the bills. Ten minutes, no pulling punches."

"I know, baby. No one is better at this stuff than you. But I need you at home, Tabby. Having you out there scares me. I'm terrified I'd lose you. Why don't you wait until I finish this project? I'll be done by the time the election rolls around. Two more weeks. Once I get paid we'll look at this again. I have that armor design for you, I just need some time to put it together."

Tabitha sighed. "You've been saying that since we got married."

"Well, my nights are busy." He nibbled her ear as he tugged her sash loose. "Are you complaining?"

Tabitha stretched against him, sending a delightful frisson of lust up his spine. "I thought you gave up the super villain schemes."

He twitched. "I did, baby. Of course I did."

"But you're keeping me here. Isn't that a little selfish? Just a teeny-tiny bit super villain-ish?" She slipped her hand between his pants and his skin.

"Ah!" He caught her hand so he could think clearly. "Not selfish. Necessary. Like oxygen or sex."

"Don't you mean water?"

"No, definitely sex." Evan slid her robe off and tossed it into a corner. "Come here, Tabby-cat, I'll make you purr."

She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up. The shirt joined the robe on the other side of the room. "What are you doing down in that lab?" she asked as her hands drew lazy circles on his back.

Ten seconds, that's all he'd need to get her panties off. Three more to drop his pants. "What was the question?"

"What are you doing in the lab? What's this project?"

"Oh, computer stuff. I told you. To help tally everything on election night. I'm trying to make the process run smoother so we don't have to worry about recounts."

"Hmmm." She gave him a dubious frown.

Tabitha was built like a supermodel and had a superhero name straight from Campy Comics, but her brain was Mensa all the way. "And this computer program has nothing to do with world domination, or get-rich-quick schemes?"

Evan contrived to look wounded. "Tabby-cat, how can you ask that?"

"Because you spent ten years as a villainous criminal mastermind?"

"I wasn't a mastermind, I was a super villain, there's a difference. Masterminds are just thugs with money. My crimes had artistic flare. I was practically Robin Hood! Robbing from the rich and scandalous, and giving to me."

"Robin Hood gave to the poor," Tabitha said with a laugh. "You were never poor."

He caught her hand, pulling her close. "Poor is relative. Besides, I'm reformed now. You showed me the error of my wicked ways. Although"—he leaned in for a kiss—"if you'd like to remind me why I gave up a lucrative life of crime, I have the evening free."

_S omeday, I know the kids are going to ask for the story of How I Met Their Mother. Every kid asks; it's a rite of passage like losing a tooth or learning to ride a bike. I just don't know how to tell them without losing their respect._

_The truth is, Tabitha broke into my lab and kicked me and my minions clear into the next time zone. She can move at sonic speeds even when she's not flying. She blew past my machines like they weren't even there. Embarrassing, of course, but that wasn't the worst part. No, the part that will make my daughters lose all respect for me is how, while their mother was kicking my rear, I couldn't take my eyes off hers. Not when she wore a skin-tight white bodysuit and bustier on the verge of a wardrobe malfunction. Any man who can think straight when confronted by that must have a wonderful boyfriend at home, because I've seen drag queens hand in their Prada kitten heels for a shot at Tabitha._

* * *

EVAN WOKE UP relaxed and ready for another dose of marital bliss. Let the bachelors have their one-night stands, lost to the alcoholic haze of the weekend. Married life meant getting lucky three or four times a day, when dentist appointments and world domination didn't demand his full attention. He rolled over and reached for Tabitha. She wasn't there. "Tabby? Babes?"

"In here!" she called from the closet. He relaxed back into the Tabitha-scented sheets. "What do you think?" she asked, stepping out of the closet in her white Zephyr Girl bodysuit: reinforced leather leggings, gloves, and bustier. Knee-high, steel-capped boots and a sky blue cape completed the outfit. Tabitha hovered, the air around her seething with the aurora borealis that always accompanied her use of super powers.

"You look amazing." She'd looked like that first time he'd seen her. "Come here."

She flew to him, settling over the bed before dropping the last centimeter. "It still fits."

"I know." He caught her lips, tasting her.

"Do you know where my trench coat is?"

"In the hall closet." He reached for her hair, but she was already gone. A breeze slammed the bedroom door open and shut. Tabitha cinched the belt to her white trench coat around her tiny waist with a smile. She sauntered away with her hips swaying to pull her purse out of the closet, along with a pink scarf.

He shook his head as she slipped past him to the door. "Wait! Tabitha, where are you going?"

She froze in the act of putting on sunglasses. "Work, remember? We talked about this. I'm going to work; you're going to take care of the kids. Right? Good. I'll try to be home by seven. Make sure dinner is ready."

The front door slammed shut on Evan's bewildered expression.

Tabitha swung the door back open. "Sweetie? Get the lawn service out here, the yard looks like a jungle, and hide the crayons. The girls found where I was keeping them yesterday. I don't want them coloring on the walls again."

Shut. Open. "Love ya!"

"Um..." Evan ran to the front lawn and watched his wife leap into the sky, flying away to save the day like any good superhero with a deadline. This was not a good thing.

Back inside, Evan scrambled to find jeans in the mountain of unfolded laundry.

"Daddy?" Delilah said through a yawn.

"Yes?"

"I want breakfast."

"Breakfast?" He stared at his daughter. "Um, let's see what Mommy left."

The other three girls were waiting in the kitchen.

"I want Mommy!" Delilah said.

Blessing sat at the table with an expectant expression. "Pancakes?"

He peeked into the cupboard. There were boxes of things neatly stacked with matching lids. That probably meant something profound in the secret language of women, but he wasn't even getting a mixed signal.

"Daddy?" Four judgmental scowls looked up at him. "Can you cook?"

"For a given definition of cook." He closed the cupboard door. "Give Daddy a minute." Evan ran through the garage to the door to his basement lab. "Hert!"

His warty toad of a minion climbed up the stairs, six-knuckled fingers dragging on the floor. "You bellowed, Master?"

"Do you cook, Hert?"

"I wasn't programmed to, Master."

He'd forgotten that. Hert was his original minion, a summer project cooked up from the DNA of animals he'd been able to find in his backyard when he was fifteen and had nothing better to do with his life. Back then, Mom had cooked. In college he'd had the meal plan. Tabitha did the cooking once they got married. Back in the bachelor years between college and marriage... "Girls! Get dressed. Daddy's going to take you to McDonalds!"

Angela put her hands on her hips, posing just like Tabitha. "Fast food is very unhealthy for you. Mommy said so."

Evan looked at his warty minion for help.

"Never hurt me," Hert said, shrugging.

The girls wrinkled their noses in unison, a move worthy of the synchronized snob team at the country club he didn't belong to.

"I don't want to look like him," Maria said.

"Daddy survived on fast food before he met Mommy." Evan dropped his head. He was arguing in third person with five-year olds, a sure sign of senility. "This is not part of the plan," he muttered to Hert.

Tonight, the Morality Machine was getting a tweak. It might mean some extra late nights in the lab after Tabitha fell into a satisfied slumber, but sex would keep her home. Although spending eight hours a day making love wouldn't actually get the kids fed. "Everybody to the car."

The girls watched him with intent glares.

"There will be toys."

You can buy _Even Villains Fall in Love_here.

The idea of a super villain in love with a superhero has always intrigued me. The dichotomy of a wholly selfish person loving someone selfless is the perfect setup to explore how love changes a person, and what we're willing to give up to save someone we love. In EVEN VILLAINS FALL IN LOVE Evan, aka Dr. Charm, has to choose between winning back his wife and saving his family, or taking over the world.

The real question is what does he love more: power or his wife? And, if his chooses his wife, can a relationship built on lies become one of true love and happiness.

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# Forged in Fire by AR DeClerck

# About Forged in Fire

Steel is forged in fire. Hardened by hatred, Tempered by blood. Seasoned by shame, Sharpened by death.

Gin Draven is a soldier. THE soldier. Sworn to protect the nine planets in the galaxy humans made their home ninety thousand years ago. He lives for winning the war. He loved a woman once, and she cost him his sanity, his eye, and his heart. He'd taken every moment of their time together and buried it deep. Until the day she strolled back into his life.

Maeve was a woman. THE woman. Back to make Gin Draven her husband. She wants the same thing he does, to end to the war that plagues them all. She knows secrets that can help him win the war, and secrets that could destroy them both.

War brought them together, and war tore them apart. The strongest loves are Forged in Fire.

# Sample of Forged in Fire

Prologue

The president of the planet of Dinara was not pleased with his dinner. Valeryans tended to overcook the meat and under-cook the vegetables. He cringed at the slimy mess on his plate and pushed it away with a grimace. He folded his hands and smiled at his wife. She was sipping wine and chatting with the other women, paying no attention to his dilemma. A grunt from across the table brought him back to the problem at hand.

"Valerya is the sheath to the sword of Dinara. We provide all the supplies your people need to continue their fight against the Boderian incursion." The Valeryan president was much the epitome of all that his people were: slovenly, hedonistic, and deranged. Still, the Dinaran president admired the way he played the political game.

"Boderian's want nothing more than to pillage their way through this galaxy, taking all the planets in their wake. My swords are the only force with the skill and battle know-how to win this war." The Dinarans were the only militarily advanced race in the system. The rest relied on them for protection. The Dinaran president leaned forward on his elbows and met the Valeryan's eyes with his own.

"So explain to me what it is you want, so I can go home and continue winning this war."

The Valeryan was a fat man. Possessing all the grace of a tuber-plant he tumbled from his chair and waddled to the door, making the Dinaran president wince in disgust as he squished and squeaked. He waved in a retinue of women, each covered in veils of Valeryan silk. It was their custom to cover their women, which the Dinaran president rarely bothered to protest. Valeryan women were considered notoriously unattractive throughout the planetary system.

"These are my daughters. I want to solidify our political agreement with a marriage."

Bry grinned. "I have no sons, Vakar."

Vakar nodded, crossing his arms. His flabby cheeks wobbled with each breath he took. The Dinaran began to wonder if he was going to have a coronary attack just walking to the door. "I don't want your sons, Brydon. I want your sword. Your best sword. And I want him married to my daughter."

The Dinaran's laugh was so full of mirth that even his wife looked up to smile at his amusement. "Swords don't marry, Vakar. Soldiers have no family. No ties."

The fat Valeryan smiled, and the crafty look in his eyes made the Dinaran's mirth die away.

"Swords can marry if you tell them to, Brydon. I want one of my daughters married to a sword by the end of the next solar cycle."

Brydon Mar, president of the planet Dinara, was unused to commands. He smashed his fist on the table, shaking the bowls and rattling the cups. His wife and the other women jumped, but his wife knew the look in his eye. She came to his side, putting her hand on his shoulder. Behind his back, where no one else could see, she had already drawn her short dagger.

"Swords have sworn an oath to protect this galaxy. They die in honor on the battlefield. They do not marry and have children; ties to a family they may never see again. It is cruel, Vakar."

"Cruel or not, dear Dinaran, I will have your best sword for one of my daughters, or we will discontinue our services in aid of the Boderian defense."

Brydon was speechless. Valeryan oil, gold, and jewels paid for most of their weapons. Conversely, if the Dinarans left Valerya un-guarded millions of innocent civilians would die when the savage Boderians attacked.

"Why is this so important? A sword has no wealth, holds no titles."

There was a gleam in the Valeryan president's eye. His grin was that of a Targalian tiger who just met his dinner.

"One has a title. One sword has wealth. I want Draven for my daughter."

Brydon sat back, his hand over his mouth. His wife was squeezing his shoulder in warning, but he was trapped. There was no way his commanding sword would agree to the marriage, but neither could he disobey a direct order. Gin Draven was a dangerous man to have on your bad side, but the Dinarans needed the Valeryans to win against the Boderian invasion. Gin, at least, should see the strategic advantage the match would make.

"Why Draven?" Brydon asked. Vakar shrugged.

"My daughter cannot be wed to a commoner. Draven is of royal blood even if he denies it. He commands the other swords and rarely leaves Dinara."

"Why a sword?"

Vakar leaned against the wall and waved a hand at the people in the room. Each Valeryan was fat, under-exercised and over-indulged.

"We need new blood. Strong blood. The Valeryan race is dwindling. I want the strength of a sword and the good breeding of a royal."

"You have access to genetic manipulation, the same as we do." Brydon took a gulp of his wine, his mouth dry. He was actually considering wedding his best friend to a woman he'd never met.

"We want new blood the old-fashioned way." Vakar's mouth was a pout. "Agree to this marriage, Brydon, or Valerya pulls out of this campaign."

Brydon looked up at his wife, but strangely enough she was smiling a little.

"It might be good for him."

Brydon wavered, indecision and fear warring within him. At last, he nodded to the ecstatic Valeryan.

"Gin Draven will marry a daughter of the house Valerya."

Chapter One

"It's your wedding day, Gin. At least pretend you care."

Brydon adjusted the sash and straightened the lapel, giving the official nod to the sword's dress uniform. Since swords rarely married, it had never been an issue what they would wear to a wedding. The groom was a big man, towering over the president with a face that could rival granite. The light in his eye was a warning. He wouldn't be toyed with on this day.

"I don't care, Bry." Gin's voice was smooth and cultured. It was a distinct contradiction to his face. He'd lost his right eye in a battle on Prioni five years before, and the scar from the laser gun ran from his forehead to his chin. His face, once classically handsome, was now rugged at best. His bionic eye kept him from looking too gruesome though the only reason he had it was because without it he wouldn't have been able to keep fighting. For a sword it was better to be ugly. For a husband it was no gift. He had no misconceptions about his wife, at least. She was Valeryan and therefore bound to be just as ugly as him. "I want to get this over with so I can have a drink."

Brydon grinned, brushing imaginary lint off his own sleeve. "You might need more than one, brother. You have an obligation to get this woman with child as quickly as possible."

Gin sighed, itchy in his uniform. The truth was, he didn't give a damn about marrying some Valeryan. He'd marry ten. They wanted kids off his seed? Awesome. He'd make six a day if need be. What he really cared about was getting back to his command room so he could take care of his troops. Fifty thousand swords were on patrol at this moment, waiting for a sign that the Boderians were going to attack a planet in their system. They needed him there to coordinate their counter-attack and plan rescue ops for injured swords.

Brydon looked at his timepiece and clapped his friend on the back. Raised together they were brothers in all but blood, but at this moment Gin wanted to punch the fuck out his brother's perfect, smiling face.

"Time to go."

Gin followed him out, his mind not on his wedding, but on his war.

The plaza was filled with people. The Dinarans and the Valeryans were clamoring to see the marriage of the Princess of Valerya to the Sword Guardian of Dinara. Gin clenched his fists inside his pockets and tried to look like he gave a shit. Likely, he wasn't faking it so good, but Bry winked and nudged him into place beside the Grand Priest. The old fart was probably nearly two hundred years old, Gin guessed, but he still drank like a fish and smoked Prioni weed like a champion. He nodded regally to the president and gave Gin the finger. Gin bit down on his grin and tried to remain stoic.

"Her name is Maeve." Bry's voice was quiet as he leaned close to Gin. "She's Varak's third daughter, and I told him to pick the one who was the least ugly." Bry tried to keep a straight face, but he was grinning like an idiot. He shook his head, suddenly growing serious. "I am sorry about this, Gin."

Gin shrugged. He didn't see the big deal in it really. Bry was between a rock and a hard place. Marry him off to Varak's daughter or lose the Valeryan funding. He would have done the same thing in Bry's shoes. He told his brother so and watched tears gather in the other man's eyes.

Gin sighed. "Stow the emotion, Bry." He looked around to make sure no one else saw the president acting like such a pussy. "Let's get this done. I have a war to win."

Bry wiped his eyes and tipped his chin in acceptance. They straightened as the wedding march began. The Valeryan president couldn't walk all the way down the aisle, so he rode in his hover cart holding his daughter's hand. Gin watched her closely. In truth, the only thing he wanted from this marriage was a wife who cared about it as much as he did. If she was a simpering, clingy fool he'd find her a lover and get rid of her quickly. If she understood their predicament and met it with as much clear-headed acceptance as he did then they might be able to make a real go of being married. He had no intention of ever being the ideal husband, but he'd provide her with a home and whatever she desired to keep her happy while he fought the war.

She was tall. He liked tall women. When he had time for women. She was covered head to toe in Valeryan silk veils, so he'd get no real look at her until tonight when he was expected to bed her. Her eyes, though, were visible. He saw they were wide, bright and intelligent as they met his across the plaza. They were also filled with the anger of a thousand burning suns. Gin blinked as she glared at him the entire way down the aisle. He looked at Bry, who had also noticed her apparent dislike of him. Bry shrugged, understanding her animosity as much as Gin did.

Vakar put his daughter's hand in Gin's and bowed. Gin bowed back and escorted her to their place in front of the Grand Priest.

"My lady." He tried to remember all his courtly manners. It wouldn't do to have her trying to run at the first sight of him. He needed to at least sound civilized.

She hissed, and he drew back, surprised. Her voice hit him in the gut when she narrowed her eyes at him. It was smooth and sultry like Tabin whiskey. Very sexy.

"My name is Maeve, Gin. At least pretend you remember me."

He frowned, not sure what she meant. As far as he knew, he'd never met any of Vakar's daughters.

"I'm sorry, I don't know you."

She laughed quietly without merriment. She squeezed his hand when he took hers to begin the ceremony.

"Of course you don't, _Ginnai._ "

Bry had to cover a gasp with his hand when he heard the Valeryan girl speak Gin's real name. A name no one knew. Only Bry, Gin and.....

Gin blanched white, nearly passing out as his heart hammered in his chest.

"No." He dropped her hand and everyone gasped as he pulled her veil down, revealing the face he never thought he'd see again.

She puckered her perfectly pink lips and blew him a kiss.

"Miss me?"

He turned back to the Grand Priest as she pulled the veil up. He shot Bry a look, but was relieved to see that his friend looked just as shocked as he was. As least Bry hadn't been a part of this sick joke.

"What kind of game are you playing, Raven?" It was the name he'd always known her by. She took his hand when instructed by the priest. He winced as her nails dug into his palm. The priest said the ancient words of binding and he flinched when the genetic fusion began. It would bind them together, making it so that any of the gen readers in the galaxy would know they belonged to one another.

She leaned toward him, her words cold across his cheek.

"I'm here to marry you Gin. Just like we planned five years ago. Turnabout is fair play, remember?"

The problem was, he did remember. He'd said those words to her the day he'd left her chained up in the Boderian prison camp. He'd been sure she was a traitor, working for the Boderian prince against the Dinarans. He'd thought, all those years ago, that he loved her. Her betrayal had nearly killed him. It had, in fact, the day he'd had his face nearly shot off chasing her.

When the gen fusion was done it was too late. He was married to the only woman in the galaxy who'd ever heard the words, "I love you" from his lips. A woman who'd betrayed him and broken his heart. The woman he hated. A woman who was supposed to be dead.

You can find out where to buy _Forged in Fire_here.

Dearest Readers:

I am pleased to offer you this chance to read the first chapter of my science-fiction romance novel Forged in Fire. Forged holds a special place in my heart among all my novels, the hero especially. When I sat down to write about Gin Draven I knew that he was a very special man who had been deeply wounded by the terrible things he'd endured in his past. His heart was broken, his face scarred, but Gin was a fighter. Every moment that I spent with Gin was a thrilling time and I watched him blossom into a man determined to find and hold onto the happiness that he had lost once before. Sometimes secondary characters take on a life of their own, and I think you'll find a few of them in this novel. Just remember, never trust a space pirate... or do. They can be the best allies and the greatest of friends!

Author. Mother. Wife. Reading ninja. Food assassin. All-around goofball. Self-proclaimed nerd.

AR was born and raised in Western North Carolina, amidst grand mountains and gorgeous scenery. She now lives along the mighty Mississippi in Illinois with her husband, two daughters, two dogs, and a cat.

AR is a dialysis technician, and she spends her days helping people with kidney disease lead productive, healthier lives.

You can find more about AR here:

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# Echo 8 by Sharon Lynn Fisher

# About Echo 8

**Three lives. Two worlds. One chance to save them all.**

As a parapsychologist working for Seattle Psi, **Tess** has devoted her life to studying psychic phenomena. But when doppelgangers begin appearing from a parallel world that's been struck by an asteroid, nothing in her training will help her survive what's to come.

After dislocating to Seattle Psi from the other Earth, **Jake** is confined by a special task force for study. But when he drains life energy from Tess, almost killing her, it causes a ripple effect across two worlds — and creates a bond neither of them expected.

**Ross** is an FBI agent ordered to protect Tess while she studies Jake. His assignment is not random — he and Tess have a history, and a connection the Bureau hopes to use to its own advantage. By the time Ross realizes his mission could be compromised, it's already too late — he'll have to choose between his love for Tess and his duty to protect the people of his own Earth.

# Sample of Echo 8

BEYOND HELP

But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one.

—Bram Stoker, _Dracula_

**_Seattle Psi Training Institute—August 10, 2018_**

* * *

The man on the floor was transparent.

He tracked Tess as she crossed the room, stopping a couple meters away from him. He studied her, and she knew he was trying to understand. Trying to remember.

Her heart ached for him. He was human, after all. At least he had been.

"How do you feel?" Tess asked, taking another step toward him.

"Close enough, Doctor." The low, cautioning voice came not from the fading visitor, but from the FBI agent who'd moved to stand behind her. Tess did what she usually did when Ross McGinnis spoke to her in that tone. She ignored him.

"Where . . . am . . . I?" The visitor's voice scraped like dry leaves blowing across pavement. "Who are you?"

"I can answer those questions for you, but . . ." Tess swallowed. "It's going to come as a shock."

He blinked at her, and his gaze slid around the lab. The equipment had been removed, leaving nothing to look at but the exposed brick walls, painted ductwork, and gleaming hardwood floors.

"Where am I?" he repeated.

There was no time to make him understand. He had maybe an hour to live. But he deserved what little explanation she could offer.

"You've come here from a different Earth." His gaze snapped back to her face, and she could imagine what he was thinking. "There was a catastrophic impact event—an asteroid. The destruction knocked some of you loose from your own reality. Brought you to ours. We don't know how or why."

He stared at her, long and hard.

"Who are you?" His voice was stronger now, more insistent. But it still had a hollow, echoing quality.

"My name is Tess. I'm a parapsychologist."

One corner of his mouth twisted. Tess started to ask if he was in pain—but then realized the half-dead transparent man was smirking at her.

"This is a joke, right?"

She frowned. "I'm sorry. No."

Tess debated about how much to tell him. Compassion for the dying man warred with her sense of duty. She had a responsibility to glean as much information as she could from him. The lives of people on her own Earth depended on it.

"What's your name?" she asked as he continued to study her.

"Jake."

"Jake, I'd like to ask you some questions."

"How about you answer a few first. Like why do I feel like a pile of grated cheese?"

"That's complicated." She knelt on the floor so he wouldn't have to look up at her. "Your dislocation left you unable to sustain life energy."

"What does that mean exactly?"

"I'm afraid I don't have a more scientific explanation for you. The impact somehow relaxed the laws of physics as we understand them. Weakened boundaries between our universes, which allowed some of you to pass through to our Earth."

"I got a D in high school physics," said Jake, "but I'm thinking that shouldn't be possible."

"Some scientists believe we might one day be able to communicate with parallel worlds, and communication is just an exchange of energy. But the short answer is since you're here, it's possible. And without the connection to your own world, well . . . you're broken, for lack of a better word."

"Yeah, I noticed that." His eyes searched around the room. "There are others like me?"

"We know of as many as twenty. And more keep popping up."

"Where are they?"

She studied his face, which was little more than a ghostly residue. "They died, Jake."

"I'm dying too."

"Without a transfusion of energy, yes."

He gave her a tired smile. "I don't think my insurance covers that."

"I'd help you if I could. Unfortunately the effects of—"

"Doctor," interrupted the agent, "I think you've told him enough."

The Echo's ticking clock, and her compassion for his situation, shaved a slice off her already thin tolerance for the Bureau's interference. Glancing up she said, "Agent McGinnis, please do your job and allow me to do mine."

The agent's dark eyes registered no surprise. From their first handshake—months ago at the International Echo Summit in Washington D.C.—they'd generated neon sparks of animosity that had singed anyone within a three-meter radius.

As she glared at him, his gaze cut back to Jake. The agent frowned. "Doctor . . ."

She returned her attention to her subject—or to the spot on the floor where he had been.

"No," she groaned. She stepped toward the empty corner, kneeling.

"Careful, Doctor," warned the agent.

A dead bulb in the overhead light flickered on, and she jumped. Glancing down at the floor she noticed something that looked like chalk dust. She reached out and touched it with the tip of a finger.

"Tess!" the agent shouted. But it was too late.

White heat seared up her arm, and she screamed.

Sharp pains slashed down her body, a riptide of razors. Tess's life gushed out of her and into Jake, who rematerialized before her eyes. He gave a long, low moan, and Tess felt him strengthening, pulsing with her energy.

He rose to his knees as she fell back onto the floor, head striking the hardwood. He crouched over her, hands sliding up the outsides of her thighs. She gave another cry of agony.

From far away she could hear Agent McGinnis shouting. But Jake's arms coiled round her like serpents, and Tess knew she was beyond help.

THE MESSENGER

* * *

Though they have proven malignant thus far, I'm convinced they are not _malign_. They are not murderous by nature. As with any predator, we're dealing with a survival instinct.

— _Echo Dossier_ , Prof. Alexi Goff, University of Edinburgh

**_O ne week earlier_**

Tess walked slowly to the conference room, dreading the impromptu meeting with her supervisor, Seattle Psi Training Institute Director Abigail Carmichael.

Tess knew Abby had just received notification about Tess's appointment to the Echo Task Force. She would almost certainly try to talk Tess out of the post, despite the fact Tess had been nominated by a man they both respected—Tess's mentor, Professor Alexi Goff.

The post was dangerous, and Tess was young—the youngest task force member by a decade. But the White House had approved the appointment, and Tess had accepted. Everything was official now.

Opening the door to the conference room, Tess was surprised to find two people waiting for her. The unexpected—and familiar—face scrambled the mental notecards she'd assembled for her anticipated argument with Abby.

Black hair and a suit to match, accented with a vividly blue tie. Handsome and clean-shaven, with eyes that might be blue or gray—the only thing indecisive about him, in her experience.

He took a few steps toward her, and she glimpsed a shoulder holster as he offered to shake her hand.

"Tess," began Abby, "I believe you've met Special Agent Ross McGinnis."

"Yes," replied Tess, taking his hand.

She'd never understood why the Bureau had sent this man to the summit. He was clearly hostile to the sort of work she did. She was used to skeptics. To rigid, fear-based ideas about science that hardened even the highly educated in the face of compelling evidence. But someone like him didn't belong at a summit created to address a very real international threat. Dozens had died at the hands of Echoes. Many more might if they couldn't find a way to stop them. This was no pseudoscientific woo-woo.

She supposed he'd had similar reservations about her—a young post-doc rubbing shoulders with the world's greatest minds. She questioned it herself daily. But Goff was in the thick of it, and her collaboration with him—albeit long-distance—had rendered her more qualified than even the Nobel laureates in attendance.

"What brings you to Seattle, Agent McGinnis?" She offered him a chilly smile.

He exchanged a glance with Abby, and the tiny gesture of uncertainty—of deference— caused her heart to jump into her throat.

"What's happened?"

Abby came a step closer, fingers brushing Tess's arm. "Agent McGinnis has brought some news about Professor Goff."

Tess backed away, bracing a hand against the conference room table. "He's dead."

She didn't need confirmation; she felt the truth of it in her gut. Might have felt it before, had she not been preoccupied with the appointment.

She sank onto the edge of the table, and Abby moved to sit beside her. They both glanced at the agent.

Nodding, he said, "Six hours ago. The fade attacked him."

Tess closed her eyes. Echo 7, the only one currently in confinement. "Are you sure about this?"

"I spoke to the SAS agent assigned to Goff. I'm sorry, Dr. Caufield."

Goff was thorough and methodical. He had taken every precaution. Tess knew because she'd been video-conferencing with him since 7 was picked up by the SAS. Before that, in fact—after his interviews with 5 and 6. But 7 was almost gone when they got him—hadn't fed in days. Had Goff seen the window of opportunity closing and started taking risks? Until someone could discover a nonlethal way of sustaining Echoes—of conducting energy transfers without killing the donor—the current shoot-on-sight policy would stand. That was an escalating tragedy neither she nor Goff could stomach. Because anyone who spent five minutes with one could see they weren't monsters.

Yet Goff was dead.

Abby slipped an arm around Tess, and she realized she'd begun to tremble. "I want you to take a couple of weeks off. Fly to Scotland for the service. You can decide about the appointment later."

Tess glanced again at Agent McGinnis, who stood waiting and watching. She didn't want him here. She could feel the cracks in her composure forking and expanding, and she didn't want him reporting back to his superiors how the new task force member had gone to pieces when she heard the news.

"Why did they send you?" she asked.

He was a cool customer. No hint of emotion.

"I've been assigned to you," he replied.

Tess gripped the edge of the table, lips arcing down. "What do you mean 'assigned to me'?"

"Assigned to protect you."

"Protect me from . . . ?" But she knew where this was going.

"No one wants to see what happened to Goff happen to you. There's growing evidence the Echoes are drawn to members of the task force. I thought you were aware."

Tess was aware. Goff wasn't the first to die. He'd hypothesized there was some kind of entanglement involved—in the quantum sense, where entangled particles were able to share information across distances without contact. "Spooky action at a distance," Einstein had called it. It was like the Echoes knew where to go for help, at least on a subconscious level.

Though as of yet they hadn't managed to help a single one.

Despite all this, she didn't quite buy the agent's explanation. It felt like interference. Like they weren't sure whether they could trust her to do her job. Goff had openly disapproved of the FBI's policy regarding Echoes, and Tess suspected the disapproval ran both ways.

"You don't have to do this," interrupted Abby. "Not for Goff, not for anyone. Tess . . ." Abby's voice deepened. "I'm asking you _not_ to do this."

Abby had complete authority over Tess in her role at the institute, but she could do nothing to stop this appointment, and both of them knew it. She was the only maternal figure in Tess's life, however, and Tess appreciated her protective impulses.

"Goff was the only one who understood," Tess said simply. "Now it's just me."

She _did_ have to do this. She had believed in Goff, and his efforts had cost him his life. She couldn't let that be for nothing. And she still believed it was the right thing to do.

The director rose and turned from her, toward the window, resting her hands on her hips.

Tess slipped off the edge of the table and glanced at her new colleague. "Welcome to Seattle, Agent McGinnis. If you'll excuse me . . ."

Tess was barely out the door when the first sob heaved out of her. She hurried down the corridor and up the central stairway toward her apartment.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her.

"Doctor, wait . . . I need to talk to you about—"

She rounded on him, startled to find him close behind her. "Later, Agent McGinnis," she snapped, her voice raw with grief.

He sank backward a step, and the controlled lines of his face loosened. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize—"

She turned and ran up to her apartment, closing and locking the door behind her.

***

_—the two of you were so close._

Ross felt like an ass. He turned and headed back down the stairs.

They'd gotten off on the wrong foot now. Though really that had happened at their first meeting in D.C. On orders from the Bureau's director, Ross had been seated next to her at the summit's opening dinner. She'd taken an immediate dislike to him.

_I'm sure it had nothing to do with questioning the validity of her life's work._ Asking her how it was possible to train people in a skill that had never been scientifically validated had probably not been his smartest move ever. Her resentment had been palpable. And her accusation that he was criticizing a field he knew nothing about had been deserved. It was a mistake someone in his position should not make. But when she'd explained her line of work to him over the bouillabaisse, she'd unknowingly pricked a nerve.

He'd been ordered to stay close to her at the summit, and it soon became clear that assignment had been compromised. It was difficult to subtly shadow someone who was actively avoiding you.

He'd confessed his sins to Bureau Director Garcia, with far less fallout than he would have expected. He had not been reassigned. Garcia did not seem to care that Dr. Caufield hated him.

But it was going to make his job a hell of a lot harder.

She'd accepted an apology from him on the last day of the summit, but it hadn't thawed her even minutely. Now he'd brought her news of the death of her colleague. He doubted he could recover with her, but he had his orders and he had to try.

Instead of going back down to the conference room, he stopped on the second floor, where they'd assigned him the studio apartment directly below Dr. Caufield's. He tossed his bag on the bed and started transferring his clothes to the dresser and closet. The room was spare, with battered secondhand furniture, but he'd slept in far worse places.

His thoughts returned to Caufield and all he'd learned about her for this assignment. He'd scrolled through dozens of images of her on the ride to the summit location on the outskirts of the capital. As he'd studied her features, his gut had told him she was going to be difficult. His gut was hardly ever wrong.

But it was hard not to wonder whether he'd created his own reality in that hour before their first meeting. And then fulfilled his own prophecy with that barbed comment at dinner. That was his problem with psi abilities in general. How much of it was simply self-deterministic, even if on a subconscious level?

There was more to it than her being difficult, or a psi expert, though. When she'd taken her seat beside him—smiling warmly, her auburn hair wafting jasmine with every turn of her head—parts other than his gut had responded in unexpected ways. _That_ was a recipe for disaster, and he had to consider the part it might have played in his antagonistic behavior.

But Ross had been a field agent for ten years. Far from his rookie days, loyal to the Bureau and unfailingly professional. He could deal with one moody, sexy scientist.

***

For two days Tess holed up in her apartment on the third floor of the Seattle Psi building, a renovated, circa-1900 elementary school. The abandoned Colman School had been slated for demolition ten years ago when the nonprofit Pacific Northwest Psi Foundation stepped in and converted it to a research and training facility, as well as onsite housing for scientists. Tess and Abby had offices on the second floor and apartments on the third. The first was reserved for meeting areas, break room, and research space and equipment.

Agent McGinnis had been given one of the apartments used by visiting researchers, and he was far too close. Tess knew when he was showering or shaving. Video conferencing or talking on the phone. Entering or leaving the apartment. She knew he didn't play loud music or watch TV. She heard him moving around at all hours and knew that like her he didn't sleep more than a few hours at a time.

She resented that she'd been forced to become so aware of him. But for now it was better than having to deal with him face-to-face. The loss of Professor Goff was a suffocating weight. Tess needed space to work through it, and she needed time to find her footing on her new assignment— _without_ the interference of an outsider with an unknown agenda.

Thankfully she had a lot of catching up to do. The first item on the agenda: acquiring the details of Goff's death. Unfortunately that one proved easy to tick off, because the investigation ended at a file that had been sealed by SAS Special Projects, Britain's counter-terrorism unit.

_We'll let Agent McGinnis earn his keep on this one_. She fired off an email asking him to throw his weight—and if possible, the Bureau's—behind her request to unseal the file.

After that she dove into a lifetime's worth of reading on the Echo threat. McGinnis had gotten her access to the Bureau's case files, and the University of Edinburgh, where Goff had worked as director of the Koestler Parapsychology Unit, had sent her his _Echo Dossier_ , an electronic packet of research notes and video files. She was also playing catch-up on in-progress task force discussions. Grave as the situation that had led to this appointment was, it was impossible not to feel a little heady about working directly with world-renowned physicists, biologists, and psychologists.

Tess had a long-enough task list to justify holing up for a week, even considering the fact Abby had temporarily reassigned her Seattle Psi projects to other staff members. But on the morning of the third day, having exhausted her food stores and—more critically—her coffee supply, she was forced to head down to the center's café for breakfast.

She arrived at 7 a.m., hoping to avoid chitchat with her colleagues, and intending to grab coffee and a bagel before heading back upstairs. But as she scanned her meal card for the sleepy barista, Agent McGinnis appeared before her.

"Good morning, Doctor."

"Good morning."

He crossed to the dispenser for brewed coffee and picked up a mug. Tess seized the opportunity to escape.

"Could I talk to you for a minute?"

_Damn._ She froze in the doorway, taking a deep breath before turning. "Of course."

"Why don't we sit outside so we won't be interrupted?"

So much for hopes of being rescued by a colleague.

Tess followed him to the double doors that led out to a small patio with a cluster of tables and umbrellas. It was the first week of August, and so far this summer they'd had nothing but rain. But the sky was finally cloudless this morning, with the sun just peeking above the hill to the east.

"Will you be warm enough?" he asked, holding the door for her. If nothing else he was considerate.

She held the edges of her cardigan together with her free hand. "I'll be fine."

The patio faced the grounds that had once been a playfield for the school, now a rhododendron garden with benches and graveled walks. She sipped her latte and breathed the fresh morning air. It felt good to be outside while the rest of the world was just waking up. Almost the rest of the world. She glanced at her companion.

"I didn't know you and Goff were so close, Doctor. I'm sorry for your loss."

Tess managed a polite smile. "Thank you." No one but Abby _would_ know. Goff had been more of a father to her than her real father, despite the long-distance working relationship. "What did you want to talk about, Agent McGinnis?"

"I wanted to brief you on the measures we've taken to ensure your safety." His long fingers pressed the sides of his mug, fingernails lining up in neat, clean rows. She curled her own fingers, with picked-ragged cuticles, into her palms.

"Your building has minimal security," he continued, "so I've called in agents from the Seattle Field Office to help me keep an eye on things. At least two of us will be on duty at all times. And you have my cell number—I'm here for you twenty-four-seven, Doctor. Call me about anything, anytime."

Tess lifted her eyes to his face and studied him more closely. He was as neat as his fingernails—clean-shaven, with short-cropped dark hair. The black suit deepened the overcast gray of his eyes. She'd never seen him in anything else, and she wondered if he wore it every day.

"Do you have questions for me?" he asked.

"I've been wondering what I'm supposed to do with you, Agent McGinnis."

He squinted a little and picked up his cup. "I'm not sure how to answer that."

"You said you're here to protect me. Are you going to follow me around?"

He smiled. "You're direct, aren't you?"

"It saves time. I'm busy. I work better with people who are direct with _me_."

"Noted," he said with a nod. "I'm afraid the answer is yes. We will be monitoring you, as unobtrusively as possible. In fact we have been already—I have an agent walking the upper floors day and night."

Tess raised her eyebrows. She really _had_ been buried in her work. How had she failed to notice strangers pacing the creaky hallways?

"I'd also ask that you pay more attention than you normally do to your surroundings," he continued. "The fade that killed—"

"I'd prefer not to refer to them that way, if you don't mind. They're _people_. What's happened to them is not their fault."

McGinnis considered this, tapping the side of his cup. "As I understand, we don't really know why it's happening, do we, Doctor?"

"That's true," she conceded. "But I think it's dangerous to dehumanize them."

"That wasn't my intention. If you're more comfortable with the term 'Echo,' I'll use that." He sipped his coffee. "I'm sure you're aware the Echo that killed that French biophysicist two weeks ago appeared not five feet in front of him. The man never had a chance. I can't save you from that, so I need you to stay sharp. If anything odd or unexpected happens, even if it's just a funny feeling, like someone watching you, drop what you're doing and find me."

Tess suppressed a smile. One of her ongoing projects at the institute involved helping research subjects sharpen their precognitive skills. She'd become an expert on "funny feelings"—which McGinnis had made it clear during their first meeting he didn't believe in.

But she let it pass. "I understand."

"Do you have any experience with firearms?"

Her stomach clenched as she anticipated what was coming next. "I don't like guns."

"It's something we might want to consider."

"I don't see the point. When they're hungry, bullets are useless. Energy depletion affects their mass, so—"

"I'm aware, Dr. Caufield." There was a bite in his reply. She watched his features smooth, and his tone evened out as he continued. "But we've observed that some are more aggressive than others. Some will feed even when they don't need to. At those times they're vulnerable, and a gun could save you."

Tess shook her head. "I have no training. I've never even held a gun."

"That's easily remedied."

"Agent McGinnis, I don't want to shoot anyone. You're aware I was assisting Goff. He nominated me for the task force so we could collaborate more directly. I have every intention of going on with the work he was doing. I can't do that until I have a subject to study. If one lands in my lap, the _last_ thing I want is to shoot him."

"I'm afraid that won't be your call to make, Doctor. I have orders to keep you alive."

Tess clenched her teeth. Arguing with him was the least productive thing she could do. But she couldn't get past resenting the fact they hadn't consulted her about sending him.

"I understand you have your orders," she conceded. "But I assume you have no authority to force me to carry a gun."

"I don't."

Relaxing at this confirmation, she continued, "I hear what you're saying, and you're right that there is some evidence Echoes are drawn to task force members. Do you suppose we could compromise? Some nonlethal device?"

His frown deepened as he considered. "We haven't tested electroshock devices against Echoes. But it's better than nothing."

Tess nodded and rose from the table. "All right. If you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do."

"There's one more thing, Doctor. Please." He gestured to the chair, and all the blood rushed to her face as she sat back down. Professional courtesy was important to her, but she didn't want him getting the idea he could order her around.

"You should know that the Bureau wasn't entirely onboard with the research Goff was doing." _Ah, here it comes._ "Don't misunderstand. Everyone had tremendous respect for what he accomplished. For what he was able to learn about them before he died. But the Bureau is most concerned with mitigating the threat."

"Are you here to tell me how to conduct my research, Agent McGinnis?"

"Doctor, try to—"

"Yes or no?"

The agent's lips pressed into a hard line. His gaze shifted to the playfield. She could see the artery in his throat pulsing.

"I'm not a scientist. The White House has tapped your expertise, not mine. But the Bureau is taking the lead in managing this crisis, and they do expect us to work together. As for Goff's research, obviously we have no authority over how other countries choose to oversee the efforts of their task force members."

If nothing else, she had to admire his ability to evade a direct question. But the answer was clear enough.

You can out where to buy this book here.

ECHO 8 started with a scene that came to me — I had a visual of a man locked away in an institution, desolate and confused about where he was and why. I knew he was dangerous for some reason, but I hadn't figured out why. Next came the idea for a psi researcher who was working with him, and an interfering FBI agent. I was struggling to pull it all together, and I went to visit a school (in Seattle, where I live) that had been built in the early 1900s and boarded up and abandoned for many years. It was currently home to an African American history museum. As I began to develop my parallel worlds, I decided the building was a psi research center in another reality. It all took off from there!

An RWA RITA Award finalist and a three-time Golden Heart Award finalist, **Sharon Lynn Fisher** writes stories for the geeky at heart—meaty mash-ups of sci-fi, fantasy, suspense, and romance, with no apology for the latter. She lives where it rains nine months of the year, and she has a strange obsession with gingers (down to her freaky orange cat). Visit her website at www.sharonlynnfisher.com.

Sharon's sci-fi romance novels include:

_Ghost Planet_ (Tor, 2012) _The Ophelia Prophecy_ (Tor, 2014) _Echo 8_ (Tor, 2015)

She also has a collection of erotic fairy tales coming in July 2016 from Penguin Random House Loveswept:

_Before She Wakes: Forbidden Fairy Tales_

You can find Sharon online here:

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# Reckless Rescue by Rinelle Grey

# About Reckless Rescue

Stranded on the dying planet of Zerris, Marlee longs for the one thing she can't have...a family. Due to the noxious gas covering the planet, she can't conceive a child, and the Council, determined to repopulate the planet, have ended her third—and most precious—relationship. They insist she pick a new mate and try again, but she's sworn off love and the possibility of ever having a real family.

When a ship from the thriving planet of Urslat crashes on Zerris, Marlee rescues the ship's daring captain, Tyris. His ship is grounded, winter is setting in, and he won't survive without help. She offers him a deal...he can live with her if he pretends to be her mate so the Council will leave her alone.

Tyris agrees and a hungry desire sparks between them as they battle the harsh winter and primitive conditions. Their attraction grows, and soon, keeping their distance becomes impossible, even more challenging than the snow, the Council, and, for Marlee, the risks of a real relationship.

Will she risk her heart one last time for a chance at her dream? Or will Tyris be her undoing?

# Sample of Reckless Rescue

Chapter 1

The phone buzzed on the bedside table. Tyris sat bolt upright, his heart racing. He took a few deep breaths before reaching for it, his hand shaking. Forcing his eyes to focus, he stared at the message on the screen.

"Appreciate the help, Tyris. Hope you enjoy these tickets to the show next weekend as thanks."

Relief swamped him. It wasn't signed, but he knew who it was from. Not the message he'd been dreading. That wouldn't come by message anyway.

Once his heart slowed, a tingle of anticipation ran down his spine.

He'd got them.

The bed was empty beside him, so Tyris smiled and lay back on the pillows, resting the phone on his knees. An image of the screen projected above it and he swiped his fingers across it several times, checking for the best space fares. It wasn't easy to find a good deal from Urslat to anywhere else in the galaxy these days, what with the scarcity of anysogen, but price was no object. He couldn't wait to be far away from here, where messages couldn't reach him—where he could ignore the niggling worry that something was wrong, at least for a while.

Instead he focused on the fact that he'd finally done it. He had the perfect way to top the anniversary gift Milandra had given him last year. A slow smile curved his lips as he remembered last year. He'd been so disappointed that he couldn't make the shuttle races on Milat, but his leave application had been denied. He didn't know Milandra had already arranged with General Harrington for him to have the time off, and had already bought the tickets in advance. Sometimes, being married to a general's daughter had its advantages.

He hadn't even minded that they'd spent five of the seven days shopping. The race had been amazing. Hard to top. But he'd done it. Exclusive, invitation only tickets to a show by her favourite designer on the faraway moon of Pilar. He didn't understand what was so wonderful about making new clothes out of old ones from three decades ago, but that didn't matter. Milandra loved the stuff. Luckily, the designer's assistant owed him a favour.

Tickets booked, he set the phone on the nightstand, jumped out of bed, and went looking for his wife.

He found Milandra in the kitchen staring into the freezer. The picture she presented, bending over, white silk dressing gown lifting to show most of her thighs, made him smile. He crossed the room and kissed the back of her neck as she stood up, sliding his arms around her waist. "Good morning," he said huskily.

Milandra laughed and twisted in his arms to return his kiss. "Good morning to you, too." She wriggled out of his arms and poured herself a glass of orange juice. "There's a letter for you."

Her off hand words sent a chill down Tyris's spine. "There is?" His voice sounded faint, even to his own ears.

Milandra nodded towards the kitchen bench where she'd thrown the mail, then started buttering her toast.

Tyris stared at the mail from across the room. The pile contained mostly junk, but hidden under the stack was an official-looking letter with a government seal.

He'd been dreading this moment for three days, since the announcement of the government's radical new plan to combat the chronic overpopulation.

It wasn't the first time the Colonies had faced this problem. Thirty years ago, before the discovery of anysogen, when they were limited to the half a dozen planets they could reach via slow shuttles, they'd tried to limit population growth by suggesting that people stop having so many children. They paid scientists to draw up frightening graphs of how quickly food would run out.

It hadn't worked.

Just as they'd begun tossing around ideas for more serious controls, anysogen and faster than light travel had been discovered. This opened up an enormous number of new planets, and in the rush to populate them, the government had encouraged people to have more children. Their population boom had rivalled their expansion.

Until they realised the anysogen was running out. Then they were back to square one.

Worse off really, because almost all of the farming had been moved off Urslat onto distant farming planets. No one knew how they would feed the billions of people who called the central planet home when they ran out of anysogen.

Already, the climbing food prices and overcrowding caused more and more crime problems every day. Milandra had laughed when the government announced that anyone with a criminal record would be denied the choice to have children. It solved all the issues so neatly—reducing the population by targeting the most troublesome areas.

Tyris had been unable to join in her mirth. Even though he recognised the neatness of the solution, a sudden fear had clutched at his heart.

Milandra took a mouthful of orange juice and slid a meal into the microwave. The click of the door closing made him jump.

"Are you going to open it?" She nodded to the letter. Then she stopped and looked more closely at his face. "Is everything okay? You look pale."

He didn't trust his voice, just nodded. Trying to act normal, he took a deep breath, and crossed the room.

Milandra leaned back on the bench, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. The belt on her silk dressing gown slid open, revealing the lacy negligee that showed off her slim figure to perfection. Moments ago, that sight would've stirred his desire, but now it barely registered.

He slid his finger under the flap of the envelope, pulled out the folded paper and scanned its contents.

"What is it?" Milandra asked. "Are you being deployed again? Hopefully not to one of the outer planets. Last time you came back from there I swear it took a week of showers before all the dirt washed away." She wrinkled her nose.

If only this letter contained something as mundane as deployment orders. The words blurred in front of his eyes. He skimmed through them, even though he already knew what they would say—

"Report to your doctor at 3:15 this afternoon for insertion of a contraceptive chip. Damage or removal of this chip will constitute a federal offence, and may be subject to penalties up to and including incarceration."

This couldn't be happening. Not to him. He hadn't killed or hurt anyone. He'd been trying to do what was right. And where had it gotten him? He wiped one hand on his pants, but it still felt damp. The letter slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor.

Milandra put down her orange juice and picked up the letter. "There must be a mistake," she said, scanning the document. "You don't have a criminal record. I'll talk to Daddy and get this fixed."

"It's not a mistake." His voice echoed hollowly.

"What?" Milandra's eyes widened and her hand fluttered to her chest.

"I participated in a protest in college, remember? I told you." Tyris closed his eyes briefly. It was so long ago, why couldn't it stay in the past?

"You went to a protest? Are you insane?" Milandra stared at him as though she'd never heard the story before. "Why would you do something like that? What could possibly be important enough for you to risk everything?"

"They withdrew the pensions for those who fought in the Off World Wars." A flicker of anger stirred in his belly at the thought, but he squashed it. He couldn't afford those feelings—they'd already cost him too much.

"You took part in a protest for that?" Milandra's voice rose a notch, and Tyris winced. "Do you have any idea what this could mean for us? For me?" She covered her face with her hand. "What will Daddy say? What will the papers say? How could you be so thoughtless, Tyris? Why would you do something so pointless? That's what we have a Justice Department for! They appealed the decision and reinstated the pensions."

Because we protested. But he didn't dare say the words aloud. "They shouldn't have done it in the first place," he mumbled. "Those people fought under government orders. They earned those pensions."

"What do you care? Because of your Uncle Max? He didn't even need a pension. He had more than enough money of his own." Milandra shook her head in disbelief, her mouth a thin, angry line.

How could he explain to her? Explain that while his Uncle Max had never wanted for money, the war had broken him. The guilt, the nightmares, the constant drinking to dull the pain. So many people had come back from that war damaged forever. They would never be able to work again. And without those pensions, children would go hungry, families would be homeless.

He'd already paid dearly for his part in the protests. Ten years ago it had nearly cost him his position in the Space Force. Now it was going to cost him again. But he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he hadn't spoken up.

Had he made any real difference? He hadn't been the only protestor. The outcome probably would have been the same without his presence.

He let out a deep sigh. "I don't know."

Milandra stared at him. "You don't know? What kind of answer is that?"

"Look, does it really matter? You didn't want kids anyway. Last time we talked about it you said that you liked our life the way it was. Just us."

Milandra had always been the one to say that they weren't having children. Building her career took all her time. What was left, she wanted to enjoy. He'd accepted her answer, even though he'd always hoped she would change her mind.

Milandra's eyes were cold. "Does it matter? How can you even ask that? Everyone is going to know. I won't be able to look my friends in the eyes anymore."

Tyris shrugged, the movement stiff. "So what? So people will know we're never going to have kids. It's not like they couldn't guess that anyway."

"They'll know you have a criminal record," Milandra said flatly. "This will destroy everything I've dreamed of since I was a little girl. I've worked so hard to get where I am, and this could bring it all tumbling down in an instant. Can't you see that?"

Milandra's nose tilted up, the way it always did when she talked about her TV show. As though it made her a star.

"Come on, Landy, it was just a little protest, for a good cause even. It's not like I murdered someone."

Milandra didn't even seem to hear him. "We've been married for three years, God, four years next week. How could you keep this from me?"

"I didn't keep it from you. I tried to tell you about it the night I asked you to marry me, don't you remember?"

Her nose wrinkled. Then realisation dawned. "You were droning on about the Off World Wars and stuff you regretted. I thought you meant something you'd done in the Space Force. It's normal for officers to have to follow or give orders they disagree with. I know Daddy has a few he won't talk about. You didn't mention a protest or, more importantly, that you'd been arrested. That's the bit that's a problem."

"You interrupted me before I could get that far! You said that nothing I could do would stop you loving me. Guess I was naive enough to believe it. And to think that after nearly four years together, something like this wouldn't be a big deal. It doesn't change who I am or how we feel about each other. It's not really going to change anything in our lives."

"Maybe not in your life. But when this comes out, it could ruin mine."

"Celebrities have scandals all the time," Tyris said. "It'll blow over. Besides, you always said that any publicity, even bad publicity, would still bring in new viewers. You can use this, can't you? Make a point of it. There are a lot of people out there who will be angry at this decision. Work with it."

Milandra shook her head. "My viewers support the new laws. They aren't the sort to be dealing with this issue themselves and they don't want to be sympathetic to criminals."

Her words cut. "So I'm a criminal now?"

"What do you think Tyris? You're forbidden to have kids. You're going to have a contraceptive chip implanted, whether you like it or not. This sort of thing just doesn't happen to people like me!"

"It's not happening to you. It's happening to me." Anger bubbled in Tyris until he lost his usual sense of self control, releasing the pent up feelings he'd been suppressing for years. "Can't you stop thinking about yourself for one second and realise that I'm hurting here too?"

Milandra stared at him. "You're hurting? You should have thought about that before you went to a protest."

"I should have known you wouldn't understand." Tyris's shoulders slumped. Suddenly he was very, very tired. "It doesn't matter. Let's just forget about it, okay?"

Milandra stared at him. "I can't forget about it. This changes everything."

The complete lack of emotion in her voice scared him and spurred him to action. "Look, I'm sorry Landy. I should never have gone to that protest in the first place. I know that now. I can't go back and change the past, but we can work this out. Can't we?" He reached for her hands, but she backed away, shaking her head. The fear growing in the pit of his stomach intensified.

"I... I can't right now, Tyris." She shook her head again.

This couldn't be happening. He searched for the right words, the ones that would fix this.

"Daddy will have a fit," Milandra said quietly to herself. "But he'll get over it. I can stay there for a while until I decide..."

This sounded serious. Milandra didn't make plans. She blew up, let off steam, and stormed out. Then when she calmed down, they worked things out.

Or they always had before.

"Landy, are you leaving me?" He hated the way his voice sounded.

She didn't even flinch. "I don't have any other option, Tyris. I'm not giving up everything I ever worked for."

Tyris licked his lips. His mouth felt like sawdust.

Milandra tied the belt around her dressing gown and grabbed her purse. "I'm never going to forget you, Tyris." Her voice wavered and he wondered if she was about to cry. Before he could reach for her, she whirled around and ran out of their apartment.

Tyris stared after her, flinching when the door slammed.

He took a step towards the door. He wanted to go after her, to try to make her see reason, but he stopped himself. She wasn't even dressed. She'd be back. Hopefully she'd be a bit calmer. Maybe they could discuss this then. They could sort it out—they had been married for four years.

It couldn't be over that quickly.

He paced the room, anxiety crawling along his veins, making every part of his body restless. He couldn't imagine life without Milandra. There had to be some way to win her back...

Life had always just fallen into place for him. His parents paid for a good school and he'd achieved high marks with little effort. Since childhood, he'd dreamed of being a pilot and of flying a spaceship. The only thing that had ever gotten in his way had been that stupid protest. Fortunately, General Kendal, a friend of his Uncle Max, pushed for the board to accept his application despite his record.

He'd met Milandra in his first year in the Space Force, when she'd been visiting her father. Their romance had been one of those whirlwinds everyone talked about, sweeping him up in its inescapable vortex. She'd been everything he hoped for in a wife. So free and vibrant, so focused on what she wanted to achieve in life. They'd had so much in common.

They still did. This was just a glitch. Temporary. He'd find a way around it. Once the news wasn't so new no one would care that he'd made one stupid mistake.

He sat down, flicked on the TV, and stared at the news of protesters in the Urslat streets. He shook his head. They didn't even care about it going on their records anymore. They had nothing left to lose.

The video feeds switched from country to country, the images all the same. The numbers were too great. When Space Force officers tried to disperse the protestors, the situation escalated into riots.

The intercom buzzed and he jumped up. Milandra must have left her key card behind when she flounced out. He tried to keep the smile off his face, so she wouldn't hear it in his voice. If she thought he was laughing at her, she'd be furious.

He pressed the button. "Landy?"

"Why would I be Landy? Doesn't she have a key card?" Kerit's voice responded.

Tyris sighed and buzzed his brother in.

When he opened the door, Kerit thrust two bottles of soda into his hands. "Hey, bro. Put those in the fridge." He walked through to the living room and threw himself onto the couch, plopping his feet up on the coffee table. He picked up a half-eaten bag of chips Tyris had left out last night and tasted one experimentally. He shrugged then munched noisily.

Finally, he looked over at Tyris, still standing in the doorway. His eyes narrowed and he stopped, handful of chips half way to his mouth. "What's up, Ty? Something wrong?"

"Milandra walked out on me." He needed to tell someone, and there wasn't anyone he felt closer to than his brother, despite their differences. He lightly touched the jade dolphin hanging at his neck. "Guess the luck doesn't work for me."

"Give it time, bro. The dolphin works in mysterious ways."

Tyris gave a laugh. His brother was firmly convinced the dolphin had brought him luck. He didn't believe in that kind of thing. He believed in things he could see. But he liked the charm because it reminded him of the bond he had with his brother.

"Maybe this will work out for the best somehow," Kerit suggested. "What happened anyway?"

Tyris put the drinks on the coffee table and sat down opposite Kerit, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I've been banned from having kids."

Kerit winced. He reached for one of the soda bottles and took a swig. "That protest thing? I can't believe that's still following you around. Can't you get them to take it off your record?"

Even though he was stressed, Tyris smiled at his little brother. He reached for the other soda and took a mouthful. "I don't have that much clout. I'd have to do something pretty impressive to have that one wiped."

"Well, do something impressive then. You're always going around doing impressive stuff." Kerit waved a hand. As though it were that simple.

Tyris couldn't help a small laugh. He didn't think his problems would be solved that easily, but talking to Kerit calmed him down somewhat. "About the only thing that impressive would be to find a hidden source of anysogen. Then I think the government would do anything I asked." As he thought about it, he warmed to the idea. "If the record was wiped, then Milandra wouldn't have anything to worry about. Then she'd definitely come back."

"So find some anysogen," Kerit said. "Didn't you say something about a planet no one talks about? Can't you call in a favour of some sort? Failing that, you could always find the right person to sleep with. You can charm the socks off a snake."

Tyris stared at his brother. Why hadn't he thought of that? Not the charming the socks off a snake bit, the lost planet.

He'd first heard of it by chance. In his second year of college he'd begun an assignment on the development of the anysogen engine, but hadn't been able to find information on the planet where the precious gas had first been discovered. Since the breakthrough had been made a mere thirty years ago, around the time of his birth, it should have been public knowledge.

The mystery had intrigued him, and he'd even gone so far as to write his entire paper on the lack of information. His professor returned the assignment, unmarked, with only the note that if he wanted a job in the Space Force, he should resubmit the paper. He'd been given a two week extension. Though this only increased his interest, Tyris promptly obliged and submitted a safer report focusing on the first interstellar space flight.

He'd dreamt of flying into space since before he could speak. In fact, his parents claimed that his first word had been 'star'. He wouldn't do anything else that might potentially damage his career.

Since that time, anysogen had become so scarce he didn't think finding it would damage his career at all. In fact, it would probably save it.

Only four planets had been found containing the precious gas that allowed their ships to fly faster than the speed of light. They'd searched in vain for more planets, but ironically, their range was limited by the fuel shortage. Now there wasn't even enough to reach beyond explored space, to search out new planets that might solve their overcrowding problems. There was barely enough to keep ferrying settlers and supplies back and forth from the currently settled planets.

One day soon, they'd run out. Then space travel would go back to being painfully slow, with passage between the colonial planets taking months or years, not weeks.

"I think you have something there, Ker."

"I do?" Kerit's face registered surprise then approval. He winked. "I take it you have someone in mind?"

"Something like that." He suspected that going after the planet he was thinking of—one that had been removed from the history books despite the riches it contained—had its risks. No point in embroiling Kerit in it.

His brother's record was clean. Best to keep it that way.

Tyris kept his back straight as General Kendal paced the room. The chip in his upper arm still stung, but he didn't wince. Before he approached the general, he'd made sure to keep the appointment to have the chip implanted. It looked better if he appeared to be obedient. He needed every edge he could get. What he was asking for wasn't exactly by the books.

He tried not to let his eyes follow the man, tried not to let any hint of desperation show in his face.

"You know how short of anysogen we are," the general said finally, turning to face him. "This is a big ask."

"I know, sir."

The general sighed. "Why couldn't you ask for a normal ship? We only have two HSLD-SV's, and both of them are prepping for immediate dispatch when the results of the current outer space survey come in. There are hopes that the scientists might have found another habitable planet, and lord knows we could do with one. There are plenty of ships assigned for pilot's rec leave. Won't one of them do?"

Tyris didn't want to give away his reasons. Not yet. "How about the Mark II's? Surely they won't be sent that far? They're just sitting in port gathering dust. Wouldn't it be better that they get a bit of use now and then?"

The general pursed his lips, his brow creasing. "The Mark II's don't have the capacity of the Mark III's, no. Every planet that's within their fuel range has already been explored. Officially, they've been retired."

Tyris ran over the specs for the Mark II in his mind. Their scanning capability was slightly limited due to a weaker signal. They could only scan when the shields were down, leaving the ship exposed for the duration of the scan. But that shouldn't pose a problem for his plans. So long as they could detect anysogen. That was all he needed.

The general searched Tyris's face, then sighed. "The Hylista is due for a maintenance flight next week. If I schedule that with your vacation days, we just might be able to swing it." His face grew serious. "You're not planning anything stupid are you?"

Tyris shook his head. "No, of course not."

You can find out how to buy this book here.

My introduction to my love of sci-fi came from watching TV series with my husband. Star Trek, Stargate, Battlestar Galactica, Farscape. You probably know them.

A common episode trope in a lot of these shows (particularly the first two, is one of our explorers being stranded on a planet and finally, giving up all hope of being rescued, he falls in love with one of the locals. Of course, just after he does this, his crew arrive and rescue him, and though he's sad to leaved, he always does.

I always half wanted him to decide to stay. So I decided to write my own version. Reckless Rescue is that story.

If you read a Rinelle Grey story, you can trust in a happy ending. Love will always triumph, even if it seems impossible... Rinelle Grey writes feel-good romance usually in science fiction or fantasy settings. Her heroines are independent and headstrong, and her stories are hard to put down. She grew up in a remote area of Australia, without power, hot water, or a phone, but now lives with all of those and her (happily ever after) husband, daughter, chooks, ducks and veggie garden.

You can fine Rinelle online here:

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# Prophecy by Lea Kirk

# About Prophecy

_A nightmare of galactic proportions..._

One normal day turns into horror when Earth is attacked. Now ER nurse Alexandra Bock is imprisoned aboard an alien slave ship with no way out. She deems all aliens untrustworthy, including the handsome blue-skinned Matiran captain who shares her cell.

_A betrayal from within..._

One night of treachery leaves Senior Captain Gryf Helyg a prisoner of his enemies. Because of him, Earth's inhabitants face extinction and his home world is threatened. But his plans for escape are complicated by his inexplicable draw to the Earth woman imprisoned with him.

_A chance to save both their peoples..._

One ancient prophecy holds the key to free Alexandra and Gryf's war-ravaged worlds. Can two wounded souls who have lost everything learn to trust and forgive in order to fulfill the prophecy, and find a love that will last for eternity?

# Sample from Prophecy

Chapter One

_Present Day Earth_

Alexandra Bock opened her eyes. Faint grey light filtered through a woven black cloth over her face. Where the hell was she now? A chill from the hard surface seeped through the thin fabric of her hospital scrubs, and her muscles contracted, sending a violent shudder through her body. Had she really been chased by a giant, green-skinned alien through the streets of her hometown?

_It happened. It had really happened._

There'd been no escaping him either. He'd been fast and unbelievably huge. Like ten-feet-tall huge—and as pissed as hell. That might have been her fault. At the time, ramming the heel of her hand into his nose had seemed like a reasonable idea. It did distract him long enough for her to bolt.

But that freaking space invader had the decided advantage of being faster, and he had friends. They'd herded her through the rubble-strewn streets of Damon Beach like a pack of Australian Shepherds, laughing and shouting as if the thrill of the chase excited them. The last thing she remembered was burgundy blood dripping from Green Man's large nostrils, and the knuckles of his enormous fist just before it connected with her head.

Now she was...somewhere cold and metallic...lying on a hard floor with a sack over her head that stank like old cheese. That green bastard must have put it on her while she was unconscious. She swallowed against the first hint of acid at the back of her throat. Would she ever stand on the sandy, sun-warmed Northern California beach of her hometown again? Feel the cold Pacific waves rush around her feet? Was she even on Earth anymore?

She shifted her arms from behind her, but stopped when cords bit into her wrists. _Damn. Guess the disgusting hood is staying on for now._ She tested her feet and twisted her mouth in disdain. Tied at the ankles. Could this day get any worse?

_That's a rhetorical question, God._ Although, there weren't a lot of things worse than an unexpected alien invasion. She may have survived it, but that didn't guarantee she'd remain among the living. Especially given her current incapacitation. _Knowledge is power, Alex. Figure out where you are and how to escape._

A steady mechanical whoosh, like air blowing, reached her ear. And muffled voices, some of them moaning. The voices definitely sounded human. The invaders' voices had the rich tone of a deep gong. A child sobbed nearby, and she couldn't do a damn thing to help because she was trussed like a pig. After what she'd seen and experienced today, someone here was bound to need a nurse.

_You need a nurse, Alex. Or a doctor._ Something was amiss with her right ear. Even pressed to the floor, she should hear echoes of the voices around her. And the fuzziness of her thoughts indicated a concussion. But freeing herself of the bonds was her first priority, then she could deal with her injuries. If she wiggled around enough, she could loop her hands under her legs. Once they were in front of her, she'd be able to take the hood off. Magicians and escape artists did this trick all the time. How hard could it be?

_You nitwit. You're a five-foot-eleven ER nurse who quit gymnastics when you were nine._ She was so screwed. Unless someone nearby wasn't tied up and could help her. That might work. She pulled in a breath and raised her head to call out.

Pain exploded behind her eyes, and her stomach lurched like a drunken sailor. Bile burned a path up her esophagus and her gag reflex kicked in. _Crap._ She was going to hurl inside the hood. This would be way beyond gross.

A gentle hand cupped the crown of her head. " _Paci_ ," a man's voice murmured, the language strange but beautiful and lilting.

The nausea receded and her mind floated, as if buoyed by a gently rolling ocean wave. Tension drained from her shoulders. Peace; this she could deal with.

The hand vanished and the tranquil waves faded, leaving Alex weak and gulping for whatever oxygen she could suck through the musty hood. What just happened there? Cool fingertips rested against her neck. Were they human or alien? Must be human; an alien wouldn't bother to check her pulse.

Unless he was checking to see if she was strong enough for experiments...

Her heart shot straight up into her throat, and she fought to contain the groan welling in her chest. _Breathe, Alex. You're overreacting again. This isn't the movies._ First rule of disaster training: stay calm. If she ever got the chance, she'd make damn sure future training programs covered alien invasions.

"Is English your language?"

A man's voice, and definitely not alien. Low, calm, gentle—everything the alien invaders' voices were not— it wrapped around her like her favorite bathrobe, soft and warm.

"Yes." The word slipped passed her lips as she expelled her breath. "Help me."

"No fear. You are safe for the time."

A pleasant tingle fluttered through her core, apparently in response to the stranger's voice. Capable hands assisted her to sit upright, triggering a pulsing thrum that beat against her skull like Thor's Hammer. "My head...."

The floating sensation returned, but this time, instead of ocean waves, she drifted amongst big, white, puffy clouds in a cobalt sky. _Nice._ Her head lolled back and a strong hand cupped and cradled it.

"Concussion, severe tympanic damage, and dehydration, Captain," a second man's voice said.

So, her self-diagnosis had been correct; a concussion and ear damage. Hardly surprising after the abuse she'd endured at the hands of her captors. How was it no one on Earth had seen them coming? There should have been some warning. With all the satellites, telescopes and whatever else NASA used, they must have been blind to have missed the approach of those gargantuan space-ships. What a way to find out we're not alone in the universe.

"We will free you now."

Captain had a nice, melodic accent. _Wonder where he's from?_ Hands worked at the cords binding her ankles.

"You're military?" Please don't let him be a cruise ship captain. Somehow imagining him as military was more reassuring.

A second set of hands tugged at the bonds around her wrists.

"I am," Captain said.

"Then where were you guys during the attack?" She'd expected to see fighter jets streaking across the sky, coming to the rescue. But they'd never appeared.

"We were unable to help."

The military being grounded by the invasion was a scary thought. It made sense though. The aliens must have attacked more than just the California coast. Their space-ship had spanned the horizon like a floating continent. It wasn't a stretch to assume they were capable of wiping out all civilization from the West Coast to the Rockies, and beyond.

She sucked in a ragged breath. _Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry._ Her feet fell apart, free from their bonds, and blood rushed to her toes with the sting of a hundred needles. "Ah."

"The ties of the hood are well knotted," Captain murmured. "To rest your head against me will keep it from moving as much while I work. Will you agree?"

Anything to minimize the pain. She made a small sound of agreement and he drew her against him. His heart thumped steady, strong, and, most importantly, like a normal human's under her ear. Some of the tension in her shoulders seemed to melt away as he manipulated the hood's bindings.

"We are held aboard an Anferthian slave ship." Captain pitched his voice low.

"You mean those green bastards took us off Earth?" Like hell she would spend the rest of her life as a slave.

"No. On your planet we remain as they collect survivors."

"I _hate_ aliens." Especially ten-foot-tall, green-skinned, scumbag aliens.

Were Mom and Dad safe at his conference in New York, watching the attack from their hotel room? Or were they somewhere on this slave ship? And Nicky. Had her brother already left high school to meet her for lunch? What if she was the only one in her family to survive? _Don't even go there._ Her family had to be alive. Life without them.... A sharp pain pierced her heart, and she squeezed her eyes tight against another round of hot tears.

"Your feelings are justified," Captain murmured.

He had that right. _Someone_ was responsible for today's massacre and she'd give anything to make them pay.

"What is your name?" Captain's words rumbled under her ear, the abrupt change of topic disrupting the flow of her angry thoughts.

"Alexandra Bock." She pressed her lips together. Why had she told him that? Only her father called her Alexandra. Everyone else called her Alex.

"You are near free of your bonds, Alexandra Bock." Captain set her back upright, away from the comforting sound of his heartbeat.

The unknown person behind her slid the cords from her wrists. She brought her hands around, shaking them and wiggling her fingers. _Relief, relief, relief!_ She reached up, her tingling hands fumbling to find the edge of the hood, colliding with Captain's. Together they shimmied the hood over her head.

_Finally, freedom...oh._ Sweat, blood, and body odor assailed her olfactory senses, and her stomach roiled in protest. Now the cheesy stink of the hood didn't seem so bad.

Squinting to ease the throb in her head, she took in the grey metal monotony of the walls and floor surrounding her. The long, narrow room appeared to be made of a single piece of molded metal, curved where the walls met the floor. _Is this really a slave cell, or an alien version of a tin can?_ A soft glow from the ceiling illuminated the space.

Her gaze took in a heavy-set man in a business suit lying on the floor nearby. Another man in some sort of graphite grey uniform knelt over the businessman's foot, as though examining it. Huddled against a wall, an African-American woman sat with her arms and head resting on her drawn-up knees. Nearby, a dark-headed boy, who couldn't be more than six years old, was being tended by a woman with midnight black hair.

Alex's mouth dropped open. The woman appeared human in every way, except her skin was _blue_. She was an alien...a despicable alien. Not the same species as the invaders, but that hardly mattered. As of lunchtime today, all aliens had landed on her shit list.

"Alexandra, are you well?"

She turned back to Captain and met his deep sapphire gaze. Her breath hitched in her throat, and warmth spread through her chest. Familiar, and such a beautiful color. Unlike like her own boring brown.

_But, holy crap, his skin is blue too!_ A hunk of cold lead settled in her heart. This could _not_ be happening.

"No. No, no, no." She pushed herself to her feet, and Captain rose with her. The room tilted, and she tottered sideways a couple of steps. Captain reached for her, but she jerked away from him, sucking air through her teeth with a hiss. "Don't! Just, don't touch me."

Captain lowered his hands to his side.

"You...you're an _alien_." A hint of red heat curled to life deep inside, like the edge of a newspaper being lit for a campfire. How dare he trick her into thinking he was human!

He nodded slowly. "To you, yes."

"Oh, God." If she could put her fist through a wall, she would. Instead, she fixed him with a hard glare. "Do you have any idea how many people I watched _die_ today? I don't even know if my family is alive. My home, everything I ever knew, has been destroyed. _Aliens_ did that."

"We are not those aliens."

Of course he'd say that, but how could she be sure? "We didn't do anything to deserve this. Hell, we didn't even know that there were other life forms in the galaxy before today." Alex tightened her jaw, inhaling and exhaling through her teeth. "You called them Anferthians, but _which_ Anferthian made this happen? _Someone_ 's responsible for this attack, and you know who, right? Tell me who it was." She would rip open their throat with her bare hands.

Captain's brows furrowed above wary eyes, and he tilted his head to one side. An errant curl of snow-white hair shifted onto his forehead. High cheekbones accented his patrician nose, like an ancient Greek statue come to life. A lapis statue with at least a week's worth of white beard.

"The responsibility is mine, Alexandra."

She snapped her attention back to his eyes. _He_ was the reason so many people were massacred today? Why her life had been upended like a derailed train car? Why she had no idea if her family was even alive? The dry twigs burst into flames, ready to consume everything in its path. Her vision narrowed on Captain's face. This was his fault, he had owned it. _That son of a..._

Alex balled her right hand, pulled back her arm, and swung. Her fist slammed into one gorgeous blue eye. Captain's neutral expression vanished, replaced with a look of astonishment as he staggered back a step.

_Ow, ow, ow!_ She cradled her fist to her chest and rubbed her stinging knuckles. A pair of large hands grabbed her from behind and spun her around. Two ruddy-red eyebrows drawn together above a pair of grey eyes froze her in place. Anger seethed from this new blue alien. _Uh, oh._ She was toast.

He jerked her close, and her head snapped back. A jab of pain shot through her head like an ice pick, and a cry escaped her. She squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could, waiting for the blow that was sure to come.

"Stand down, Commander Roble." Behind her, Captain sounded calm, as though he hadn't just taken a right hook to the eye.

"Alex!"

_No way!_ Her eyes popped open. "Nicky?" She turned her head toward the familiar voice. Her brother's anxious face blurred as tears flooded her eyes.

"Let her go," Nicky snarled at Commander Angry Alien.

Angry Alien didn't argue. He just let her crumple to the floor, then stepped away.

"Ass-wipe," Nicky muttered as he crouched next to her.

What was her brother thinking going toe-to-toe with an alien built like a bouncer? At six-foot-one and eighteen years old, Nicky was pretty full of himself. They should have a chat about that before he got himself hurt.

No, nix that. She was four years older than him, and _she'd_ just punched a guy as tall as her brother in the eye. A fact Nicky would probably point out if she went into lecture mode.

A gurgling noise came from the vicinity of her stomach. _I'm going to feel so much better after I puke._ She wrapped her arms around her middle and hunched forward. Nicky rubbed her back and crooned, but his words weren't computing in her brain. He was alive, though. And if both of them had survived, then maybe there was hope for their parents.

Sweat dotted her upper lip. _Stay calm, Alex. Don't lose it._ A pair of black boots moved into her field of vision.

"I may have deserved that," Captain said. "I truly am sorrier than you can imagine for the horrors visited upon your people and your planet, and do hold myself accountable for failing to avert this tragedy."

Tragedy? That had to be the understatement of the decade. Century. All time. She raised her throbbing head and gave him what she hoped was a nasty glare. He didn't look too happy either, but that might have more to do with his already swelling eye than anything else.

"They've taken our planet away, haven't they?" The potential answer to that question scared the crap out of her, but she needed to know how widespread the invasion was. Captain nodded.

No, not a tragedy. It was outright genocide. To top that off, she was imprisoned on an alien slave ship with a bunch of...other aliens. One of whom admitted he was somehow responsible for this slaughter. _Now_ this day couldn't get any worse.

Her stomach contracted and her body tensed, as though conspiring to prove her wrong. _Oh, hell._

She threw up on his boots.

Chapter Two

Senior Captain Gryf Helyg gazed at the ball of human misery huddled at his feet. It just did not seem possible, but after one Galactic Standard week his situation showed no signs of improving. He had been betrayed by Vyn Kotas, his fleet destroyed, and his cousin killed. Then the Anferthians incarcerated what remained of his crew aboard one of their slave ships. Had that not been enough? Now this Terrian woman, from a race he had sworn his life to protect, had accosted him.

And she managed to vomit on his boots with unprecedented precision.

How had he been fooled into believing the worst was behind him? There had been something in the woman's eyes; an unspoken promise that all would right itself because she was here. Clearly he had misread the situation. Taken in by a pair of bronze-flecked brown eyes, framed by lashes as dark as her hair. If only he had moved on to aid the next Terrian, his eye would not be swelling now.

He exhaled a deep sigh through his nose, then bent to wipe the watery mess off his boots with Alexandra's discarded hood.

The one she called Nicky glared at him as he held Alexandra's dark hair back away from her face. The youth's body language bespoke familiarity of, and protectiveness for, her. Between that and his brown and bronze eyes—the exact match to Alexandra's—there was little doubt these two Terrians were siblings.

What a fortuitous coincidence for both of them to be incarcerated together in this deplorable slave hold.

Gryf paused mid-wipe. Or was it? The stench of Vyn Kotas playing them all contaminated the air.

He straightened and shot a frown in Commander Graig Roble's direction. The scowl on his senior security officer's face was directed toward Alexandra. Her head now rested against Nicky's knee, her anger clearly spent.

"So who the hell are you?" Nicky asked.

Ah, so Terrian teenagers could be as belligerent as their Matiran counterparts. He must remember to apologize to his mother for any grief he may have caused her, provided he ever saw her again.

"Gryf Helyg, senior captain of the Matiran Guardian Fleet, captain of the Guardian Fleet Cruiser _Atlantis_. And an unwilling prisoner of the Anferthians, like you."

"You mean you're not with the freakishly tall green guys?"

Gryf winced at the question, then squatted, bringing his eyes level with the boy's. "Most assuredly not. Unless you believe my crew and I incarcerated ourselves in this small, foul-smelling cell of our enemy's slave ship for an entire week just to trick you."

The Terrian youth studied him for a drawn out moment, as if he believed that was exactly what they had done.

Gryf released another sigh. "And you are?"

"Nick Bock." The young man hesitated, then extended his right hand.

Gryf stared at it. Terrian social protocol was not his area of expertise. Why would it be? Interacting with the Terrians was not supposed to happen during his life time. Yet it had, and if there were to be any chance at establishing positive relations with these people, he must act. He gripped Nick's hand in his own.

"It pleases me to make your acquaintance, Nick Bock." Had he done it right? The Holy Mother had a wicked sense of humor, placing _him_ on the front lines of this long-awaited, yet premature, reunion.

Nick tugged his hand, and Gryf released his grip. "Will you aid me in moving your sister to the wall, Nick? There she will be more comfortable while she awaits attendance from our healer."

"No." Alexandra's voice was a breathless murmur. "I'll do it."

This would not go well for her. "Your determination is admirable, Alexandra. At minimum, please accept my help as you take your feet." Her will might be as unbending as Tallinese iron, but she would need assistance to rise.

Gryf held out his hands to aid her, but Nick gripped her by one elbow. "I've got her."

Of course he did. Gryf compressed his lips and gave Nick a curt nod. Alexandra's body unfolded as she rose, long and lean, her feminine curves subtle under her loose clothing. If she stood to her full height, the top of her head would be even with his eyes. But with her head bent and shoulders hunched, she just reached his chin.

If only he could wrap his arms about her and allow his Gift to flow, comforting and strengthening her. But he had known her for mere moments, and to touch her so was a disrespect best avoided. He had no desire to have his other eye purpled.

Yet, had he not always known her? Not in reality, but in some deeper way? He drew his brows together; this conflict between convention and emotion was vexing.

Alexandra's legs buckled, and Nick's grip on her slipped as she pitched forward. Gryf moved quickly to catch her before she hit the floor. _Protect her._ Again, that voice in his mind—the same one he had heard earlier when she had rested against his chest. As a Guardian, he was already duty bound to protect her. So why did the voice ring with the authority of an official order from the Admiralty?

And why in all the hells was he hearing voices in his head at all?

He lifted her in his arms. "I will not let you fall, Alexandra." And he meant it—to the letter. A strange warmth eased into his chest, soothing, yet with an edge of anticipation as though a wondrous event would soon occur. Similar to the feeling he got as a child the night before Spring Festival.

Gryf sat her against the wall, cushioning the back of her head with his hand. The heat penetrating the thin fabric of her pink garment was a worrisome development. Could she be ill? If she were, his crew and the other Terrians were susceptible. He cast a glance around the cell and spied Dante attending the little Terrian boy.

"Chief, this one may be fevered."

Dante did not look up. "Worry not, Captain. Terrian body temperature is marginally higher than our own. Keep her comfortable. I will be there momentarily."

Nick laid his palm against his sister's brow, then shook his head. "No fever." He leveled his gaze at Gryf. "What the hell happened this afternoon? Why are we here?"

Bold and direct. This must be a family trait. At least Nick used his words rather than his fists. How could Gryf respond without appearing evasive? "All your questions I will answer, Nick, once our healer has tended your people. This is my word to you."

The young man appeared skeptical.

Graig materialized at Gryf's side and handed him a water-soaked wad of grey cloth.

"What's that?" Nick jutted his chin at the dripping cloth.

"Water for your sister," Graig explained stiffly. "She is severely dehydrated. While Captain Helyg tends her, Nick, you may come with me. You have minor injuries which need tending."

The young man's eyes darted from Graig to Alexandra, then back. "Why can't we do it here?"

"The only medical supplies the Anferthians allowed us are in Lieutenant Commander Zola's custody." Graig turned on his heel and strode in Zola's direction.

Gryf understood Nick's reluctance. Trusting the safety of his sister—possibly the only family left in his life—to a virtual stranger would be the last thing anyone would want to do in such a situation. If ever there was a moment to create trust between their peoples, it was now. Incarceration would be a living nightmare otherwise.

"On my honor, Nick, I will care for your sister until you return. I swear her safety."

Nick's mouth twisted with apparent derision. "You mean, you swear to keep her safe."

So much for establishing friendly relations. "That is what I meant, yes. My apologies for brutalizing your language. I strive to achieve improvement."

Nick's expression hardened even more, but in his eyes lurked resignation that he did require aid.

"Just don't get any ideas. I won't be long."

Gryf watched Nick make his way across the cell to where Graig waited. Alexandra was a treasure to the young man, and Gryf would not betray Nick's faith by treating her as anything less. No matter how obnoxious the boy proved to be.

Turning his attention back to the Terrian woman, he pressed the water-logged cloth to her lips. "Alexandra, here is some water. Drink."

As she sucked on the cloth, the tepid water dripped over his fingers. Her pale skin was so different from the standard Matiran blue. He glanced at the other Terrian woman nearby. She was as dark as Alexandra was fair. How must it be to live in a world with such a variety of exotic skin tones?

The darker woman's gaze met his, and she narrowed her eyes. There was no helping the anger and mistrust the Terrians carried. This day they had suffered so much with no understanding why. They would understand soon enough, though.

Alexandra turned her head to one side. "I'm okay."

Gryf focused his attention back to her, but her eyes remained closed. A light spray of freckles dusted her cheeks, and the slight bump at the bridge of her nose. Even through the streaks of dirt, blood, and dried tears, she was an alluring young woman. Much younger than his thirty Galactic Standard cycles. No doubt she was too young to understand the burden of his failure to her people, and to his. It was clear she held him accountable for the destruction of her home world, and the massacre of her people. And rightly so.

Her head lolled, and Gryf raised his other hand to cup her cheek. If touching her was supposed to be crude and disrespectful, then why did it feel so natural and right? _By the Holy Mother, cease this irrational behavior!_ He lowered his hand.

Brown and bronze eyes opened, and he swore his heart stopped. Her soul shone there, and he could not look away if his life depended upon it.

"I might have overreacted," she said in a rough whisper. "When I hit you, I mean."

He cleared his suddenly dry throat. "You did catch me unawares."

"It's been a rotten day, you know."

Her lips scarce moved. She suffered, that much he could see. If only he could ease her pain. She wet her lips with her tongue. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"I will recover." How would she react when Dante used his Gift to heal his eye? Or her wounds, if she allowed it?

"My mom says I'm passionate, but my dad says I'm a hothead." She made a huffing sound that may have been an attempt to chuckle. "I think he may be right, huh?"

"Perhaps they both are right."

The corners of Alexandra's mouth edged upward, and the pleasure of making her smile washed through him. Had he taken the first step to smoothing over their rough start? If he had learned anything from years of intergalactic relations and negotiations, it was that success or failure could hinge on the tiniest detail.

"This doesn't mean I trust you," she said.

Then again, perhaps not. "I will accept that, Alexandra."

"It's Alex." Her eyes drifted closed again. "And thank you for helping me, by the way."

"It pleases me to do so." He shifted in preparation to rise. "Our healer will attend you soon. I shall refresh the cloth to bring you more water."

Without awaiting her response, he rose and strode toward the small spigot, their only source of potable water. It mattered not if she did not trust him. She had respected him enough to apologize for her actions, and that was a start.

You can find out where to buy) this book here).

Prophecy began forming in my mind when I was in high school. Okay, the honest truth is, it formed while I daydreamed in class. I did a lot of that daydreaming stuff in school, which wasn't so great for my academic future. But, that day a burning question popped into my consciousness: What would happen if aliens attacked during the school day?

If you wondered what a geek I am and how long this has been going on, now you know.

Have you ever heard an author say they "have" to write? Well, it's true. Once a story begins to develop in our minds, it's difficult to contain. And so it was with Prophecy. I filled notebooks with hand-written chapters about my hero and heroine's adventures. This went on for years until I realized my story lacked direction and was meandering through the forests and meadows of my mind without purpose. I put it away to pursue other interests, including other story ideas and the guy who eventually became my husband.

Flash forward thirty-plus years. I was in bed with 102-degree fever. A scene from that long ago high school daydream dropped into my fevered delirium, playing over and over until I finally staggered to the computer. The next day, another scene nagged me until I wrote that one as well. There was no escaping it. This book wanted to be written. Now.

It took three years, a lot of self-education, and the wisdom of other writers before my debut novel was finished enough for me to drop on the unsuspecting world. It was a joy to write, although the editing phase was...challenging. I love my characters and the direction the series is going. My hope is that you feel the same once you read Prophecy.

Lea Kirk loves to transport her readers to other worlds with her romances of science fiction and time travel. Her fascination with science fiction began at six years old when her dad introduced her to the original Star Trek TV series. She fell in love with the show, and was even known to run through her parents' house wearing the tunic top of her red knit pantsuit and her white go-go boots pretending to be Lieutenant Uhura. By nine years old she knew she wanted to be a writer, and in her teens she read her first romance and was hooked.

* * *

Ms. Kirk lives in Northern California with her wonderful hubby of twenty-six years and their five kids (aka, the nerd herd). She's also proud of her seven times great-grandson. Apparently her stories will inspire James T. to join Star Fleet Academy. She learned this in the 1980's when James sought out her counsel on where to find a pair of humpback whales.

You can find Lea online here:

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# Pirate Nemesis by Carysa Locke

# About Pirate Nemesis

Killers. Thieves. Pirates. _Family_.

Mercy Kincaid is a fugitive from her own family. Her dangerous telepathic gifts make her a target. So is anyone she gets close to. When her best friend is captured and tortured, Mercy's only hope is to reunite with the family that tried to murder her as a child. She trusts few among her blood relatives, but finds herself intrigued by an enigmatic and dangerous killer.

Reaper has spent a lifetime watching his people die. He's vowed to kill anyone who jeopardizes their survival. Mercy's gifts are the biggest threat they've faced in eleven years, since a biological weapon nearly annihilated the pirate colonies. But Reaper realizes her talents can either destroy them, or save them. He must decide if he's fallen victim to her power, or if he can truly trust the beautiful woman and her compelling abilities. If he makes the wrong choice, everyone dies.

# Sample of Pirate Nemesis

Prologue

Mercy didn't like the way spaceport security was watching her. It was a busy place, with half a dozen freighters offloading goods, and just as many uploading new cargo. Merchants shouted at dock workers to handle their crates more carefully, transport hawkers flashed bright screens showing their rates, and three Commonwealth Navy ships had docked this morning, men and women in uniform disembarking in a raucous flood of noise.

She ducked between two enlisted men arguing over where they wanted to throw their credits away – booze, gambling, or the local pleasure house. Maybe she could lose security in the crowd, but she wasn't counting on it. Verath 6 featured an enormous spaceport. The planet's colonies were split between farming and mining, and both provided exports throughout the Commonwealth. It was chaos, but for all the crush of people, Mercy knew she stood out.

She'd already been here too long, and the pressure to run, to flee was a growing anxiety streaking heat up her spine and coating her skin in a thin sheen of sweat. She was running for her life, and the crowd was the only advantage she had. If security slowed her down...she couldn't dwell on that possibility.

For the past hour, she'd carefully looked over each ship, trying to stay unobtrusive. It wasn't easy. There just weren't many kids here, much less a thirteen-year-old girl, alone and unchaperoned. She needed to find the right ship, and fast, before the guard shadowing her decided he needed to do more.

Choosing which ship to catch a ride on was complicated. It couldn't have too much security. It couldn't be too official, too wealthy, too criminal, or too desperate. It needed a captain reluctant to turn her over to the authorities if she was caught, and it couldn't be someone likely to sell her off to slavers. Half the "merchants" here operated as smugglers, and that sort of element was risky.

Stowing away meant extra weight, and most ships, whether cargo or passenger, were charged docking fees based on weight. Captains didn't take well to being charged extra, even if it was only by the marginal mass of a young girl. If a stowaway was found and couldn't pay, some captains would float them out the nearest airlock.

Her mother had drilled all of these things into her by the time she was ten, just like how to operate an aircar, navigate a star chart, or work the autopilot on a ship. Knowing how to run was half of Mercy's childhood education. The other half was how not to get caught in the first place.

_Don't get noticed. Act like you belong, even if you don't. That means paying attention to everything, from the people around you, to your own body._ Her mother's words floated through her mind, and Mercy made a conscious effort to keep her shoulders and arms relaxed, to stroll along like she was bored and didn't care about any of the ships or people around her. Like her heart wasn't trying to beat its way out of her chest. She looked around, just another jaded kid dragged along on adult business at the port. What she really hoped to find was a way to make herself fit in.

She found it in front of one of the transport hawkers. A couple stood there with a baby cradled in the woman's arms. Mercy noted their skin and hair color, the fit and cut of their clothes. Not an exact match for her own in either case, but close enough to suit her needs. Deliberately, she stopped and heaved a huge sigh, throwing in an eye roll for good measure. Then she marched her way toward them with every visible sign of bored teen apathy she had ever seen in other kids, and came to a stop just within the boundaries of personal space. Mercy made sure it was on the edge of the woman's line of sight, and when she glanced over, gave a quick, artless smile.

The woman frowned, and cast a quick look toward the man, but he was busy haggling with the transport hawker. When she looked back, her face was filled with uncertainty, just a hint of suspicion in her eyes.

_Nothing to worry about here_ , thought Mercy, concentrating hard. _Just a harmless kid._ It helped that she looked young for her age, her green eyes wide and guileless. Her clothes were basic and serviceable, blue and tan synth-cloth treated to repel dirt and grime, the sort of thing every agricultural family bought for their children. It also wicked away her nervous sweat, which helped cool and calm her. Her skin, naturally tinted bronze from a mixed ancestry, could pass as darkened by working long hours in the sun. In short, Mercy could easily be some farming kid, dragged to the city by her family for the day.

"Waiting for my Mom," she said out loud, low enough that the woman would hear, but the words wouldn't carry. The woman's expression eased. She sent a quick, searching look around the spaceport, but smiled when she looked back at Mercy. A warm smile. The kind of smile a mother used.

"She left you alone?" she asked, juggling the baby a bit as it fussed in her arms. Concern shone in her eyes, and Mercy thought quickly. She gave a careless shrug.

"Just for a minute. My brother's on leave from the Navy, and she didn't want me over there with all of the soldiers. They'll be along, and then we'll all go home together." For just a second, Mercy's throat closed, and she had to fight off the wave of fresh grief and panic at the thought that she might never see her real mother again. To cover, she nodded at the baby. "Doesn't all of this noise bother him?" In her experience, people were always happy to talk about themselves.

Sure enough, the woman's face lit up. "Oh, not even a little." She laughed. "In fact, I think he likes it. So much to see, everywhere he looks."

Mercy craned her head to get a better look. The baby was looking at her, blue eyes wide. His fist was stuffed into his mouth, drool coating his tiny hand. Inspired, Mercy screwed up her features, crossing her eyes and distorting her face in a ridiculous fashion. The baby squealed with delight and laughed, open mouthed, waving his tiny fists in the air.

Behind her, the security guard moved on, his gaze looking for something more interesting than this small family securing transport. Some of the tension in Mercy's stomach relaxed. She allowed herself a small, genuine smile.

"He's cute," she said, and the woman beamed with love and motherly pride. A moment later, though, her gaze sharpened. _Uh-oh_.

"You should stay close to us," the woman said. "Until your family comes to get you. The spaceport can be a dangerous place."

"Sure," Mercy shrugged like it didn't matter, but her mind was scrambling. She couldn't just stay with these people. This woman had decided Mercy needed looking after, and that meant she'd eventually get worried when her "family" never showed, and that would get her dumped into the same security office she'd just spent so much trouble avoiding. She cast her gaze around for a way out, and luck was with her.

Having secured transport, the man turned away from the hawker and said something to his wife. While she was momentarily distracted, Mercy bounced up on the balls of her feet and waved madly in the general direction of some tightly grouped uniforms, moving their way toward the exits.

"There they are!" She injected her voice with breathless excitement. "Thanks, bye!" She dashed into the crowd, darting between people and weaving quickly, until she was sure she'd disappeared from view. The noise of the port swallowed whatever words the woman called at her back, but Mercy was already gone, already focused on the next task. Finding a ship.

She had to move quickly if she wanted to avoid drawing the attention of security again. Fortunately, she'd already narrowed down her choices to two frigates loading cargo. Both of them looked to be carrying perishable goods, even some livestock. That meant the cargo hold would have to be sealed and temperature controlled. It also meant Mercy might be able to put together a meal or two, either from what was being loaded as cargo, or the rations on hand to feed the livestock. She'd eaten worse.

Both ships looked like good options. Unfortunately, she had no way of getting a look at their destinations ahead of time, so she wouldn't be able to choose where she was going. That left the crew as the deciding factor. Both of them were small operations, as the smuggling type often were. Just a captain and one or two supporting crew members. One captain was a woman, and Mercy was leaning heavily in that direction. Women tended to be more sympathetic to kids, and if she was caught, that could mean the difference between life and death.

She started in that direction, dodging around crates still being offloaded from other freighters, ducking the gruff hands and curses of dockworkers who didn't like a kid getting in their way. Then she saw something that made her stumble and hesitate. Just beyond the woman captain and her ship, a newly docked vessel was offloading. It looked like any other small cargo outfit, the frigate old and scarred with decades of space travel and a few close brushes with pirates or smugglers. The hull bore marks from plasma burns, faded and old, but unmistakable.

That wasn't what had halted Mercy in her tracks. It was the crew walking out of the docking bay. Three adults, and what looked like two teenagers. Boys a few years older than she was. They looked like a thousand other people here, dressed in the ubiquitous flight suits and spacer gear common across merchants, smugglers, and transports. But they didn't _feel_ like any of those people. They felt familiar, their presence warm and soothing in the same way her mother had been. But instead of being a comfort, that feeling washed adrenaline through her body. She actually felt the blood drain from her head.

_I'm too late, and now they're going to find me and it will all be over._ There would be no escaping if that happened. Mercy took a huge, shaky breath of air, trying to force down the terror so she could think.

It rooted her to the spot until a crate shoved into her hard enough to knock her aside, scraping against her hip and arm in the process. She stumbled, the pain from the hit a distant thing next to the sound of her own pulse hammering in her head. The insult thrown at her by the dockworker as he shoved past was meaningless noise.

She caught herself before she fell, and straightened, ignoring the man even as he spit at the ground by her feet. All of her attention was still focused on the distant group, two docking spaces away, and nowhere near far enough. She couldn't approach the female captain now.

A second later, she realized her mistake. She was _too_ focused on them. Just as she altered her gaze so she was looking at something else, still keeping the five in her peripheral vision, one of the boys turned his head toward her. Not just toward her. _He was looking right at her_.

Mercy stopped breathing. She'd gone swimming once in ice-cold water. One of the many times she and her mother had to make a quick escape. She still remembered the way the freezing temperature had burned against her skin, literally freezing the breath in her lungs, so she spent the first few seconds wondering if she was going to suffocate, instead of drown. This felt exactly like that. The boy had blue eyes as cold as that icy water. She barely noticed his dark hair and sharp features, too trapped by that gaze.

He saw her, and in a second he was going to point her out to his companions, and then it would all be over. Ten years of running, all for nothing. Her mother gone, Mercy dragged back home to certain death.

_Please,_ she thought. _Please just look away. Let me go._ She'd never tried her persuasion on someone else with Talent like hers. She didn't know if it would work. But she thought it as hard as she could. _You don't notice me. I'm no one. I'm nothing._

_That's not true._ The new voice in her head shocked her. It was young, male, and definitely not her own thought. He was past her shields, inside her mind. Panic beat frantically inside of her, urging her to run even as her conscious mind knew she could never run far enough. _You're her. The one we're looking for._

_No! I'm not. I'm no one. Please, I'm no one._

_But you are._ She could feel the confusion in his tone. _Pallas is your mother. Isn't she?_

_No! Yes._ Mercy couldn't control the punch of emotion that spiraled through her at hearing her mother's name. _She's gone._ Her throat clogged and tears burned behind her eyes, but she fought them. She couldn't cry now, here. _Please, just let me go._

Across the dock, with countless people milling between them, the boy stared at her. His companions ignored him, gathered around the other boy for some reason she couldn't see. Mercy had never wished so hard for anything in her life. Well, except the wish for her mother to come back. But she had no chance of that happening right now.

_Go._

She thought at first she was imagining the word in her mind. A hawker stepped between them with his brightly flashing screen, and Mercy blinked, giving up her pretense of looking anywhere but at the boy. When the hawker moved on, she met his icy blue stare.

_Why?_

She could see the confusion in him, in the angle of his head and the set of his shoulders.

_I don't know. Because you want me to, I think._ A long pause. _You should leave before I change my mind. If my brother catches you..._

He didn't need to tell her twice. She should have been moving already. She turned, stumbling for the first two steps because her legs were so shaky. But she found her rhythm quickly enough, making straight for her second choice.

As his mind faded from hers, she thought she heard the distant echo of another conversation.

_Nik, what are you doing? Who were you talking to?_

_No one._

The other frigate, the one with an older, no nonsense looking man as the captain, was getting ready to load the last lift of freight. Operating the lift was one of the crew. A girl, not much older than Mercy. Maybe not _any_ older. Mercy hunkered down behind a convenient stack of crates and watched for a moment. Her instincts screamed at her to hurry, to get the hell out of here before it was too late. But she needed to be smart about this. Getting caught sneaking on board a ship could be just as deadly as being found by those hunting her.

This girl had short blond hair and wore an actual flight suit, like something a real pilot would wear, but kid-sized. Made for her. She was operating the lift like she did it all of the time, letting the anti-grav thrusters take care of all the heavy lifting as she maneuvered it toward the ramp.

"Atrea," called the captain, "make sure those crates of chicken feed are loaded where we can get to them." He waved a datapad in her direction. "Remember how much fun you had last time, climbing over half the cargo for it."

"Yes, Dad." Atrea rolled her eyes exactly like Mercy had done earlier.

"Don't roll your eyes at me. Chickens were _your_ idea, so _you_ get to take care of them." He muttered something else under his breath that Mercy didn't catch.

"Chickens are pure profit, " Atrea said, but the words were spoken so low Mercy didn't think the captain heard.

"Damn nuisance, is what they are. And _your_ responsibility. I won't say it again."

Both Atrea and Mercy winced at the same time.

"Yes, Sir."

Mercy eyed the captain. Only someone with genetically or mechanically enhanced hearing could have heard that over all this noise. She wondered which he was, thought about looking to find out, and immediately decided against it. _Your Talent is both an advantage and a trap._ Her mother's voice ran through her head again, as if she stood right next to her _. Use it only when you have to. Always assume someone could notice_. And someone already had. She couldn't risk using it again.

So she didn't use her telepathy to look inside the captain's head and see if she could find out more about him. It was enough to know that he had a daughter who worked with him, one Mercy's approximate age. A father would probably hesitate to airlock or enslave a girl if he caught her stowing away on his ship. Especially if his daughter was standing right there.

Decision made, Mercy used her Talent in the most passive way possible, projecting what she thought of as her _don't look at me_ protocol. It was a risk, but one she had to take. It was a suggestion, really, a kind of pressure on the minds closest around her to look in any direction that wasn't right at her. It didn't always work, so she still had to be sneaky and careful getting aboard the ship. But she was small and fast, and it was enough this time, that no one saw her slip up the ramp and crawl back over the crates already loaded. She hid right in the middle of the stacked cages full of chickens. They made enough movement and noise that it would be easy to remain unseen back here. She shifted a couple of them to make a box of empty space just large enough to crawl into and curl up in, the smooth floor of the hold pressed against her cheek. She re-secured the straps holding the chicken cages in place, and finally felt safe, away from prying eyes.

They smelled a bit, an earthy, animal kind of smell that made her wrinkle her nose. Tiny feathers drifted everywhere, but it gave Mercy something to do, trying to catch them on the backs of her fingers as they floated through the air. She heard the lift moving into place, heard the girl tell her father the hold was secure. Her stomach rumbled, but she'd have to wait until they'd made the first jump before she dared look for something to eat.

When was the last time she'd eaten? Before her mother disappeared. Two days ago. She'd been too busy running ever since. She shied away from thinking about that. Couldn't dwell on what it meant, yet. Mom had known this might happen one day, that she might not make it home. She'd done everything she could to prepare Mercy. _You have to run,_ she'd said. _Run, get on a ship to anywhere else, and don't look for me. If I don't come back to you, assume I'm dead_. _They'll come for you, too. You have to run, and disappear._

Her eyes burned, hot with tears she couldn't afford to cry yet. Not until she was away. She wondered what the boy and his crew were doing right now. Had he seen her slip aboard this ship? Would they go on looking for her mother? Would they find her?

Mercy rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut. She pressed her sleeve against them as hard as she could, her jaw locked. Moisture gathered and spilled over, soaking into the mesh of her sleeve and drying instantly. A sound escaped her, and she curled into an even tighter ball. _Can't cry, can't make noise._ Not yet. She forced her thoughts away from the boy and her mother, and thought about how hungry she was instead, how her insides had this big empty hole in the middle of them, and her stomach seemed like it was trying to turn itself inside out. The burning heat of the tears receded, and she took a long, steadying breath.

Eventually, the vibration of the engines firing up rumbled the deck beneath her. Relief coursed through her, some of the tension leaving her body. Soon now, she would truly be safe. No record of a girl matching her description leaving the planet. No record that she'd ever existed, at all.

When the ship broke atmosphere and made the first jump in whatever journey it was taking, Mercy knew she'd made it. The boy had kept his word, and he and his crew would never find her. But she also felt like the last connection she had to her mother severed. The people hunting her wouldn't be able to find her, but neither would anyone else. Then, Mercy gave in and cried. She let the tears come until she could hardly breath, until her head ached and her stomach churned in a mess of grief that eclipsed any hunger she felt. Until she could do nothing but lay, exhausted and numb, watching the feathers drift slowly down around her.

The chickens suddenly stirred, squawking loudly in protest as the straps to their cages were freed and the crates shoved aside. Mercy tensed, but there was nowhere to go, no more room to run as light spilled over her and a blond head suddenly appeared above her.

Blue eyes bright with curiosity peered down at her.

"Hi," said the girl, Atrea. "Who are you, and why are you on our ship?"

You can find out how to buy this book here.

This book has an enormous history for me. Back in 2008, I had finished a paranormal fantasy about vampires and werewolves, and I was shopping that book to agents while starting on the sequel. My co-author and roleplay partner (tabletop RPGs) had started running a new game for our all-girl gaming group – a science fiction game featuring telepathic space pirates. This world and these characters took over my writer brain. I literally had to stop my WIP and change what I was working on, because these pirates were so pushy and loud, they wouldn't leave me alone!

This book has undergone multiple drafts to get where it is today, and it was the first project I've ever had that made me understand why writers will do three, four, even ten or a dozen rewrites. I knew it was something special, and I wasn't going to stop working until I knew I had it right. I think all of that effort paid off. The characters, the world building, the plot, and the overarching story – they are all so much more than that first draft. I grew so much as a writer getting here, and I am so excited to finally be sharing this world with readers. I hope you love Mercy, her family, and her consorts as much as I do.

Carysa Locke is the pseudonym for writing team Carysa Locke and MaLea Holt, two best friends who have been creating imaginary worlds together for more than twenty years. The worlds they write in exist first as roleplaying games, where much of the bare bones of world building and character development take place. Carysa is a high school English teacher, and MaLea helps support families with special needs children. You might say, they work as super heroes in their day jobs!

Their obsession with pirates and adventure goes back many years, when they started another hobby together – costuming. They regularly attend Ren-faires and Pirate Festivals. They currently reside in the Pacific Northwest with their families, where they still routinely roleplay and costume together, when they aren't too busy working on the next novel.

Find Carysa online here:

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# Awakening by Rebel Miller

# About Awakening

**AWAKENING: Book One of Kira's Story**

**Kira Metallurgist** has always felt she was meant for more. Hoping to strike out on her own, she sets out on a new career at a time when the Realm goes through unprecedented change. In a system that is based on castes and predetermined roles, Kira embarks on a tumultuous journey that leads her toward a destiny that involves two men who call to her heart in different, yet powerful ways.

**Tai Corporal** was born to a family of warriors. Like his father, he aspires to take on the highest military position in the Realm. A man of his word and with a stubborn sense of duty, he is surprised to find that all in the Realm is not as black and white as he thought. He's even more surprised to realize that the woman he's loved for years is the one who reveals it to him.

**Gannon Consul** knows the meaning of power. As next in line for leadership in his caste, he is well acquainted with the lengths to which the Realm will go to stop someone from reaching above their station. Gannon senses that change is coming. He just never expected that it would come in the form of the one woman who calls to him like no other.

_This novel is for mature audiences (18+ years) and includes committed relationships with multiple partners._

# Sample of Awakening

**Chapter One**

**_Five years later._**

"You're a fucking goddess." He caressed my thigh as I ground down hard on top of him, his cock long and deep inside me.

"Yes, yes, yes," I whispered, reaching for that elusive feeling that was once again slipping away.

He leaned up to kiss my neck and molded my breasts, paying homage to my body with soft, sweet words.

It should have had me panting, but it was leaving me cold.

"No, damn it!" I pounded a fist on the bed, allowing my head to drop between my arms.

"Shit. Don't tell me you want to stop."

I'd thought it was going to work this time, but not even Lukas Merchant was going to tip me over the edge.

I opened my eyes to look down at him. "I can't do this," I said with a heavy sigh.

"Fuck. Kira, did I hurt you?" Lukas asked as I crawled off him, looking around for bits of my clothing. He immediately started to right his pants.

I shook my head in response as I stood in the middle of the room. Lukas took one look at my expression and reached to give me a hug.

When Lukas did things like that, showed me compassion and support even while I showed my other side of crazy, I knew something was wrong with me. Since Lukas and I had met at Primary Academy, we had been seeing each other here and there. We were supposed to be in off mode, but lonely nights and stressful final evaluations could turn any rejected coin into a valuable one.

As he bent to collect his shirt from the ground, I stole a glance at my comm and became alarmed by how late in the day it was. Rhoan would be back at any time, expecting me to be ready to head over to our parents' home.

That evening, I was to be celebrated for graduating at the top of my class, turning twenty-one and accepting an entry-level position at Prospect Eight's Judiciary, our world's legal arm — all achievements earned within the last month. I was looking forward to the event. It meant more than an excuse to overindulge in food and drink with family and friends. It was a rite of passage. If a person is the conclusion of decisions in life, then up to this point I was a collection of my parents' choices.

I heard the familiar ping of my comm, signaling a message.

"My brother's here," I said, quickly pulling on my panties and pants at the same time. I prepared myself for the inevitable whirlwind of high anxiety —not mine, but Lukas's.

Lukas stopped mid-stride on the way to my small bathroom. He spun around and grabbed his remaining strewn belongings. Duffel bag, shoes and comm were put on just as hastily as they'd been divested only minutes before. I crossed my arms and rested a hip against the doorjamb, watching Lukas do an unintended pirouette in the middle of my room as he tried to locate the last of his many items. He tripped over my bag and stumbled toward his tablet, immediately rolling up the flexible device into its portable scroll-like shape.

Lukas held it up in triumph with a silly smile. I shook my head as he ambled over to me and threw an arm around my shoulders. "Maybe next time?" He winked, affecting an over-the-top seductive grin.

I had to smile at that, but there wouldn't be a next time. I had to find a new fix. I'd lost my virginity four years earlier, but since then, while enjoyable, sex hadn't been all that wondrous with any of my four partners. At some point, I had to stop trying different flavors, because they were all leaving me with the same bitter taste.

Ducking my head, I busied myself with buttoning up my shirt. One of the buttons was missing, a casualty of our anticlimactic encounter. I glanced up to give Lukas what I intended as a hopeful smile, but it felt more like an apology on my lips than anything else.

"Come on. I'll let you out," I said.

We entered the main sitting area the same time as the front door slid open. As was customary, Rhoan strode in, disengaged the door to close it, threw his duffel bag on the floor and headed straight to our cooler to forage.

One of the first things I had done after my twenty-first birthday was to move in with Rhoan. It was a declaration of my independence. I didn't know why I'd thought moving in with my brother was a good idea. He had the capacity to eat massive amounts of food yet was not keen on buying or cooking any of it. I wondered how he'd existed before I came along. At first, Rhoan had been apprehensive about having his sister live with him, but I was getting the sense that my ability to clean, cook and shop was making me look more and more like a win to him.

" _Why, hello, Lukas and Kira. It's so nice to see you. How was your day?_ " I took on an outlandishly formal and deep voice. "That's what normal people say when they come home and see company," I added, reprimanding my brother. As expected, my words fell on deaf ears.

I looked to Lukas to offer an apology on behalf of my tactless kin when I noticed he had frozen like one of those sculptures in those old books Ma loved to pull out on significant religious holidays. Lukas was staring at my brother with a mixture of admiration and fear. It leaned much too far toward the latter.

And therein laid much of the problem.

Lukas, while sweet and perfect, as so many of my friends concurred, was scared shitless of my brother. Like all my past partners, he had a healthy fear of one Rhoan Advocator.

While I'd been gaining higher education and becoming sexually liberated, Rhoan had completed his advanced training. Having achieved the highest level of education in governance, his last name had been changed to Advocator, a name that would be his for the rest of his life or until he applied for a change in profession. Following graduation, as expected, he was quickly appointed subordinate representative for our region and worked at the Prospect Eight Advocacy, our governance arm. Accomplished or not, he was still an annoying, eating machine of an older brother.

I watched as Rhoan proceeded to inhale most of our limited food supply within a few minutes of having arrived. He sat at our small table, feet propped up, and tapped out a message on his tablet.

_What self-respecting person could be intimidated by this fool_?

I turned to Lukas to find him still caught in an odd state between man crush and abject fear. Apparently, Lukas Merchant was that person.

I snapped my fingers in front of Lukas's face to catch his attention. He offered a contrite smile and mumbled something indecipherable as I shuffled him out.

"Rhoan, would you please _not_ put your feet where we eat?" I shoved his boots as I stalked into the kitchen to clean up the wake of his food annihilation.

Rhoan tilted his head toward the door, still typing out his message. "Angus still hanging around, huh?"

I rolled my eyes. I didn't bother to correct him. He very well knew his name was Lukas.

Rhoan snorted, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "You ready to go?" He eyed my very casual outfit, eyes narrowing as they snagged on the missing button.

"I was just about to get dressed." I turned to prevent him from studying me too closely and tapped in a code on my comm to activate our wall-to-wall monitor in the sitting area. "Watch something. I'll be ready in a minute."

I was in the middle of deciding between a skirt and pants when I heard Rhoan call my name. Panic lit his voice, shooting shards of fear through me. I dragged on the skirt and ran out of my room.

I found him standing stock still in the middle of the room. I followed his line of sight to see a newsfeed running on the monitor. With growing dread, Rhoan and I learned that during a private meeting, just concluded, the Realm Council had, after confirming the dominion's involvement in exploration and interaction with rogue worlds, struck a motion to expel Argon.

Over four hundred years ago, soon after the creation of arc travel, our founding guardians had established the Realm's governance and law. By that time, our technological advancement in exploration had led to the discovery of multiple new worlds and to a call for federation under one system. Unfortunately, not all worlds agreed to unify. Those other worlds were categorized as "rogue" and deemed part of the Outer Realm, their people cut off from arc access into our system and considered exiles.

For many years after our system was established, the Council permitted limited travel between worlds, whether rogue or not, until Septima One, formerly known as Earth, was attacked. The story goes that Septima One citizens had traveled to a rogue world and been held hostage by a group of exiles. While the arc station was still engaged, the exiles went to Septima One and used their weaponry to wipe out all of our citizens. All exploration had been banned ever since.

In my periphery, Rhoan turned to speak into his comm. "I just heard. Shit, what does this mean for Prospect, for the Realm?" Rhoan suddenly spun back to me, his eyes wide. "Uncle Khelan."

I gasped, realizing the tragic impact this news would have on him. Though his only living relatives, my Aunt Marah and her family, lived close by on our world, Argon was still his home.

I started to engage my comm then realized I had taken it off as I was getting dressed. I ran to collect it and immediately tried to patch through to him, but the line didn't connect. After three more attempts, it was clear that I wouldn't have any success.

"The lines are jammed. My line just dropped." Rhoan ran a hand through his hair. "This is unbelievable. Just last week we were speaking with visiting Argon citizens about loosening trade restrictions."

We watched as footage of various Argon citizens of every caste were hounded for their opinion on the decision. They looked dazed.

"Turn up the volume, Rhoan."

The Corona was now displayed on the monitor. I moved closer to the screen just as she positioned herself behind a podium in the main hall of the Realm Council building, a familiar yet now forbidding setting.

"Citizens," she began. "The Realm Council took a most significant action today, one that has not been made in our long history of governance and law. We have learned through investigation that Argon dominion has been engaging in unauthorized arc travel to the Outer Realm.

"There is much beyond our system that we have yet to understand and discover. But it is the unknown that is our enemy. We must put the needs of the Realm and our citizens first and adhere to the rules put in place by our system. To go around such protective measures means putting our citizens at risk, leaving our families and children vulnerable. This disregard for our collective futures cannot go without being punished. Therefore, effective immediately, the seven worlds of Argon dominion are considered rogue and its peoples exiled to the Outer Realm.

"While this decision is unsettling, it is not unprecedented. Years ago, the Realm suffered such deception by one of our own. Nevertheless, we survived. And we will survive again. Our system was established to address such dissension. It will go on, and it will thrive. I ask you to strengthen your resolve and heed the Realm."

"Bullshit," Rhoan said, turning off the monitor. "Dissension goes against the very foundation the Realm is built on."

I ran to collect my shoes and jacket from my room.

"Let's go," I said as I returned, shrugging into my jacket. "Everyone should be at home by now. We can speak with Uncle there."

We heard him before we saw him. Emotion, raw and insistent, threaded through each of his words. Rhoan and I looked at each other as we entered our family's sitting area, my brother's wariness and remorse surely mirrored in my own gaze.

"This is madness!" Uncle Khelan's stance radiated defiance as he faced the monitors in the sitting area, an audience of our closest family and friends surrounding him. Da stood directly behind him with arms crossed, Ma to his right. She was gripping Uncle's arm with both hands. "Expel those who were involved in the corruption," Uncle Khelan said. "Not my family, who have done nothing but contribute to this fucking system!"

A woman I knew well was displayed on the monitor. Her cheeks were wet with tears as she hugged a small child. Aunt Marah, Uncle Khelan's younger sister, handed her two-year-old daughter to her partner.

"There's nothing for it, Khelan," she said. "We've been told that we should report to an arc station with our official status papers tomorrow afternoon."

"You will _not_ go to that arc station tomorrow, Marah!" Uncle Khelan roared. "You stay put. We'll come get you, Paol and Adria."

"No," Uncle Paol said, his face set. "That would endanger you and your family. Let's not jump to conclusions. The message said that they only want to check our papers."

"You would put your faith in a message sent surreptitiously by the Realm?" Uncle Khelan spat. "It's the future of my sister and niece you're playing with!"

"Because you're as angry as we all are, I will forgive you that remark." Uncle Paol bit out. "Until we know more, we'll follow the direction of the Realm. Should they wish to expel us to the Outer Realm, rest assured that your anger will come in handy when I raze the system to protect my own."

A hush gripped the room.

Da rested a hand on Uncle Khelan's shoulder, stepping forward with a grim look of resolve. "Know that you will have our full support, Paol," he said as Uncle scrubbed his hands over his face.

"There was never any doubt," Uncle Paol said, and disconnected.

Immediately, the room erupted in fervent discussion. Ma's quiet voice broke through the din.

"What does this mean for you, Khelan?"

The bottom of my stomach fell out. Rhoan slanted an uneasy look my way.

Ma shook her head, as if in denial. "They can't take you from us," she said.

Uncle turned to face her and held her face in his palms. "You know as well as I do that the Realm can't keep me away from my family," he said, his expression fierce.

Da approached Ma and pulled her into his arms, where she succumbed to tears. Only then did Uncle finally look in Rhoan's and my direction. We rushed forward and hugged him as best as we could with both of us wrapped around him. Although he wasn't truly related to us, Uncle Khelan and his sister were part of our family, and our family was being pulled apart.

I needed a moment to myself.

The anxiety in our family home had picked up even more since the newsfeed had started reporting what we already knew: that many Argon citizens had received private messages directing them to go to the nearest arc station with family in tow and armed with their status papers. Our only tenuous comfort was that Uncle Khelan had not received such a message. At least, not yet.

The celebration had turned into a moratorium, all of us stalled and waiting for some definitive word on my uncle's fate. When I left the sitting room, Ma, Da and Uncle Khelan were huddled deep in conversation with some of our family and friends. I hadn't seen Rhoan for almost an hour now. He had been in and out, in constant communication with whoever was on the opposite end of his comm. I had nothing to offer by way of optimism, so I sought refuge in the study, where I'd frequently gone when I needed comfort during my childhood.

A journal had been left open on my father's desk. Recognizing the tight characters of his handwritten letters, I went over to it. Like everyone else, Da had a tablet, but at times he preferred to use ink rather than a device to communicate his thoughts. I fingered the pages reverently.

I remembered many evenings in this room, reporting my grades or confessing to some Ma-deemed infraction. A photo of our family stood on the desk. It displayed Ma, Da, Uncle Khelan, Rhoan and me, beaming with pride at my brother's graduation two years ago. I plucked the picture off the desk and sank to the floor.

"There you are."

I looked up as Sela walked through the door.

Over the years, Sela and I had remained the closest of friends even though we'd taken different paths. During our time at Primary Academy, she had pursued health while I ventured toward law. She was now Sela Medic, having taken on her new caste name. A year ago she'd partnered with Derek Lecturer, a man she'd been in love with since forever.

Sela sat beside me on the floor and we looked at the picture together in silent companionship.

I glanced at her. "How's Derek?"

"He's well." She curled a lock of her auburn hair around an ear and folded her legs under her. "I just spoke with him. He's very sorry he can't be here, especially considering all that's going on."

I ran a finger over the glass in the frame, causing the image to pixelate before it righted itself. We watched as the photo switched to another, this time displaying Ma reclining on a patch of grass.

I looked up at Sela. "Will you be going to the festival picnic? It's our family's turn to organize it." I asked.

Sela didn't answer for a few moments. She had such sadness in her eyes that I knew I was seeing my own reflection. My hands started to shake. Sela opened her mouth to speak.

"Don't," I said, standing up and still gripping the photo.

"All right," Sela said with a sigh, running her hands over her thighs.

I paced. "It's supposed to be good weather around that time. At least that's what Ma says."

She nodded.

"So I guess that means we should prepare for rain," I added.

Sela responded with a small smile.

"So will you be going or not?" I pressed.

"Yes, we all will," she said after a moment. "Derek, _baby_ and I."

The photo nearly slipped from my hand. "What?"

Sela rose to stand in front of me with her hands on her belly and an incomparable smile on her face. "I wasn't going to say anything with Derek not being here and everything that's going on..." She trailed off, her smile slipping.

I stared at her. One moment I was on the upswing of an epic rise to outrage then the next I was flooded with an overwhelming amount of unbelievable happiness.

"Sela." Tears filled my eyes. "This is wonderful."

Sela looked relieved. I bit down on my bottom lip, vexed that I'd doused her happiness with my hesitation. I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"How far along are you?" I asked.

"Four months."

"Four months!" I pulled back. She hadn't told me all this time?

"Oh stop it! You and I were busy with finals, and then Derek and I have been so tied up with the move and work. There was barely any time for us to wrap our own minds around it, much less tell you." She smiled, tears skipping down her cheeks.

"Wait until Ma hears about this." I stepped away to place the photo back on the desk. "She'll be looking for babies to pop out of _my_ womb from here on out. Thank you for that."

Ma was a religious woman, having come from Septima where the belief in a higher being or deity continued to be upheld. In addition to finding a man or woman to partner with in life, Ma wanted me to have children and commit to the All Above or the gods.

Sela laughed. The sound lifted my mood even higher. "Won't it be fun deflecting her passive-aggressive remarks?" she said.

"For you, maybe. I know how much you enjoy my marital inadequacies."

"Oh, you too will succumb to baby making, Kira Metallurgist." Sela pointed a finger at me and we fell into laughter.

"Apologies."

Sela and I turned to face the door. My heart did a familiar flip.

"Hello, Tai," Sela said, sobering up a bit.

He nodded a hello to her from where he filled the doorway then redirected his gaze my way. As usual, as soon as our eyes connected, the air left my lungs in a swift gust.

_When will I learn?_

"I didn't see you here earlier." I pursed my lips, taking him in.

"I just arrived." Tai's hazel eyes were fringed with tension, the skin around them tight.

Tai and Rhoan had become close friends since I'd first met him at the Realm Exhibition years ago. As a result, he had become a constant, if distant, figure in my life. He and Rhoan had gone off to the Advanced Academy and, since he'd graduated two years ago, his duties in the Protectorate had often kept him busy in other dominions, so I rarely had the opportunity to come in contact with him, but I heard about his activities through the carefully crafted questions I often asked my brother.

One of the rare times I'd seen him was at an impromptu gathering following my graduation ceremony the month before. I had been inexplicably happy that he'd stopped by, even though, as was becoming customary, we ended up in a heated argument over our divergent views of our system's governance and law. Actually, my happiness was _not_ inexplicable. My childhood crush on Tai hadn't lessened as I'd got older. It had simply become more frustrating.

"I've heard good things, Tai," Sela said. "Gaining seniority as a corporal and an appointment as a protector at Prospect Council are a big deal."

He pulled his gaze from me. "It's a minor position," he said with a shrug.

"Sela has wonderful news as well," I announced, falling into my father's chair.

"Well, I suppose the secret is as good as out since Kira knows." Sela thinned her lips, but her eyes glowed. "I'm pregnant," she said to Tai. "My partner and I will have a child in the season after next."

"That's wonderful. Congratulations," Tai said, but his eyes slid back to me.

"Thank you." Sela watched him. "I think I'll try some of that _curran_ stew I saw earlier. Now that morning sickness has passed, all I seem to want to do now is eat." She turned to me, a suspicious gleam to her eye. "I'll be here a little while more if you need me."

I waved her a goodbye as Tai stepped into the room to let her out.

He had only become more painfully handsome as the years passed. At the age of twenty-eight, he was a heart-stopping promise of what he would look like in the years to come. I felt a deep envy for the woman who would be by his side to witness it.

"If Rhoan's not in the sitting area," I told him, "he'll more than likely be in the kitchen."

"I'm not looking for Rhoan." He stood across from me, arms folded, stretching the fabric of his uniform across his broad shoulders. "Are you all right?"

I frowned, wondering why he would seek me out.

He shook his head. "That was a foolish question," he murmured.

He'd misunderstood my reaction. Heat flushed my cheeks. "No, it's fine. _I'm_ fine," I insisted.

Tai crouched in front of me, resting his elbows on his thighs. I couldn't help but notice the way his muscles flexed to accommodate his movements. My eyes found his mouth, and I watched as he licked his lips, pulling them into a line while he seemed to ponder what to say.

"How's your mother?" I asked to fill the silence.

It was his turn to frown. "She's well."

"Rhoan mentioned that she had a relapse. Is she at home resting now?"

He nodded.

"I'm happy she's on the mend."

Tai narrowed his eyes.

"It must have been so hard for her not to have you here to help every now and then."

He stared as I paused to chew on my bottom lip.

"Your uncle won't be expelled, Kira," he said.

I stood on a deep intake of breath, bringing him with me. "How do you know?" I said. "Has word come through the newsfeed?" I made for the door, hoping to hear some form of confirmation of his words.

He gripped my arm and heat shot up my veins. "I just came from Prospect Council offices. I was able to check the manifest that lists who is to be expelled."

I turned to him, my arm still caught firmly in his grasp.

"He's not on the list," he said. He took a step closer. "Argon citizens who've resided in another dominion for more than twenty years will not be turned out."

Uncle Khelan had lived here since just before I was born. A wave of relief hit me. "Does my family know?"

"I told them when I arrived."

"What about my Aunt Marah and her family?"

"I didn't know to look for their names or I would have. I had only one name in mind." His expression took on a look of remorse as he released my arm. "I wish there was more I could do."

I had learned over the years that Tai's apparent aloofness was born out of the gravity of his character and an unwavering sense of duty, traits that ran deep and expressed themselves in unexpected moments like this. Those same traits probably meant he thought I found him lacking for not thinking of my extended family, a family he had never met.

I placed a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Tai."

He ran a hand through his hair. The short strands tousled, leaving a rogue look that contrasted the formality of his uniform. He moved away to stand by the desk, but then seemed to change his mind and circled back to me.

"What else can I do?"

I gave him a questioning look.

"What can I do to help? You look so..." He scanned my face, his hands clenched at his sides. "What do you need?"

I was taken aback. Tai never sought me out, much less made overtures of any kind. I had to assume that the magnitude of the day's events was compelling him to step outside his normal behavior.

I walked over to the study's small window. Night had fallen now, but I was still able to make out the small pond in the far corner of the yard. It was covered with lily pads, but in a few months it would be frozen over with ice.

Turning to Tai, I asked, "What's going to happen to those citizens on the list?"

Tai tensed. "Some of them will be questioned, and if they have the right response, they may be exempt, but the majority? They'll be transported to whichever of the seven worlds of Argon they belong to," he said matter-of-factly.

"But they've done nothing wrong."

"It's clearly stated what a dominion can and cannot do." Tai scowled. "There must be consequences."

"Consequences? You're speaking about citizens who had nothing to do with this!"

"You believe the Elite could do this on their own? Think, Kira. They need citizens of every caste to carry out this level of subterfuge."

"Oh, come now. We all know that a citizen can do nothing without being watched over by a member of the Senate, so the Elite must know."

"You only prove my point."

I glared at him. "Argon won't know the first thing about survival without access to our resources, technology and way of life."

"They should have thought of that before they chose to fraternize with rogue worlds," he countered.

"You're such a stubborn ass," I hissed. When he spewed this bullshit, I couldn't remember why I was ever drawn to him.

He spun away. "You sound just like your blasted brother."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Tai looked back at me, shaking his head.

"And what's so damn wrong with exploration anyway?" I added.

Tai stalked over to me. "Do not let _anyone_ hear you say those words outside these walls. Do you understand?" His eyes were fierce, their green flecks glinting in the room's dim light.

I wrapped my arms around my waist and turned away, trying to calm down.

"I'm sorry." He sounded anguished. The tingle running along my nape told me he was close behind.

I couldn't speak. My throat had clamped shut and I started to tremble.

_No. Not now_.

Tremors racked my body and I put a hand on the windowsill, gasping and trying to steady myself.

"Kira?" Tai gripped my upper arms again and turned me to face him. I read the alarm in his eyes as he assessed me. He raised a palm to my cheek, staring down at me, willing me to respond.

I blinked up at him as I tried to swallow past the tightness in my throat. Tai was touching me in ways I hadn't even allowed myself to dream about over the years. And here I was, a mess of emotions, unable to take advantage of the situation.

Suddenly, his gaze became inscrutable and his grip on my cheek firmed. _He must be appalled by my behavior_ , I thought. Tai was probably used to being around women of strength with cores of steel, and there I was hyperventilating my way through my latest panic attack.

During my first year at Primary Academy, I experienced my first attack. I always thought _attack_ was too strong a word, but the episodes left me gasping for air, with a racing pulse and sometimes in a cold sweat, so I imagined they qualified as such. They weren't frequent, though, and most of the time I could fake it without anyone being the wiser. But there was one time, just before Sela's partnering ceremony, when I was so suddenly incapacitated, I collapsed. Sela found me unconscious on her bedroom floor.

Now I took a fortifying breath, straightened my spine and told myself to act like the newly minted twenty-one-year-old I was. I was about to make some witty offhand remark when he spoke.

"All Above, you're beautiful," he said.

Time stopped and so did my heart. If Tai hadn't repeated the phrase a second later, I would have told Sela it was a figment of my imagination.

Eyes wide, I peered up at him. He brushed an errant lock of hair away from the sides of my face. It was like he was looking at me but not truly realizing that I was there. When I licked my lips, his gaze came swiftly to my mouth. He took a step closer. Holding my breath, I gripped the front of his shirt, both to prevent myself from falling back and to prove that this was real, that _he_ was real. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart against my fingers. Oddly, it steadied me.

A movement by his shoulder caught my attention. I swallowed as Rhoan entered the room, his expression mildly confused. I stepped back quickly and Tai's hands slid from my face. He closed his eyes for a moment before turning around to face my brother, his expression blank.

Rhoan flicked a look in Tai's direction then came back to rest solidly on me. Now that Tai had moved out of the way, his puzzled look smoothed into one of concern.

"What's wrong?" He came to me and held my face with his hands. It was the same thing Tai had done moments ago, but it felt so very different, almost unwelcome in comparison. I looked over to where Tai stood off to our side, watching, expressionless.

Rhoan followed my gaze. "What the fuck, Tai?" He didn't sound so much angry as confused.

"I had a panic attack," I said, drawing Rhoan's attention back to me.

"Are you okay?" Rhoan gathered me close.

"I didn't know she had panic attacks." Tai's comment was tinged with accusation. I turned out of Rhoan's embrace to find him glaring at my brother.

Rhoan must have picked up on it too. "Why would you?" he said.

They held each other's gaze.

Tai rubbed a hand around his nape. "I should go." He moved toward the door.

"Tai..." I stepped forward. I didn't know what I wanted to say, especially with my brother in the room. "Thank you."

"It's nothing."

"It's everything," I said.

Find out where to buy this book here.

I envisioned developing a coming-of-age romance that was set against an intensely dramatic backdrop and was unexpected in every way, yet would still resonate with readers of the sub-genre. For me, that meant creating a futuristic world where I could challenge the female lead, Kira Metallurgist, and her assumptions about her social class, identity, sexuality and what it means to be in love. As Kira starts out on her career path, she finds herself in a passionate love triangle and connected to dissidents, all of which lead her to question her beliefs and the system she lives in. I wrote this novel with lovers of New Adult romance top of mind and so included a lot of the angst-filled thematic notes they have come to expect while taking them on an exciting, out-of-this-world journey.

Rebel Miller is a contemporary and futuristic romance author who overindulges in Pinot Grigio, caramel popcorn and an eclectic mix of movies, music and angst-filled romance novels.

Rebel earned a graduate degree in Communications and Culture from Ryerson University and an undergraduate degree from the University of the West Indies.

Rebel lives in the outskirts of Toronto, Canada with her husband and two sons. Awakening, book one in the provocative Realm Series, is her first novel.

Connect with Rebel on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads and Instagram. Subscribe to the Rebel @ Heart Newsletter.

# Constant by Elizabeth Munro

# About Constant

As a Core Alliance soldier, Rye knows the grind of skirmishes on one forgotten planet after another. Then six years ago he discovered loss when the woman who meant everything died in his arms. Now, a chance meeting brings her back into his life. Under pressure to hide her from his superiors and rocked by the truths hidden in her past, Rye can only take one path. Follow his heart until every piece of it, and hers, heals.

Angel has secrets; why she joined Core and why she never sought Rye out when her body was stolen from cryo and put back together. She fights her own battle against the Aphids, at first for vengeance and now to protect the little piece of Rye she brought back from the other side. When she finds herself back in Core hands, she has no choice but to allow Rye to take her home and in doing so, she endangers far more than the quiet community which brought her back to life.

Constant is a mid-heat level science fiction romance with super soldiers, family and second chances. Oh, and flying pack hunting carnivorous squirrel monkeys. Stay out of the trees. 77,000 words for adult readers.

# Sample of Constant

**Chapter 1**

"I love you, Rye."

Angel instantly regrets the words.

Her commander tenses in her arms. Moments before, she teased his ear with her teeth the way she knew drove him crazy. Unbridled bliss in the dirty and debris strewn room forced the words from her lips as he shook beneath her.

Now she confesses the one thing they shouldn't have.

"Damn it," she mutters, lips still pressed to his ear.

Angel wears nothing but standard-issue black socks and sweat sticks her breasts to his armour plated chest.

"I..." she tries as Rye pulls her away enough to look in her eyes.

"Angel," he breathes. This close she can easily tell the difference between the natural eye and the implant. His natural steel gray eye dilates with pleasure while the matching technical marvel closes tightly in deference to the room's weak light. Both are beautiful.

She can't hold his hard stare and turns away in shame.

This ransacked apartment once held a family. Scattered toys and furniture rest beneath dust dumped by two decades of abandonment. Angel used to be bothered by the broken remnants of life in places like this but now they are, more often than not, where she spends her two hours of rack a cycle.

"No," he forces her nose to his. "Never."

Never say it. Never think it.

Rye is a third generation soldier, his body far more modified than hers. His genetic alterations make his wetware implants more effective and eliminate the need for drugs and therapy to enhance his strength and speed. She joined the war ten years ago. First generation. Civilian parents.

She's not the kind of female chosen to pair with a specimen like him. Let off some steam during downtime, sure, but that's all it can ever be.

Angel nods since there's no point in arguing. They're in Aphid territory and her job is to get all the data she can while the rest of the team has her back.

Rye fingers the tender spots on her hips where they'd dug in with passion and hisses at the loss of contact as he helps her to her feet. With her back to him, she hides the burning in her cheeks and the flush of her chest.

"I'll grab rations," Rye fastens his trousers and weapons. Then he leaves Angel alone to dress. Ninety minutes remain off duty. More than enough for a tasteless meal and the hour of sleep she needs to stay alert and keep the shakes at bay. Rye can last a week before he needs to power down.

He returns with two small boxes as she adjusts her earpiece and tests the function of the zipper covering the data port embedded in her arm. Angel's own handgun seems small and impotent compared to Rye's weapons but she's not made for combat. Five foot nine isn't at the small end of things for a woman back on Earth but in Rye's unit she's a pixie.

Angel can't look at Rye when he shoves her rations in her hands. Once she takes her box, he wraps his hands around hers to quiet her tremors.

"You need rest," he whispers.

Somehow his stating the obvious feels like an insult. Of course she needs to rest. She shakes every damn day as a reminder she's first gen and her position in his unit is temporary at best. Rye hasn't slept in three days and he's as still as the dead housing block surrounding them.

"We need to talk about us," he says as he drops to a squat then rocks onto his ass. A quick wiggle of his hips moves him against the wall and he crushes the corner of his box to activate the heater.

"Sure, Rye," Angel concedes. The colour code on her box contains a lot of red for protein. Rye's shows equal amounts of red, green, blue and white. Protein is for shakers but it stops her back end up like nobody's business and after two weeks she wonders if she'll ever function right.

She knows what's coming. Angel has been Rye's 'regular' for nearly six months since he came to her quarters dressed only in a towel. She was beautiful and very private, he explained, and someone he could trust to be discreet. Any intimacy shared wouldn't leave the room. Their time together would give them a chance to push the real world away for a while and nothing more.

He couldn't hide his emotion when he found out he was her first and after, he cried silently in her arms. He knew he could trust her, he said, if she trusted him with her innocence. It was strange to think of herself as innocent since she'd already taken hundreds of Aphid lives by sabotaging life support systems or overloading their weapons banks. Her physical demonstration of trust had triggered his.

"We got too close," she mumbles around a dry fibre bar. Like fibre will help with the protein cramps.

"Later," he insists and looks away when her hands become too unsteady to keep eating. "Sleep."

"Yeah."

Angel uses the ration box to keep her short blonde hair off the dirty floor and curls up. For a few minutes she watches Rye's face glow in the soft light of the palm-sized data tablet he pulled from his thigh pocket. His spiky brown hair and angular cheeks complement the three days stubble on his jaw as it works in thought.

"Sleep," he orders without looking up.

"Can't," she sits and goes through her pockets for something to help. Just as she breaks the seal on a small sleep-aid disk, a deep rumble no more than a block away jars the building, knocking dust into the steep light streaming in from the window.

"Tong?" Rye fingers his earpiece as he gets an update from his twin brother, his second in command. Tong's voice rattles in Angel's ear as well.

_Town hall went up, Rye._ A second blast jars the building and her earpiece shuts down to protect her hearing. _Greens everywhere. The school's gotta be empty. I'll keep the ... clear for Angel and follow ... in._

"Need you solid for a couple more hours, Angel," Rye orders but she's already on her feet, pulling out a stim-tab. No sleep now but her hands shake so bad she can't get the packet open.

Rye grabs the tablet and pushes her against the wall. He opens the foil envelope containing a translucent thumbnail sized disk and presses it against her neck. Thousands of micro needles coated in stimulant penetrate her skin, not deep enough to hurt but enough to get the drug into her system. Shit, she usually takes it in the arm to slow the rush.

Nothing ever prepares her no matter how many times it happens. Rye turns, pinning her to the wall, his hip pressed hard into her lower belly as her heart lights up. With her head thrown back, she sucks her lungs full and Rye slaps a hand over her mouth to silence her involuntary screech.

Every nerve in her body immolates, triggering a fiery orgasm deep in her over-sensitive sex. It isn't good at all and tears burst from her eyes as she tries to bite her way free of Rye's hand.

As her sight fails, the building rocks through the biggest explosion yet and Rye's other hand shields her wide open eyes from a cascade of falling dust and ceiling tiles. Angel can't breathe and the dust thickens, sending her into a terrified primal reaction to Rye's big body and the hands over her face. Gun in hand, she strikes out.

"Angel," he growls as she recovers from the horrible jolt to her system. Rye holds his fist over hers on the pistol grip as he groans in her ear. "Easy."

"Rye," she wheezes but her legs tremble and she blinks as he brushes dirt from her eyes.

"You came hard," Rye sounds close himself as he shoves her pistol back in her holster and fastens the snap.

"You put it in my fucking neck, Rye."

"You're a big girl."

Angel shudders as her strength returns. When she holds her still hands over Rye's chest he rests his lips in her hair.

"Tong thinks the schoolhouse is empty. Their comm system is still blocking us up close so we can't be sure."

She nods. For two days they've been careful in the dead zone around the elementary school.

"I'll keep an eye on you then you're on your own until Tong gets there," Rye steps away, the lover in him shuts down as he checks his weapons. Angel does the same, thoroughly buzzing inside. For the moment, she forgets their intimacy and the stimulants take control.

"You're going to suck their data banks dry, Angel," Rye orders but his next words don't foreshadow the breakup she sees coming after her confession of love. "You're going to prove a first gen can pull her weight in my unit. You're going to prove you deserve to be here permanently, with me."

"I'll do my job."

She can barely acknowledge his words, the closest he's come to expressing he wants her and with his comm line open to Tong it isn't a private sentiment.

"Go."

The initial effects of the stimulant pass, allowing Angel to focus. Artificial endorphins and relaxation from sex combine to help her bring up models of Aphid computer systems and security protocols with unusual clarity.

Easy job, she tells herself. The chemicals in her system drive out random thoughts that might intrude on her orders. Hack the Aphid comms, steal what she can and make Rye proud.

Be a good soldier, Angel. Show them you're not a pretty liability.

She's overheard the talk from some of Rye's men. After pulling off some minor miracles on previous assignments, she landed a temp spot with Rye's unit and it's just what she expected. She stays out of the way while the real soldiers work, moves faster than Scarlet the medic yells when things get hot and jacks herself into whatever Aphid data port they shove her at.

It doesn't take up all her time.

With access to the advanced and well appointed labs on Rye's home base on _The Barrington_ , she spends her spare time duplicating Aphid tech and has several untested hybrid data blocks in her belly pack. Tech that may be able to draw Aphid data out and digest the mess of ones and zeros into something Core can use other than more mysterious ones and zeros. All without the constant babysitting of a biological interface like her.

When she steps from the building, the world outside no longer resembles the one she left half an hour before. The summer breeze moves toward the explosions, clearing the air and fist-sized chunks of demolished buildings dot the grass veined road. Fire and gunshots sound to the north where the town hall used to stand and she gets down behind a rusted truck. Even so far from Earth, humans built around them so it felt like they'd never left.

"Go, Angel," Rye shoulders his arc-rifle over the truck box, flips it to laser and squeezes off a couple of dirty, glowing rounds. The thick, two foot long sub-rifle doesn't recoil so the scent of hot plasteel is the only evidence it fired, other than the rounds themselves and the tight explosions three blocks away.

She doesn't question her orders.

Even with the humans gone, the air is redolent with their overgrown flowering trees. Transplanted lilac, magnolia and wisteria exceed three times the size of their earth grown counterparts from over a century of alien nourishment. Midday sunlight, too bright for comfort, casts Angel's harsh, short shadow as she steps out on the main street of the small town six generations of colonists called Constant.

The schoolhouse stands two blocks south and Angel runs low and fast enough that a mis-step would put her flat on her face. Through her earpiece, she gathers what she can from Rye and Tong's chatter as Rye gets up to speed and takes command of the offensive around the burning town hall. Nobody knows what caused the explosions but it drew in the Aphids and in turn Rye's Core soldiers. As she nears the schoolhouse she's on her own. Aphid comm signals overwhelm her earpiece and over the last dozen meters she hears nothing but hiss.

Angel squats by the open school door, pressed flat against the wall. Smoke and the slow bend in the road hide the truck and Rye though the hisses and reports of the firefight still reach her.

Gun in hand, Angel crawls into the small two-story building. She knows the openings on the left and right lead to a couple of classrooms and the office. The heavy metal door at the end twists into charred chunks caused by an old battle. Not much remains of the ivory paint since the Aphids blew it open to slaughter the children and teachers who sought refuge on the second floor twenty years earlier.

Halfway down the hall, Angel spots what she came for and pulls her useless earpiece free so the buzzing doesn't distract her from any noises which would warn she's not alone.

The main computer station and thick rectangular keypad occupy the top of the only unbroken office desk. Like most Aphid tech, it accommodates a two handed grip. Finger control buttons and touch-pads on the sides in concert with pressure from the thumbs on the top send three dimensional data to the Aphid CPU.

In a few minutes, the three displays glow. The characters hide, indecipherable from the background and Angel pulls out special polarized glasses to filter the extra light. The data materializes before her in three dimensional arrays of angular text, the reason for the three dimensional grip on the keypad.

A small explosion to the north causes her to freeze until she's certain the rattle of falling debris doesn't conceal an Aphid. For a few seconds there's nothing then a minute rasp of boots against the dirty floor.

Angel releases the keypad and pushes herself against the wall to hide. Keeping her gun in reach, she pulls out a small silver tablet the size of a pack of cigarettes. With her eyes on the classroom door, she taps in an access code then another set of numbers which auto-program the unit. It warms quickly at her touch as it reads the comm frequencies and starts to produce a counter signal to partially mask the ones Core needs for scanning and comms. If the Aphids don't notice then they won't come to investigate the cause.

As she slides the tablet onto the desk beside her gun, she lets her lungs empty at the sight of Tong in the doorway. He blocks as much light from the hall as Rye can and if he wasn't facing her it would be impossible to tell which brother he is since his thin, sleazy moustache is the only way he's different from his twin. He steps in, back to the wall and scans around with his gun like he's clearing the room.

Bad news.

If Tong acts like she isn't there then he's been followed. He'll stay ahead of the Aphids, likely a small team of three, and set up an ambush. Before he steps out she stands at the keypad, well aware she's nearly out of time.

Angel draws a second silver customizable tablet from her pack and activates it. She doesn't program it for recording yet. Data storage is her job but she's been distracted by Tong. Rye and his brother couldn't behave more differently but the two are as close as Angel and her own brother had been. Instead of holding the Aphid data in the drives which share her ribcage with her lungs, she can use the tablet and help Tong.

If she can prove she can fight in close and get the data then she'll be a permanent addition to Rye's unit.

Once the zipper above her left jacket cuff opens, Angel grabs the thick tan mole on the inside of her wrist and pulls out her data tether then she rubs spit in the maintenance port on the keypad. During the two seconds it takes to reboot, she shoves the mole in the port and silently prays.

The display stays green when the Aphid keypad reconnects to the computer.

Angel programs the data cube while she overwhelms the Aphid system with maintenance protocols and watches as a single light starts to blink.

Holy shit, it works. She doesn't have to stand here like a target while her internal servers micro manage the data retrieval. Those internal computers, hardwired to her brain, take advantage of billions of neurons she doesn't use. No portable device has ever had the power to pull it off but this one does.

Angel squats out of sight as more footsteps enter the school. While the Aphids try hard to be quiet, they must still believe Core scanners are blocked and Tong doesn't know they're coming. Angel shoves her earpiece in place. The hiss remains but in the background she can make out the occasional syllable of human speech, each one stronger than the last. The clicky sounds of quiet Aphid talk reach her as she sends a signal to the Aphid computer to expel her tether. While she has an affinity for Aphid tech, she's never learned a word of their convoluted and subtle spoken language.

As the tether retracts, three Aphids pass down the hall. They don't look inside and stop talking as they reach the bottom of the stairs. Angel slips silently to the door and peeks out just in time to see their feet disappear up the landing to the second floor. A scuffle breaks out overhead. With her small pistol pointed at the ceiling, she unsnaps her dagger and follows.

**Chapter 2**

"Interference getting weak, Rye," Atom says. They hunker down half a block from the town hall in a shitty stand-off with a dozen Aphids. Atom brings his own type of class to the front lines. Smallish and wiry for a third gen, he comes off as nervous since he constantly licks his lips but he's really just annoyed at his still knife. Atom claims Aphid blood feels good on his skin and since the bright green stuff soaks his knife hand, Atom must be in heaven.

"Fucking A," Rye intones as he pulls out his tablet. Fifteen minutes earlier he sent Angel to the schoolhouse and five minutes after that he lost contact with Tong as he went after her.

"You think Angel did that?"

Rye's stomach rolls at the thought. His last Comms Officer tried to eat them a clear path through the Aphid interference and in doing so gave away his position. The Aphids caught on to him long before Rye could scan the area and by the time they got to him the man was dead, hanging by his feet with his skin pooled around his head.

"She wouldn't be that stupid," he allows, more to reassure himself than anything else.

"Shit," Atom breathes as he scratches his neck with his blade, smearing green all over his skin. Between the green blood and a streak of red from a cut on his head he looks like an evil candy cane.

Rye hides his disgust.

"Two Core transmitters, one faint but I can't tell if it's Tong or Angel. Static too heavy." Rye smacks his tablet in a vain effort to improve the reception but this looks as good as it will get. Clever girl, Angel. She degraded their signal just enough and didn't get greedy. One of the humans is in bad shape and whether it's Tong or Angel it's going to be a very bad day. He needs them both in his life.

The rough pop of an explosion to the south knocks Rye to his ass and not due to the shock wave. One of the human life signs blinks out.

Only the injured human remains on his display. Whatever blew in the schoolhouse changed his life forever by taking either his brother or Angel.

"Scarlet," Rye calls and she looks up from Webber. The man has a round in his arm and isn't in any trouble but he's out until she stops fussing over him. "Now, south. Atom, you too."

The three break away at a run as the rest of the team tightens up the line to make up for their absence. Aphid gunfire peters off and stops and Rye looks back to see his soldiers prepare to advance.

A section of the schoolhouse second floor topples inward and black smoke curls thick around the hole. As Rye ducks behind another building, he takes a moment to run his hands over his face. They still smell of _her_ and he can only hope the readout on the tablet is wrong and unreliable. He has no trouble going through fifty undetected Aphids if it means Angel and Tong are okay.

God, she loves him and she's braver than him for saying it. She's damn good for a first gen or even a second for that matter and came very highly recommended. Much of her record was sealed, of course, since most operations are classified but the legendary and very senior Comms Officer who signed off on her assignment with Rye took the time to escort her to _Barrington Station_ himself.

Now, Rye has to face the very real possibility Angel is dead or dying alongside his dying or dead big brother.

"—oing on, Rye?" Scarlet asks. She doesn't even look up. Both arms sink elbows-deep in her med bag since she's always taking stock of her supplies. Each clamp, bandage and med-tab plays on her giant mental board game and she's a dozen moves ahead.

"Angel and Tong," Rye breathes as they run the last block to the schoolhouse. "Ambushed inside."

"Fuck," Scarlet mutters, articulate and colourful. Her long red hair dangles half out of the knot she keeps at the back of her head and the smokey wind snakes strands around her shoulders.

The main hallway lays empty and Rye and Atom check the rooms for Aphids as quickly as they can, keeping Scarlet in the rear. Second door on the left opens to the small Aphid mainframe. It only takes a second to see that Angel isn't there, only some of her hardware, and Rye signals to take the second floor.

Several smouldering chunks of debris litter the stairs but old damage marks the fire door at the bottom. Ivory enamel paint covers parts of the buckled and torn surface. Rye has seen it before in dozens of schools. Antibacterial and easy to keep clean. So much thought had gone into the properties but nobody ever made it another colour.

More charred bits cover the landing including an Aphid head. The three inch high pale green ridge running over the top lacks much of the flesh which once covered it and a small calibre round punched out one eye.

Angel.

Damn it, if she'd just stayed put...

There's nothing but silence from the top floor and Rye nudges the head aside with his boot.

Atom kicks it off the landing. The head makes a solid thunk as it hits the wall above the blown out door and bounces twice at the bottom of the stairs.

The ceiling above opens to the sky and the harsh sun reveals a garish mix of Aphid parts and rubble. Some property of the natural light makes the green blood glow vibrantly in spite of the dust and smoke trapped by what remains of the walls. Angel's knife rests hilt-deep in a green torso.

"One human life sign," Scarlet mutters to her tablet and Rye nods his permission for her to get to work. His own tablet shows no active explosives. With the sun in their eyes they can't see into the dark cavity ahead, the section of the second floor that still has a roof, but without Aphid life there's no danger.

"Enough gunk to account for three greens," Atom assesses. Rye thinks the same thing and as he strides after Scarlet he spots what's left of at least two more. Both appear to have been killed in close combat then smeared across the floor and over the body that has the medic's attention.

"Rye," Scarlet calls. "Tong."

Damn, where's Angel? Maybe she wasn't in the building when it went up.

Tong blinks as Rye kneels beside Scarlet and she assesses him. The panel on her medical tablet strobes green. Tong's heart beats strong and more bandages than even Scarlet could have done already bind his thigh.

"Whatever happened," Scarlet shrugs. The set of her mouth says she disapproves of the amateur dressing. "He'd have bled out by now without it."

Rye knows what that means. Brain death and no chance to get him in cryostasis until he could be repaired. Angel did that. If Rye has to guess, Tong was surprised by the two now dead Aphids and injured. Maybe he took care of a couple of the ones at the stairs but Angel had been there and shot the one in the head. Two had been dead before she got there and put her knife in the third and saved Tong's life or she wouldn't have reached him.

"Rye," Tong's voice grates through the thickness of pain meds and he grabs Rye's sleeve then points into the corner where the two dead Aphids lay. "Angel."

"Uh," air punches from Rye's lungs. He can't get on his feet and crawls to the pile of bodies. A camouflaged human knee sticks clear of the green, bloody mess.

"Scarlet," he gasps but she's ahead of him, pulling dead Aphids off Angel.

By the time Rye gets to her side, Scarlet has her tablet out. The display strobes an angry red and Rye's hope fades.

"Tong is stable," Scarlet mutters to herself and holds a hand over Angel like she's afraid to touch her. Angel's neck bends at a terrible angle and it's clear her head is close to severed. Her burnt off fatigues reveal black and red skin.

"Bag her," Rye chokes out.

"Rye," Scarlet shakes her head. "Wait."

The display flashes yellow then red again. Every few seconds another flash of yellow brings new hope.

"Lock her down for cryo, Scarlet."

"Shit," Tong moans behind them.

Scarlet rolls Angel to her stomach and snaps a thumb-sized black med-tab to what remains of the back of her neck. The lights flash on, green then red.

"Not enough circulation," Scarlet says but Rye knows that. He busts off Angel's chest armour and tears open the buttons of her shirt. Scarlet readies another med-tab and sticks it between Angel's exposed breasts.

The lights on this one turn blue and as they get clear, it jolts her with enough electricity to jump start her heart. Her lungs expand and a small trail of blood runs under the curve of one white breast. The device drove two spikes in through her ribs. It loads her up with drugs to dehydrate her body in order to supply enough fluid to her veins and arteries to distribute the other meds going in the back of her neck. Other drugs seal up the breaches in her circulatory system to stop the bleeding.

Once circulation resumes, the lights on the back of her neck turn blue. The med-tab on Angel's neck soaks her brain and internal organs in a massive dose of drugs to protect her tissues from the cold of cryo and oxygen deprivation until she gets there. Not a promise of life by any means but a chance. If her injuries are recoverable then she could be repaired.

"Nothing more I can do, Rye."

"I know."

Scarlet takes her tablet to Tong's side and brushes her fingers over his cheek. The two have always been close so he isn't surprised to see his medic comforting his brother.

To hell with it.

Rye takes Angel in his arms and cradles her between his legs. The unsettling grind in her lower back and pelvis adds to the pain in Rye's heart.

Her eyes flutter open but it's just the meds in her body and her brain reacting to the chemical preservatives. The blue light on her chest brightens with the beating of her heart and accelerates as the temporary fluids from her tissues leak out past the seals other meds made in her circulatory system but the light doesn't change colour. The preservatives have been in her long enough to do their job.

As the light flashes become irregular, a rough sob breaks from Rye's chest and Scarlet flinches at the sound. Her hand stays on Tong's cheek and when Rye looks up the breeze has cleared much of the smoke from the top floor.

Atom stands beside them holding one of Angel's silver data units.

"It's full," Atom reports but he can't look at Rye. He'd been fond of Angel, too. Not in the way Rye was but Atom was brotherly to all females in the unit. "Whatever she did... she got what we came for.

"Fuck, Angel," Atom stomps away and drops his ass on the top stair.

Rye rests his lips on Angel's cheek until the light fails.

"I love you, too."

Find out where to buy _Constant_here.

I had the most fun designing the settings in Constant. I put Whistler Mountain, a local to me ski hill, under a permanent dome like a giant snow globe and covered the planet Constant in transplanted Earth flowering trees. Wisteria, jasmine, cherry and others have grown out of control in the alien sun and dirt.

My bad guys, Aphids, are not-so nice little green men. Their social structure is based on threes I call triads. They are androgynous, have sharp bacteria laden teeth and speak in clicks and chirps. They want our dna and the only place to get it is from us.

Constant is my first science fiction romance and won't be my last. I've moved past simply being sweet on the genre to hopelessly in love.

Elizabeth is a recent fan of Aussie spec fiction and loves finding unusual stories set in common places. And watches too much true crime on TV. She used to ride a crotch rocket, silver with blue flames, a sweet ride. Her summer writing den has a view of the mountain in the background of the train scene in the new Godzilla movie. So far no rumours the view has affected her writing. She has several novels in the works, stay tuned.

You can find Elizabeth here:

(Website) (Facebook) (Twitter)

# Girl Under Glass by Monica Enderle Pierce

# About Girl Under Glass

2012 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Semi-finalist

* * *

"...a compellingly bumpy ride of a love story...." –Publishers Weekly*

* * *

What do you do when you're trapped between death and the devil? To protect her young daughter from a madman and a tyrant, Rachel Pryne must trust an enemy—one of the alien warriors who conquered Earth.

It is 2032, the Ohnenrai—Earth's humanoid alien conquerors—orbit the planet, and Terran reproduction is failing. Rachel, a trained medic, is struggling to protect her seven-year-old daughter, Pearl, from the sexual predation of their penal colony's leader. Having fathered the girl by rape, he now intends to take her on her eighth birthday, only six weeks away.

Then Rachel finds her unlikely champion—an injured Ohnenrai soldier who appears in her yard one stormy evening. She knows she may be choosing death over the devil in trusting this warrior, but she doesn't know that her trust, and her DNA, will make her one of the most important and endangered people to ever set foot aboard an Ohnenrai starship.

Equal parts science fiction, suspense, and romance, GIRL UNDER GLASS moves from a post-apocalyptic wilderness in the American Pacific Northwest to a high-tech world aboard an alien starship furnished with all the stolen comforts of Earth. Readers meet Rachel Pryne, whose parents' lifelong and life-ending connection to the Ohnenrai has set her upon a path she never wanted to travel. And they're introduced to Ehtishem, an Ohnenrai soldier who exists to save his dying people, but who faces enemies inside and outside of his own military.

The only possible solution to the Ohnenrai's extinction lies within Rachel, but all she wants to do is protect her daughter and see Earth's alien conquerors go straight to hell.

Post-apocalyptic science fiction with romantic elements.

This book contains adult themes, strong language, and sexual content and is intended for mature readers.

# Sample of Girl Under Glass

CHAPTER 1

The dogs growled.

I glanced to where they sat beside the fireplace with their heads lifted and ears pricked. "Jack, Audie, what is it?" Listening, I heard only rain drumming on our metal roof, so I shrugged and turned back to the stove. Plucking a scalpel from the boiling water with tongs, I placed it in the sterile box and blinked steam from my eyes as I chased a needle around the pot. "Dang. C'mon."

Then the dogs lunged toward the door.

Pearl stiffened at the table, her doll's clothes forgotten. Wide-eyed and watching me, my seven-year-old daughter knew better than to make a sound as Jack and Audie growled and paced.

I wiped my hands and grabbed the shotgun from the kitchen wall mount. At the door, I pulled up the peephole rag and scanned the yard.

A man stood by our fence. A dark man.

"Oh, Christ. There's a Stranger inside the gate. Stay here. Stay quiet."

Pearl nodded. She scrambled into the kitchen and retrieved the scalpel. I chambered a round and said, "Heel, dogs," as I opened the door. They flanked me, all hackles and teeth and threats, as I crossed the porch and strode through the rain and mud, the shotgun wedged against my shoulder.

He wore the gray-and-green fatigues of an Ohnenrai field tech.

"Don't you move." I leveled the gun at his chest as I came across the yard.

He raised his arms, and his gaze traveled from the gun to Jack and Audie. "I'm not here to hurt you. I need a comtab," the soldier said in English. His fatigues were torn and muddy. A large gash, encrusted with blue blood, stretched from his temple to his cheek and cut across his nose. His left eye was swollen, and blood caked the edges of his nostrils. His hands were bloodied and bruised.

The dogs snarled, their hair raised and their ears back.

The towering pines creaked and whooshed, and water droplets showered us as I stopped and tightened the gun against my shoulder. "No comtabs here, Ohnenran. Not even a phone. You're in Suffer."

I wasn't sure why I didn't fear him. Maybe it was because the dogs crouched between us, maybe because Pearl stood behind the closed cottage door. Or maybe because fear was so familiar that I'd developed a calloused heart.

He shot me a dark look, then his expression smoothed in the automatic way of his people. "I know where I am." He shifted, and a grimace flitted across his face.

"Then you know you don't belong." I'd never seen an Ohnenran look bedraggled.

"May I put my arms down? Your dogs will shred me before I ever get close to you." He added in a monotone, "Not that I'm any threat, ma'am."

My palms were sweaty, but I didn't dare wipe them. I tightened my grip on the gun. Maybe I wasn't as fearless as I'd hoped. "What're you doing here?"

He lowered his arms. Jack stepped forward, and Audie snarled. The man's hands shot back up. "Last night's storm caught me on the Upper Ribbon Trail." He grimaced and shifted. I glanced at his right leg. Mud and blood caked his fatigues from the knee down. It had thundered and blustered all night, and I didn't envy this man being caught in the storm. "I'm not here to harm you," he said. "You have my word."

"Which isn't worth shit."

"You don't know me, yet you threaten my life?"

"You're Ohnenrai." The name twisted from my lips like a curse. He was the first Stranger I'd spoken to in the twelve years since my parents had died in Ohnenrai custody.

Jack and Audie rumbled their agreement.

"You'd shoot me because I was born on another planet?" It sounded unreasonable, but I wouldn't back down. Not from one of Earth's conquerors. "I can't undo my birth, can I?" he added.

I raised the gun to point at his head. "I can."

His chin lifted as he folded his arms and looked down at me, his face a blank canvas. I didn't doubt that the Ohnenrai people's emotional detachment had made it easy to kill billions of Terrans.

The dogs, baring and gnashing their teeth, advanced. The man eyed my protectors. "Varet!" The word boomed from him even as he remained expressionless.

I started at his power, and the dogs ceased their threats. I looked at the outsider with newfound respect. I didn't know Strangers raised their voices; I'd heard that even in battle, with death snapping their souls from their bodies, they stayed cool. _Maybe that's not true._

He watched Jack and Audie resume their slow, threatening advance but didn't flinch. Instead, he looked back to me, his eyes hard. "Well?"

I studied his wounded face and held his gaze, deciding. "Jack. Audie. Heel." The dogs stopped. Their snarls subsided to grumbles. They looked from the man to me, and then retreated to my side. "Show me your leg."

The Ohnenran lifted his pant leg to reveal a swollen gash running the length of his shin. His calf bulged over the rim of his boot and the flesh was purple and black. How he'd managed to hobble around on that thing, I couldn't imagine.

As he straightened, I said, "Remove your jacket, lift your shirt, empty your pockets, turn around." He did. There was nothing but dirt and lint and bruises. I lowered the gun but didn't put the safety back on. "Pearl?"

Behind me, the cottage door creaked. "Yes, Momma?"

"Set the cot by the hearth and get my medical bag. We've got a customer."

I pumped the shotgun and handed it to Pearl. "Shoot him if he looks at you funny." I'd left the soldier in the rain and returned to the house to gather my medical supplies. He'd crossed our porch but had stopped at the threshold of our dark, tiny home.

"My name is Ehtishem Zain." He proffered his hand, and then dropped it as I stared.

"Leave your jacket on the porch and come in." I pointed at the cot beside the fireplace. "I need to reset that ankle."

"How do you know it's broken?"

"Any fool can see that."

Jack and Audie grumbled and paced.

"Audie, with Pearl." The brindle dog took his place at her side and faced the Stranger. "Jack, heel." The large black hound followed me into the kitchen. He also watched the man, who more than filled the doorway.

The soldier's aloofness made my shoulders hunch. The emotional detachment of the Ohnenrai had led to the Suffern nickname for them—they were strange, strangers to us, and strangers to each other, or so I'd been told. They didn't marry, didn't pair. Their children were raised in groups without parents.

I exhaled slowly, quietly, and flattened my palms on the counter, willing my hands to stop shaking. Then I got morphine tablets from a cupboard and lifted the pot of hot, sterile water from the stove. Ignoring the man, who'd remained in the doorway, chin to chest with his hands relaxed at his sides, I left the water on a table beside the fireplace and popped open the cot. I took the oil lamp from atop the hearth and hung it on a wall hook, then turned to him.

His short-shorn black hair topped the doorframe, and his green pants looked like the heavy canvas type I'd seen on the Ohnenrai soldiers who sometimes air-dropped supplies. Ehtishem Zain towered over our men.

I gestured toward the cot. "I need to cut off that boot." He hobbled across the room and sat. Beside me, Jack growled.

I pulled a stool between us, draped one of the towels across my knee, and rested the Stranger's foot on my leg. I pulled heavy shears from my brown leather bag then cut his pant leg up to the knee and away. I unlaced the boot and eased it back from his swollen ankle. And was relieved to see that he didn't have a compound fracture.

Pearl, accompanied by Audie, scuttled across the room.

"Don't run with that weapon."

"Sorry." She eased back to the bedroom doorway, the gun in her arms, muzzle down.

Ehtishem Zain watched her. "Isn't she young for a firearm?"

"She's seven and not too young to know how to defend herself." I gestured at the floor. "Remove your shirt and drop it here. Do you have any allergies?" He shook his head as he took off his long-sleeved, gray thermal shirt.

I didn't know much about the Ohnenrai, but I knew they were human, or close to it. I knew their blue blood bound oxygen with copper, as well as iron. I knew their secondary heart acted like a sump pump. I knew their black bones contained melanin. My mother had taught me to heal them; my father had told me to kill them. I pulled a stethoscope from the medical bag. "Do you have any abdominal or chest pain? Any difficulty breathing? Have you coughed up blood?"

"No."

I listened to his lungs and palpated his abdomen. The man was so solid he'd probably crushed whatever he'd landed on. Still, a slow bleed could hide from me, and he was bruised front and back. "Ever had morphine?" I uncapped the bottle.

"I don't want it."

I paused. "You don't realize how painful this will be, soldier."

"I can handle pain."

I shrugged, capped the bottle, and picked up the scissors. He lay back on the cot and closed his eyes. He didn't flinch as I cut through the heavy leather of his boot, eased it off, and pressed my fingers into his flesh. Finally, I straightened with a sigh. "Well, there's no way of knowing what's under all that swelling."

The Ohnenran sat up and nodded. His ankle and foot were banded—blue to purple to black—from the blood and fluid that had rushed to the injury. "What do you advise?" He eyed his distorted ankle, his reaction no stronger than if I'd I told him that leaves grow on trees.

"Rest and elevation. The swelling should reduce over the next few days. Once I can feel the break, I'll know whether to cast or operate." I scrutinized his face for any reaction, but his features remained serene. "I'll splint it; don't put any weight on it. Clear?"

"I understand."

"Cleaning your wounds will take time and be painful. I'll start with that cut across your face before getting to your leg." I retrieved his shirt. "Put that on."

Ehtishem Zain did so, then folded his hands in his lap and closed his hazel eyes.

I studied him, and then set to work. "Tell me if you feel pain."

"Do what's necessary."

The gash was deepest across his high right cheekbone, tapering to a scratch as it crossed his broad nose and ended low on his jaw. I cleaned dirt and grit from the wound. "I'm putting a few stitches below your eye." His self-control was disconcerting. He said nothing, didn't even twitch, as I punctured his brown flesh again and again with the needle. "All right. You'll have scars, nothing I can do about that. You can relax."

Once again, he settled back.

Pearl brought clean water and towels.

I examined his leg and was surprised to find little debris inside the wound, though it was deep enough to expose black bone in some places. "You cleaned this?"

"As best I could in running water." Sleep slurred his words.

"A creek?"

He nodded.

My jaw clenched. Creek water was full of bacteria. No wonder there was an infection. I flushed and debrided the wound then packed the gash with clean, damp gauze. "This is a wet dressing. It'll remove infected tissue as it dries."

"He's sleeping, Momma."

I stared at his relaxed face. _How could he sleep through that?_ I didn't know any Terran man who could take that much pain using only self-control.

The clank of Goat-Goat's bell carried across the yard and through my thoughts. "Did you bed down the animals?"

"Oh, sorry." Pearl straightened. "I forgot." She handed me the gun, then scurried out the door. "C'mon, goat, the chickens already beat you to bed."

I watched her for a moment before turning back to tending the sleeping Stranger's leg. Pearl and I looked so alike with our dark, wavy hair, long limbs, and heart-shaped faces. But gazing upon her brought a terrible, weighty feeling that we would never escape Suffer or Elder Cyrus—the man who tormented me. She and I had green eyes, but where mine were dark like the sea, hers were ice-green. Pearl had Cyrus's eyes, and sometimes I had to look away from them.

Audie barked, and I glanced out the open door to see him circle and nip at our poor dairy goat. She stamped and snorted, tossed her head in protest, then scuttled into her rickety little shelter. Audie lunged and hopped and pranced around Pearl as she closed Goat-Goat's pen, peered into the hen house to count the chickens, then crossed the yard to lock the gate. A few moments later, she thumped up to the porch and peered through the doorway. "Momma." Her gaze darted from the man's closed eyes to me. "Come see what I found."

"Hold on." I clipped a needle free from stitches on the Stranger's left palm. He was battered from head to toe, evidence of quite a fall. I'd have to watch his pulse throughout the night; that would reveal any internal bleeding I might have missed.

_What does it matter if he dies?_ I sighed, wiped my hands, and trailed Pearl. It would matter to the Ohnenrai when they came looking for him. I pushed away thoughts of armored troops and blazing gunships. _Heal him, and get him out of Suffer. Fast._

Pearl ran across the yard and stopped outside the gate. When I reached her, I saw a military pack at her feet. It was almost as big as Jack.

"He musta left it, Momma. Can we open it?"

I studied the muddy, green bag and checked the fasteners. "It's locked." I straightened and glanced toward the house as I sucked air through my teeth. "Hmm. He left it where he couldn't easily reach it." I grabbed the shoulder straps and hefted. "Oh, Lord in Heaven." I sagged beneath its weight.

Pearl caught the other end, and we staggered back through the rain to the house and left the pack on the porch. I retrieved his jacket and went through the pockets, but they were empty, so I brought it into the house. I'd expected a weapon, a broken comtab, tools, something. Why had he tried so hard to appear non-threatening?

Pearl and I lay in bed. "I thought they didn't carry packs." Her breath tickled my neck.

"Infantry don't. He must be a scout or a technician, someone in the field for long periods. He's not wearing a bio-suit." That meant no outer armor, though he was big enough to handle an Ohnenrai mech-suit.

"But he's a soldier."

"What makes you so certain?"

Audie groaned, stretched, and stuck his nose in Jack's ear. The dogs always slept on a salvaged mattress and blankets beside our bed.

Pearl yawned and shrugged. "I dunno. Just am." She sighed and snuggled Holly Dolly's headless ragamuffin body to her. Her muscles went lax as she dropped into sleep.

I envied her. More often than not sleep eluded me. And when I did find it, nightmare visions of drowning, bindings, violation filled my mind, and I awoke afraid, panicked, nauseated. Nightmares and flashbacks were the stuff of my days and nights.

The bedroom door bore no lock; the dogs were all the early warning we needed. The shotgun leaned in its rack beside the bed, always loaded and within reach. The plink of rain on our street sign roof lulled me to sleep.

I awoke with a scream strangling me and stared into the dark fighting to block the too-familiar face of my enemy. After Pearl's birth I'd learned to wake from most nightmares without moving or crying out. Pearl had learned to give half-conscious comfort when I failed.

I slipped from the bed, tucked the blankets around her, and embraced the chilly room. The cold air made me shake and pushed back my panic. I lit the oil lamp, retrieved the gun, and eased through the door.

The Ohnenran's breathing was deep, even, reassuring. I retrieved a thick wool blanket from the bedroom and threw it over him, then bent and checked his heart rate. _Unchanged._ My gaze traveled over his face. The long scratch and swelling around his eye didn't detract from his exotic handsomeness. The Ohnenrai were an attractive people—all long-limbed, powerful grace and dark eyes, dark skin, and dark hair. And this man stood out from those I'd seen.

Reluctance to return to my nightmares made me hover and stare.

Ehtishem Zain's face and physique, an example of God's artistry and irony, drew me toward him, made me yearn. Where others ran from his kind frightened by such unearthly perfection, I tilted toward the Ohnenrai as my mother had, as my father had. Always.

_"Someone will come for you."_ Twelve years had passed since my mother had said that. Twelve years had gone since my father had told me I was a double-edged sword. _"Strike when you need to."_ Twelve years since their deaths. And that was long enough to stop waiting, to give up hope, to believe those were the delusions of a traumatized fourteen-year-old.

CHAPTER 2

As usual, Pearl and I awoke to the rooster crowing. We snuggled in bed, loath to face a cold house and a damp day. Jack and Audie curled tail-to-nose beside the bed. They, too, seemed reluctant to embrace the frigid morning.

"Okay, baby girl, the chickens won't let themselves out." I traded kisses with Pearl and sat up. "And I need to check the Stranger's leg."

The dogs rose and stretched and wagged their skinny tails. Pearl sat up, swung her legs over the bed, and disappeared beneath sloppy dog kisses. She giggled as the dogs snuffled and whined their love.

I stood and stretched, arching my back and spreading my arms out then collapsing back into myself. "Jack, heel." I slapped my thigh, and the dog came to my side with his floppy ears lifted and his keen eyes expectant. I rubbed his face, enjoying the simplicity of his affection, and then went to the small bathroom. I used the toilet, splashed my face and rinsed my mouth, then layered on pants, a long skirt, and two long-sleeved tops. Pearl followed suit, picked up the shotgun, and followed me into the main room.

Ehtishem Zain rose to his elbows and watched us. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his face was flushed.

The dogs circled us, their attention always on the Stranger. I cracked an egg for each of them, and Pearl began breakfast as I went to the hearth and unbanked the fire. Jack joined me, slurping egg from his muzzle.

My breath left a thin cloud, and I was glad I'd thrown the extra blanket over my patient. I met his tired eyes. "You didn't sleep well."

He shook his head. "I woke a few hours ago and couldn't get comfortable." He was breathing rapidly.

I pulled the stool to his cot then pressed my hand to his temple. "You have a fever; I'm not surprised." I turned down the blanket, removed the splint, and undressed his leg. An angry dark line clawed from his calf to his knee and halfway up his thigh. Green pus oozed from the wound, and the edges were purple and swollen, the skin stretched and shiny.

The thick, warm scent of fried eggs and toast filled the room, and Ehtishem Zain covered his nose.

"Nausea?"

He nodded.

"You're fighting a blood infection." I went to the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea, then returned to the Stranger and helped him sit up. "It's ginger. It'll settle your stomach." I then filled a pot with hot water and measured in salt. While the water cooled, Pearl and I ate at our small table. Afterward, she went out to free the chickens and steal their eggs.

I carried the pot to the hearth, retrieved several clean towels, and returned to the cramped kitchen. I considered my cache of Amoxicillin but decided against it. What I had wouldn't stop sepsis from killing him. And if I cured his infection with a poultice, it meant that the medication would be available for Sufferns. No one knew when the next supply drop would happen. "How's your pain?"

"Tolerable." He sipped his tea and watched me.

"If you need morphine, tell me."

"I don't."

I bit back a reply as I settled on the stool and spread a towel beneath his leg.

"How bad is the wound?" Ehtishem Zain asked.

"If the infection continues to spread, you'll die. I don't have the right antibiotics to stop it. But you're healthy and strong." I shrugged and set to abrading the wound with salt water and a towel. "You can try prayer, but I find it's ineffective."

He didn't react—to my words or the procedure.

Pearl returned with Audie and the eggs. "Eight, Momma." She wore a big smile. "My new rooster's keeping the girls happy."

I laughed. "Indeed." Her brunette braid swung across her back as she cleaned and stored the eggs and started on the dishes. "When you're done, please run to Judith's. Take her four eggs and a head of the cabbage you pulled yesterday. I need slippery elm and more fenugreek. Do we need flax seed too?"

She checked the herb pots and shook her head.

"Good. Take Audie and come right back. I need to poultice this leg."

"Yes, Momma." She put the frying pan up to dry and left with Audie. The gate clacked behind them.

Beside me, Jack settled his chin across his paws and continued his watch.

The Stranger put down his tea. "She's helpful."

"She's none of your goddamned business."

"No need for defensiveness. I think you're fortunate to have a useful girl. But if you don't want me to compliment her, or you, I won't."

I sat back and studied him, wondering if he was full of shit. "I can't read you people. I don't know what you're thinking, what you mean by the things you say. So maybe it's best if you say little or nothing at all." I thought I saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a furrow of his brow, but I blinked and his face was impassive.

He nodded, settled into the pillows, and closed his eyes. Soon enough his breathing deepened and he slept.

Deciding his self-control was as effective as morphine, I cleaned the wound with abandon, but the swelling of his ankle prevented me from feeling the bones. _A few more days, then I'll know. If he lives that long._ The gate banged. "Damn it. I have _got_ to fix that gate," I muttered.

"Momma, I— Oh, sorry." Pearl tiptoed to the kitchen and pulled the herbs from her bag. I joined her. "Judith was generous." I emptied the herbs into their pots, set the kettle to boil, and pulled a piece of muslin from a drawer.

Pearl peered around me at the Stranger. "How long will he be here?"

I squatted to her eye level. "Until he's well enough to leave on his own two feet or is carried out. Does he scare you?"

She cocked her head to the side, and her brow furrowed as she considered the question. "Not really." She grinned and threw her arms around my neck. "It's not like he can run or anything."

I smiled and hugged her small body. "No, I'm pretty sure you can outrun him, Pearly Girly. But don't lose your caution." I stood and gave her a little swat. "Thank you for getting these. Now off to your chores." Pearl stuck out her tongue and headed to the yard, undisturbed by the world. Audie followed her.

I prepared a poultice with the herbs and applied it to the man's leg. As I wrapped a fresh towel around his calf, the gate banged and the clear tenor of Judith's husband, Lot, carried across the yard.

"I see your mother has yet to fix the gate."

"Hi, Lot." Pearl's voice held the only sunshine of the day.

Jack pricked his ears, and his tail thump-thumped the wood floor. "Go on, dog." I gestured to the door. He rose but didn't leave my side. "You're a good boy, Jack." I rubbed his chin and sighed. _Here we go._

The door creaked, and Lot stepped into the house shaking rain from his blond hair. He stood many inches shorter than Ehtishem Zain; he'd never seemed short before.

"Word travels fast," I said.

"Yes." He came to me and looked down at the sleeping Stranger. "The Elders want to know how long he'll stay."

Jack stuck his muzzle in Lot's hand and whined. His plea was met with pats and scratches and, "Hey, dog."

"Until he walks out on his own two feet or they decide to carry him to the nearest Gate." I glanced up to see Lot's reaction. At one time we'd been friends; before Joshua's death, before Pearl's birth, before I was hated.

Lot's mouth twisted, and he ran his hand through his hair. "How bad is the leg, Rachel?"

The Elders weren't happy.

"His ankle's broken. How bad I can't tell until the swelling eases. That'll take a few days. If he's lucky I'll be able to reset and cast it without surgery. The wound is another story. There's a nasty infection brewing, and he's feverish." I gestured toward Ehtishem Zain's face where a red flush tinted his cheeks. The only good news was the lessened swelling around his now-greenish bruised eye.

"So this isn't a quick fix."

"No. Unless he dies."

Lot glanced around the dark, cramped room. "How'd he get here?"

I shrugged. "Said he got caught in the storm night before last. He was hiking the Upper Ribbon."

"Alone? Well, we know he's an idiot. That's something to report."

I snorted.

Lot toed the Stranger's jacket. "Looks like military."

I nodded. "Looks like it. Seems unlikely, though."

"Why?"

"You said it yourself; he's an idiot. And he would've been missed by now. More likely a Gate tech."

"No bio-suit?"

"Nope."

He grunted then glanced out the window as Pearl's laughter and the protests of Goat-Goat carried into the house.

My stomach tightened as I braced for the coming discussion.

"She shouldn't be here, Rachel." Lot looked down at the Ohnenran. "Not with him in the house. It's not safe."

"No? Huh. I can see how this feverish, crippled man poses a threat to Pearl—after he gets past Audie and Jack, and disarms me. Please, Lot, you and Judith know I'm not stupid. I won't endanger Pearl. Ever."

"Be reasonable."

Heat flushed my face, and I took a breath, held it, and let it go. I wrapped the towel around the Stranger's leg, and then stood to face my dead husband's best friend. "I know where the real danger lies for Pearl, and it's _not_ in this cot."

"Rachel—"

"Six weeks, Lot. I have six more weeks. I won't give up a single day with her. You tell the Elders they won't get her one minute before her eighth birthday. Not one goddamned minute early."

"Watch you mouth, woman." He crossed himself, and anger set his jaw, but I didn't care.

So what if I blasphemed the damned Elders and their bastard god and their friggin' laws? It wasn't the first time; it wouldn't be the last. "Pearl stays with me. Or, so help me, I will shoot anyone who tries to take her."

"Don't be hysterical."

"Do you have anything useful to say?"

He looked at me with hard eyes. "I'm done. I've seen and heard enough. I'll tell the Elders he'll be here for a while. And Pearl is safe—for now." Lot left the house, planted a kiss atop Pearl's head, then banged through the gate and disappeared among the pines and maples.

"An idiot?"

I stiffened. "Yes." I turned expecting to see accusation in the Stranger's eyes. Instead, I thought I saw a hint of glee tighten the corners before neutrality returned. I gathered the dirty towels and stood. "My mother had a saying for people who go into dangerous places unprepared."

"Oh?"

"A fool and his flesh are soon parted." I dropped the towels beside the front door.

"Hmm. A wise woman."

I returned to get the filthy water. "I'm sorry we woke you."

"You didn't. My churning gut did. I need a latrine."

I nodded and went to the door. "Pearl? Come in." She dropped Goat-Goat's fresh straw, brushed her hands on her apron, and scurried to the cottage. I pointed to the shotgun. "Chamber a round, and shoot him if he threatens us. Our visitor needs the bathroom."

Pearl did as I instructed while I pulled crutches from beneath our bed. I returned and picked up the splint. I slid it onto Ehtishem Zain's leg—careful to keep the poultice in place—then helped him stand. "Between the infection and the fever I don't trust your balance." I tucked a crutch beneath his right arm. "I'll keep you steady. Don't put any weight on that foot. Try anything funny and Pearl will shoot you in the ass."

You can find out where to buy _Girl Under Glass_ here.

Monica Enderle Pierce has worked in publishing, advertising, and web development, but her favorite careers have been mother and author. (One of those lets her obliterate things daily.) Her sci-fi romance novel, GIRL UNDER GLASS, was a 2012 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award semi-finalist and a multi-category sci-fi bestseller. Of her historical, dark fantasy novel, FAMINE, one reviewer wrote: "Jeez. Effing heck. I need more now!" and "Holy. Wow." Her stories are immersive, detailed, and character-driven. Monica lives in Seattle with her husband, their daughter, a transgender fish, a neurotic dog, and two crazy tomcats.

You can find Monica and her books via the following links:

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Now that the fun is over (for this volume), we hope you enjoyed these samples! If you're craving more adventure, you'll be happy to know there will be more Portals volumes to come! To keep updated on Portal releases and the latest in science fiction romance releases, sign up for our newsletter!

# Need More SFR? Check These Sites!

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this volume of Portals, a group venture encompassing excerpts from our science fiction stories which are all available for purchase right now.

The concept behind Project Portals was a way of not only show-casing members stories but also a way to demonstrate the amazing sub-genres and variety of the stories that come under the heading of science fiction romance.

From space opera to post-apocalyptic to soft sci fi romance to hard sci fi romance to action adventure to bio-genetics to military to dystopian to space colonization to alien invasion and many more, the exciting genre of science fiction romance covers it all. And because there are so many sub-genres, you don't have to be a science or tech enthusiast to discover a love of science fiction romance.

Explore the other Portals Volumes here:

One Two Three Four Five Six

For lovers of this genre and for those who'd like to explore further, we've compiled details about where to find your new favorite reads and authors.

Visit these virtual stops in the SFR Galaxy of great reads:

SFR Brigade (comprised of over 800 authors of SFR!) Facebook Fan Page | Blog | Newsletter

Veronica Scott's USA Today HEA, weekly new releases in SF&F Romance post, and Amazing Stories Columns Archive

Did you know there is a quarterly magazine devoted to science fiction romance? The Sci-Fi Romance Quarterly is FREE to download.

You can chat on Facebook with your favorite authors on the Science Fiction Romance Facebook Group or in Portals Project.

Or chat with authors and other readers on Goodreads.

No list would be complete without mentioning the awesome:

SFR Station

_Your source for great science fiction romance_

SFR Station on Facebook

The SFR Station is a safe-port for lovers of science fiction romance books. It is a community of authors, bloggers, readers, fans, and publishing professionals dedicated to the genre of science fiction romance. All of the books listed on this site are published by independent authors, small-press or imprint publishers. They have been vetted for quality. Most books are under $5, some are free, and all are great reads! You will find books of all heat levels, from sweet to smoking hot. All love is equal at The Station, and they proudly support authors of LGBTQ, Menage and atypical romance. New books are added weekly. Be sure to join the mailing list for updates on events and giveaways!

And finally, don't forget to visit the authors' websites for more in-depth information about their series and stories.

All the best from the group venture, Project Portals.

# A Special Thank You

The Authors of the Portal Project would like to thank...

Fiona Jayde for steering our multi-author ship to our amazing covers. She is wise and wonderful.

...and...

The Blurb Queen, aka Cathryn Cade, for generously donating the summarizing blurb for this collection. It is not an easy job to write a blurb for one book, let alone summarize ten books into one blurb.

And all of us who have benefited from SFRB would like to note that none of this would have happened had not Laurie A. Green started the Science Fiction Romance Brigade six years ago, and provided a space for 800+ SFR lovers to band together and scheme, er, plan to take over the universe.

# About Science Fiction Romance Brigade

After the smashing success of the December 2009 SFR Holiday Blitz, a multi-blog Science Fiction Romance book giveaway organized by Heather Massey of The Galaxy Express blog, the idea of creating a dedicated SFR community was hatched.

* * *

On March 25th, 2010, the SFR Brigade was launched by Science Fiction Romance writer Laurie A. Green, and a charter group of fellow writers and authors, including Sharon Lynn Fisher, Heather Massey, Donna S. Frelick, DL Jackson, Barbara Elsborg, and Arlene Webb. In just over four weeks, the membership exploded to nearly 100 members.

* * *

With a roster of 800+ members, it represents the collective voice of Science Fiction Romance authors, writers, bloggers, professionals and enthusiasts with a joint quest of promoting their favorite genre – Science Fiction Romance.

You can find the Brigade on Facebook and...

_You can find the SFR Brigade here:_

www.sfrcontests.blogspot.com/

  Twitter
