 
# Portals: Volume 2

### Your Gateway to Science Fiction Romance

## Alison Aimes

## Melisse Aires

## Cara Bristol

## Diane Burton

## Cathryn Cade

## Wendy Lynn Clark

## Susan Grant

## KC Klein

## Sabine Priestley

## Jody Wallace

### Contents

Copyright

About This Collection

Trapped by Alison Aimes

About Trapped

Sample of Trapped

Alien Blood by Melisse Aires

About Alien Blood

Sample of Alien Blood

Stranded with the Cyborg by Cara Bristol

About Stranded with the Cyborg

Sample of Stranded with the Cyborg

The Pilot by Diane Burton

About The Pilot

Sample of The Pilot

Stark Pleasure by Cathryn Cade

About Stark Pleasure

Sample of Stark Pleasure

Liberation's Kiss by Wendy Lynn Clark

About Liberation's Kiss

Sample of Liberation's Kiss

The Champion of Barésh by Susan Grant

About The Champion of Barésh

Sample of The Champion of Barésh

To Buy a Wife by KC Klein

About To Buy a Wife

Sample of To Buy a Wife

Alien Attachments by Sabine Priestley

About Alien Attachments

Sample of Alien Attachments

Earthbound Passion by Jody Wallace

About Earthbound Passion

Sample of Earthbound Passion

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A Special Thank You

About Science Fiction Romance Brigade
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.

* * *

"Alien Blood," Copyright © Melisse Aires 2012. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"Trapped," Copyright © Orchid Publishing 2015. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"Liberation's Kiss," Copyright © 2015 by Wendy Lynn Clark. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"The Champion of Barésh," Copyright © 2016 by Susan Grant. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"'Stark Pleasure," Copyright © 2014 by Cathryn Cade. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"Alien Attachments," Copyright ©2014 Sabine Priestley. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author and publisher.

"Earthbound Passion: The Adventures of Mari Shu, Book 1," Copyright © 2014 by Jody Wallace. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"The Pilot," Copyright © 2012 by Diane Burton. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"Stranded with the Cyborg," Copyright © 2015 by Cara Bristol. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

"To Buy A Wife," copyright © 2012 by KC Klein. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the author.

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

ISBN: 978-1-942583-18-9

 Created with Vellum 

# 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—in every way. Count on these adventurers to take their best shot... at their enemies _and_ at hot, sexy romance!

Contains 10 first chapters, with links to purchase any or all of the complete books, should you wish.

# Trapped by Alison Aimes
# About Trapped

_W hen Bella West crash lands on penal planet Dragath25, the only thing standing between her and a mass of brutal criminals is one of their own, a ruthless loner known only as 673. But what starts out as a desperate trade based on protection and raw lust soon blossoms into a scorching need that will push them both to the edge...._

Cadet Bella West has one simple objective when she joins the scientific mission to Dragath25, the notorious penal planet housing Earth's condemned. Earn the credits necessary to save her family from starvation. But when her shuttle crashes and the majority of her crew perish, her simple mission becomes complicated fast. Now, to stay alive she'll have to depend on one of Dragath's own. But such protection doesn't come free.

Convicted of a crime he didn't commit, 673 has become more beast than man after eight grueling years on an unforgiving, hazardous planet of dirt and rock—and even more treacherous inhabitants. He doesn't look out for anyone but himself and he certainly never grows attached. So when the bold female offers him pleasure in return for protection, he takes the deal without hesitation. He never expects how her touch will alter him. Or the growing realization that saving her may be the key to his own salvation.

But as dangers mount and their 'simple' deal unravels will he prove to be her surprise savior or her ultimate downfall? Because caring for someone on Dragath25 may prove the greatest hazard of all.

# Sample of Trapped

**Chapter One**

_9 015_

The shrill blare of a warning alarm snapped Cadet Annabella West to attention. With a hasty shove, she secured the last of the test tubes in the storage bay.

"Nothing to be concerned about." The pilot's calm voice crackled through her military-issued helmet.

She gave it a smack to smooth out the sound. Like so much of her other mission gear, the darn thing had been rebuilt so many times it was barely functional.

She refused to consider what that meant for the worn shuttle parts themselves. What was the point? Technological know-how might be better than ever, but resources had been practically non-existent even before she was born. She awarded the helmet another not-so-gentle tap.

"Just some stronger than expected atmospheric change." The rest of the pilot's statement came through loud and clear. "Best to find a seat for the duration of the flight. Entry into a planet's atmosphere is always a bumpy ride."

"You can sit next to me, Cadet West." Junior Officer Pogue, lead military soldier for the Winthrop-Humanity research mission, patted the space next to him on the narrow steel bench used for landings. A leer played on his face. "I'll strap you in good and tight. I love a good-looking woman crisscrossed in leather and metal."

A rumble of laughter sounded from the line of brawny soldiers settling beside Pogue.

_Assholes._

Bella moved past with her spine ramrod straight, her heart beating faster than she would have liked.

She'd always had tremendous respect for the soldiers who kept her and the rest of the scientists safe, but Pogue and his crew were proving harder to like than most. Still what could you do? Four thousand light years from Earth, the Council's strict rules, and fifteen weeks from the space station she and the others currently called home, there wasn't much recourse. Especially without risking Command Council's attention.

"Don't let them get to you." Senior Council Officer Dr. Jim Winthrop was head of the scientific team of the expedition and the highest ranking officer aboard. He offered a reassuring smile as she settled beside him, his head jostling up and down as the ship swayed. The movement made the intricate Council designation of linking Cs behind his right ear look like little more than a blurred smudge. Ironic, really, given its import. "You excited?"

"Excited. Terrified." She rechecked the closures on her grey uniform before tightening her straps—and noticed her hands were shaking. _Damn_. She laced them together on her lap and pasted on a cool smile. Until now, she'd been able to keep her dislike of closed, tight spaces out of her file. "I hope we find something useful."

"While I hope we don't run into any inmates." Cadet Davies' mumbled comment came from across the aisle, the flare of warning lights painting her helmet and the visible portions of her face in shades of green and yellow. Still, the colors couldn't camouflage the worry staining her dark eyes. The same worry Bella was trying her best to hide.

Like Bella, Ava Davies was a junior research trainee who'd only recently graduated from the Council Academy Science Department. But that was pretty much where the similarities between them began and ended. By the end of their first year, Cadet Davies would be well on her way to earning a high level Command Council Officer ranking, a position Bella could never hold.

Her future superior seemed competent enough, but they'd had little interaction. During training, Davies had lived with her kind in Council housing rather than the crowded barracks, only bothering to show up for classes when she felt like it.

_Must be nice_. But then again, Davies hadn't come to the Academy on a scholarship. If she got kicked out, she had a wealthy, connected family to fall back on. If Bella screwed up, she and her siblings would starve.

"The penal colony is three hundred metrals from the planet center," soothed Dr. Winthrop. "Our landing site is six hundred metrals in the opposite direction. We'll touch down, obtain available vegetation and soil samples, and be back in flight before the planet's inmates are the wiser." Breaking protocol, he reached over and squeezed Bella's gloved hand, his dark-green eyes crinkling. "Standard mission practice. Don't worry."

Bella's gaze found Davies'. Her colleague raised one eyebrow. Bella needed no translation. Davies had noticed Winthrop's interest was more than mentor-mentee. Luckily, she appeared more amused than condemning. Still, as subtly as possible, Bella shifted her hand closer to her thigh.

Jim Winthrop might be a smart, good-looking guy with more decency than most of his kind, but he was still Council, her superior, and frankly she wasn't looking for any kind of personal complication. She'd scrapped and sacrificed to make it past the Academy's rigorous screening process to train to become a junior level scientist, the highest position a non-Council descendant could achieve outside of marriage to a Council elite. She couldn't afford any mistakes, especially the one night-and-done kind that might jeopardize her position. The Council wasn't known for its forgiving ways.

"You two will see." Dr. Winthrop leaned forward in his seat. "You're about to be a part of something historic. Mark my words."

"That would be amazing." Davies smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

Bella understood. It was hard to imagine this mission was going to be the one to succeed after so many expeditions with better leads had failed, but who knew? With billions of Council and non-Council inhabitants already lost and more dying every day, any lead, however slight, was worth investigating.

"We've entered Dragath25 air space. Ensure your straps are fastened tight." The pilot's voice again sounded through her earpiece. "We'll touch down in ten."

"I hate this part." Their communications specialist Steve Meyers shot her a weak smile from his seat to her left. Like the majority of lower level skill personnel, all the soldiers, and Bella, there was no Council designation behind his ear. "But closer to the front of the shuttle is definitely the better spot. Less turbulence."

Bella gave him a commiserating grimace and sucked down a few slow, deep breaths as the shuttle shuddered. She saw a couple of the other scientists looking like she felt. Terrence, who'd placed himself next to Davies—per usual—was green. Poor guy. He'd thrown up almost every space drop, and this was rougher than usual.

She glanced into the rear of the shuttle and bit back a frown. The soldiers were pains in the ass, true, but they'd get the roughest part of the ride back there. Hopefully, none of them would get space-sick. On landings like this, soldiers were vital. While every research mission had an element of danger, landing on a planet at the outskirts of human territory known to be chocked-full of violent criminals seemed particularly insane.

And yet, if Dr. Winthrop's hypothesis was correct—and this was a big _if_ since travel to Dragath25 on droid transport was always a one-way ticket for prisoners only—there might be a portion of the planet that thrived despite the brutal weather conditions. No one knew for sure since early records related to the planet's settlement had been destroyed during the Great Wars and ensuing chaos. But a few droids had recently returned with intriguing vegetation samples stuck to a tread or a stabilizer. Subsequent droid reconnaissance had yielded promising possibilities, though nothing absolute.

Which was why she and the rest of Winthrop's team were here.

If such findings proved real, Dragath25 might actually offer humans hope for survival. Hard as it was to imagine, what had been established over two thousand years ago as a human dumping ground for the worst of the worst might end up offering a new crop of hardy plants that could save a dying Earth. Energize the dwindling numbers who'd been forced to live in crowded, dusty ad hoc settlements near the last remaining rain collection reservoirs. And, if Winthrop's optimistic musings were to be believed, restore humanity—now firmly under Command Council rule—to something akin to what it had once been when plants and water were in abundance.

So why did she have such a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach?

A set of ear-piercing bells shrieked through the cabin. The warning lights imbedded in the hull flared to red. "Emergency landing protocol initiated." The pilot's voice was no longer so calm. "We've encountered an unexpected electrical disturbance. At first, it appeared to be a simple atmospheric change, but now—"

His words cut off. Ominous static crackled along the line.

Bella's gaze locked with Davies'.

The ship dropped.

Bella came awake with a gasp.

Pain beat at her chest and shoulder as she forced her eyes open. Blaring alarms only added to her confusion.

One look around and everything crystallized. The crackle of fire. The blur of smoke. The sweet scent of blood and the acrid scent of burning flesh....The shuttle had crashed. Fracture lines snaked through her helmet obscuring visibility.

Frantic, she yanked off her helmet and squinted through the smoke. Fumbling with her straps, her siblings' gaunt, hopeful faces slammed through her mind. They were depending on her.

A scream strangled in her throat. To her left, Steve Meyers' sightless eyes stared back at her through his visor, a trickle of dried blood tracking from his nose.

She scrambled free of her restraints, tripped over a mangled piece of steel two inches from her boots, and lurched across the aisle, her hands landing on warm thighs.

A palm closed around her wrist.

"Cadet Davies?" she screamed over the shrill alarms. "Davies? Can you hear me?"

"West?" The word was a moan, but it sent Bella's heart soaring.

"The ship crashed. We need to get out." She was already feeling her way along her colleague's straps for the release. "Are you hurt?"

"I–I don't know....My head hurts. My leg, too."

"We'll take a look once we're out." Bella's hand slipped from the restraint. To Davies' right, Terrence stared back without blinking, his neck twisted at an impossible angle. The poor man. He'd never moon over Davies again.

The rough nylon sliced the pads of Bella's fingertips as she worked to find that damn release.

Finally, a click. Davies was free.

"I'm going to put my arm around you," Bella instructed. "Lean on me—and try and stay low."

She gave a small silent thank you when the woman's arm circled her waist and they were able to stagger together into something between a squat and a stand. Bella's shoulder screamed as Davies' weight pressed against her, but she pushed the pain aside.

"Bella?" A hand shot from the smoke to grab her arm.

She jerked to a halt. "Dr. Winthrop?" She didn't use his first name despite the fact that he'd used hers. Command Council protocol was very clear on that point.

"I'm...I'm hurt." Winthrop's voice shook. Not a good sign.

"We'll help." She tried to keep the alarm from her voice. "We need to get outside. Fast."

"You should go." Shock left Winthrop's voice oddly matter of fact. He jerked off his helmet with trembling hands. "The fire's getting worse."

"You're coming, too." She swiveled toward Davies. Her colleague had removed her helmet to reveal a nasty bump on her forehead and one of her legs was definitely not working right, but her eyes looked infinitely clearer than they had a second ago. "Davies, can you make it to the back exit without me?"

"Let me help." The woman's sincerity was easy to hear. As was her pain.

"Get to the exit," insisted Bella. "That's the help I need. We'll be right behind."

The woman grabbed her shoulder, her voice low. "Let me try. It shouldn't be you who dies in here."

"No one else is dying." Bella gave the woman a soft push, surprised and touched that someone like her would even make such an offer. "Go." When Davies still refused to move, Bella grew less gentle. "You're only slowing us down. Go!"

She'd deal with whatever repercussions came from addressing a Council member in such a fashion later...if they all survived.

Davies' lips flat-lined, but she didn't argue. Mouthing one more _don't die_ warning, she simply hobbled away, her awkward hopping gait instantly swallowed by the thickening smoke.

Bella swiveled back to Winthrop. "Can you get up?" Her fingers flew over Winthrop's restraint straps. It gave way with a beautiful click.

Her arms came around Winthrop's waist, her left side instantly wet. Blood. Enough to soak her clothes. She forced a smile and heaved. "You need to help me."

His head lolled, his chin cracking into her temple. He was nearly dead weight in her arms. They'd never make it.

"Dr. Winthrop? Please?" Her voice splintered. "You need to focus. You need to stand up. Now."

No response.

"Help." Faint at first, the plea from a few paces ahead grew louder and louder with each panicked bark.

Propping Winthrop back into his seat, she scrambled forward, waving away the thick smoke, deliberately avoiding looking at the two dead soldiers on either side.

"My belt's jammed." The minute he saw her, Officer Pogue threw himself forward, trying to tear out of the restraints. "I can't get out." He kicked his boot toward something on the ground in front of him. "There's my knife. Cut me out."

Seizing the knife with two hands, she hacked at the restraint. "Stop struggling. I'll get you out."

"Faster," he urged.

Then with a final slice, the fraying restraint gave way. Pogue popped up on a roar. "Let's go. The fire's burning fast."

"Wait. You have to help me with Dr. Winthrop. He can't walk on his own."

"No time. He'll never make it anyway." Pogue turned away.

"No." She sprung at him, sinking her nails into his shoulder. She'd put up with his constant harassment because non-Council descendants stuck together and because he was a decorated soldier with useful survival training. She needed that expertise now. They all did. "I didn't leave you. Take Winthrop's arm. Put him between us. We can make it."

When he still didn't move, she grew desperate. "Do it. Or I'll tell the Council you refused to help one of their own. Think your life will be worth anything after that?"

Pogue's jaw tightened and, for a terrible second, she thought he might strike her, but then he was striding past her, knocking her thigh into the bench, plowing his shoulder into Winthrop's stomach, and hoisting him upward into a fireman's carry.

"Go," he shouted.

Knowing he was right behind, she scrambled forward.

A moan came from the right.

She swiveled toward the sound, but Pogue's big body rammed into her, making her stumble. "No more. You'll get us killed. Keep moving."

"But—"

"Go. Or I'll leave you and your precious Council admirer." Pogue barreled into her, shoving her hard.

"We can't just leave the others here to die!"

Without another word, he slammed into her again, sending Winthrop's boots into her hip and her sprawling forward on a pained gasp.

"Move or I'll run right over you."

That cowardly bastard. He'd begged her to save him, but refused to do the same for anyone else.

"Bella? Is that you? Bella, you're almost there." Davies' terrified coaxing echoed from up ahead. "Come on."

Hating herself, hating Pogue, Bella stumbled down the aisle. The burn in her throat had become agony, breathing difficult. Pogue was hard on her heels, ready to stampede over her in an instant. On either side, dark smudges taunted her with the possibility of other sightless eyes.

"You made it." Soft hands grabbed hold of her arm, guiding her through a twisted hole in the wreckage she hadn't even seen.

Bella's knees hit the ground. Her head snapped up and she sucked in dry, hot air. Two orange suns blazed high in the sky. All around her, desolate rock and dust swirled in a tapestry of bleak browns and rust as far as the eye could see. Even the sky was the color of dried blood. No hoped for vegetation in sight.

The trip had been for naught.

Pogue jogged by her, an unconscious Winthrop still in his hold. "Move away from the shuttle," he roared. "It's going to blow."

Several soldiers followed. Apparently, Steve Meyers had been wrong. This time the back of the shuttle had been the place to be. At least ten of the military team still lived while everyone from the scientific team besides her, Davies, and Dr. Winthrop had perished.

Her gaze locked with Davies'. They shuffled away from the burning shuttle. "All those deaths for nothing."

A lone tear tracked down her colleague's soot-covered face. "But we survived."

An inhuman shriek rent the air.

Everyone froze. Eyes wide, the soldiers' guns shot up, pointing wildly at the rocky outcroppings where anything could be hiding.

The hair at Bella's nape prickled.

Yes, they'd survived. But for how long?

**Chapter Two**

"You can't just leave them here." A woman's furious voice reached prisoner 673 through the rocky canyon. He froze. Cocked his head. Inhaled, but scented nothing except the usual arid scent of dirt and dust.

After so many years alone, the sound of such loud squawking was jarring. And that the voice was a woman's? His cock twitched and rose, taking notice. Eight years was a long time to go without. The last time the droids had dropped a woman on Dragath25 was five years ago. 225's pack had gotten hold of her first. She'd lasted five minutes.

It was a good reminder. Fragile things didn't last here. And nothing, not even long overdue pussy, was worth risking his survival.

"You hear those shrieks? They're coming." An equally enraged male's voice boomed through the canyon, thoughtfully telegraphing his precise location. "Our shuttle streaked through the sky like a clear come-and-get-me invitation for the entire penal population of murderers and psychopaths. We don't have time to dick around. We don't have time for those who'll only slow us down. We're moving out."

"You coward. I saved your life. The least you can do is try and return the favor."

673 cleared the canyon in time to see a red-haired soldier dressed in fatigues grab a far smaller woman in a torn grey uniform, her boots dragging along the ground as he shook her hard.

673's whole body went tight. He didn't like bullies. He dropped into a crouch. Instinct taking over as he slunk forward, his gaze absorbing everything. The way the soldier bastard favored his right side. The large firearm strapped to his holster. The second weapon at the man's back. The way the woman's ripped uniform clung to her curvy body and the outraged rigidity of her spine even up against a man twice her size. The nine other thick-necked, smug soldiers with similar military-issued buzz cuts standing close by, no clue of the danger he represented, their sole attention on the woman.

In the next instant, the woman dropped into the dirt. On a perfect, heart-shaped ass.

Freezing in place, 673 waited to see what happened next.

"Fine," the woman shouted, stumbling to her feet. "Go. But I'm not leaving. We'll find a way."

"Your funeral." Soldier bastard grabbed a pack off the ground. He slung it onto his shoulder next to a similar one.

"At least leave us one." She surged forward, grabbing for the pack, but soldier bastard darted out of reach.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you, Cadet West? In fact, seems like you and your Council-friends might need us after all." Soldier bastard patted the pack. "These were issued to the military crew, and you know how strict Command Council is about ensuring resources are relegated to the proper department. You survive the night, I'll be ready to hear just what you're willing to do to get an unsanctioned taste." With a final leer in her direction, soldier bastard kicked it into a jog. "Let's go, men."

An odd frisson of uncertainty snaked through 673. He wanted those weapons. Wanted what was in those packs. But he'd come for a different reason entirely, and with the seven soldiers out of the way, the few left would be easy pickings.

It was a curious thing: choice. For so long, there had been only the option to survive. He didn't like having alternatives. It almost made him feel human again.

"West, please," a dark-haired female in a similar grey uniform limped over to where the other woman stood, the quality of her boots marking her as Council even without his ability to see the CC designation on her skin, "go with them. You've done so much for us already. Why should you die, too?"

He'd already noted this second female and the wounded Council officer on the ground and dismissed them as any kind of threat. Fact was, like fighter girl, they were dead folks walking—because, in this case, soldier bastard was right. The strong barely survived out here. The injured didn't have a chance in hell.

His fighter girl didn't seem to care, though. _His?_ No, she wasn't his. She wasn't anything but Dragath25 dirt in the making.

He'd learned long ago not to stick his neck out for anyone else. Keeping himself alive was hard enough.

Just beyond, the wind picked up, brushing against 673's skin, signaling the start of another dust storm. Within the half hour, this place would be choked in dirt and debris, everything within suffocated under an indifferent cloak of dirt and rock.

"I'm not leaving you." Fighter girl stumbled forward, her wavy, soot-colored hair brushing her ass...so easy to grab and wrap around his wrist. "Let's find something I can drag Dr. Winthrop in."

She turned in his direction, giving him his first full view of wide green eyes, a lush pink mouth, and firm, high tits full enough to fit his hands.

His body rioted to attention, the man he'd once been waking with a silent roar as white-hot lust flooded his veins. He jerked to standing, all subterfuge, all caution, forgotten. The absence of touch for eight long years a sudden agonizing stab of need across his skin.

"Look!" She pointed near to where he stood, and for a heart-stopping moment, he was sure he'd been sighted. But then she turned back to her friend. "There's something that looks like a cave only a little ways up. If we can make it there, we can hide."

"But—"

"No but. We are making it there." She dropped to her knees beside the wounded officer's body. "No one else is dying. Headquarters will send search and rescue to investigate the crash. We only have to stay alive until then."

The shrieking cry of 225's pack sounded again. Closing in fast.

The reminder cooled 673's lust enough to get him thinking again.

His gaze flickered between the woman, now frantically working with her friend to wrap the man in some kind of fabric, and the strewn, burning wreckage that littered the ground. His hands clenched and unclenched.

Choices.

His dick was telling him one thing. His mind another. _Shit._ He really hated choices.

He started forward.

"Wedge the cloth under his side." Bella dug her fingers beneath Winthrop's back and fumbled for the other side of the shirt. They'd found it flapping on a piece of wreckage. She didn't even want to think about where it had come from. "I've almost got it."

Another one of those horrifying shrieks shook the air. Louder than before. Her heart slammed into her throat. The wind seemed to be picking up as well. Larger and larger pieces of rock and dirt pinged against her skin. This place was even more inhospitable than Earth during its frequent dust storms.

"Just a little more," she urged. "I—"

"Oh, shit." Davies' panicked curse had Bella's head jerking up.

She promptly fell on her ass. The rock was alive and swaggering toward them, a rust-colored mammoth monstrosity that swirled dust and danger in its wake.

She blinked again, and the rock became a man. A massive, sculpted, dark-haired man. One wearing little more than a loincloth and boots, every inch of his muscled skin and face caked in mud the same reddish color as the rocks. Threat emanated from every pore.

The planet's inmates had found them _._

She scrambled backwards, Davies right beside her. The man was at least a head taller and several inches thicker than Pogue, the biggest and strongest of the soldiers on their mission. The urge to jump and run pumped through every sinew, but Davies couldn't. Her colleague's leg wouldn't hold her more than a few steps.

Eyes locked on the approaching threat, Bella's fingers scraped the dirt behind, scrounging frantically for some kind of weapon. A rock. A piece of wreckage. Anything that might slow him down as his shadow fell over her and his wide shoulders blotted out the suns.

He stopped inches from her boots. She looked up and up and up into hooded dark eyes. Empty, cold, they raked down her body. Horrific stories of crimes committed by Dragath25 prisoners clawed through her mind. Her fingers clenched the dirt, ready to fling. It wasn't much, but she wasn't going down without a fight.

Then he stepped past, his laser-like gaze finding a new target in the twisted metal behind her.

Her gaze swung to Davies'.

The same mix of panic and confusion was clear on her fellow trainee's face. _What the hell?_ she mouthed.

Bella shrugged. Who knew? But she didn't intend to miss an opportunity.

Neither made a sound as Bella shifted under Davies and carefully lifted her to standing. As she moved, Bella monitored mud man, who was even now picking through the rubble with purposeful intent. Did he intend to rape and kill them after? Was he hoping they'd run so he'd give chase? She had absolutely no idea, but a single glance at his muscled back, sculpted arms, and solid thighs rammed home that he could easily do whatever he wanted if he got hold of her. She didn't intend to give him that chance.

"Start hopping toward those rocks. Nice and quiet." She whispered the words in Davies' ear as she walked them both backwards. She could only pray there weren't more like mud man right behind.

Another eerie shriek split the air. The terrible cry was joined by another. And another.

Goosebumps rose on her flesh. The feral sound was like nothing she'd ever heard.

Was it her imagination or did mud man start moving faster? He never looked up, simply strode through the wreckage, tossing pieces left and right, stepping over the dead without even a hesitation.

Taking the hint, she moved faster as well, the wind battering them as debris from the growing storm dug into their flesh.

Her gaze flickered to Winthrop now covered in a fine film of dirt. Despite the ominous wind, he remained unmoving on the ground, the erratic rise and fall of his chest the only proof he still lived.

A sense of helpless fury shot through her. He was going to die—horribly, by the sound of whatever was heading their way—and she couldn't think of how to save him. She was barely certain she and Davies were going to come out of this alive.

"We have no choice." Davies' gaze was also locked on their boss.

"I know."

They were almost to the rocks when mud man gave a grunt, yanked something from the wreckage, and tucked it into a pack slung across his back. He swiveled back around, his gaze landing unerringly on them.

Bella's breath caught. Her legs turning to water.

He jogged toward them while she pulled Davies along. Her colleague chanted _oh no, oh no, oh no,_ and Bella's heart pounded against her ribs and she wanted to scream to the sky with outrage and—

He passed by them so close she felt the heat of his big body brush against her shoulder. Then she was looking at his back as muscles rippled and he heaved himself up the rock face like some kind of flipping mountain goat, leaving them behind sucking in dirt.

"Wait!" The word popped out before she fully thought it through.

"Bella, no," hissed Davies.

But it was too late. As if Bella's words were law, mud man froze on the ledge above.

She took a deep breath. "Help us. Please."

He didn't move.

"We won't make it otherwise." The truth tasted bitter in the back of her throat.

"Bella, don't—"

"Please." Bella pleaded, ignoring Davies. She thought of her sister and brother. Of how quickly they'd be removed from Council protection if she didn't make it back to Earth. "I'll...I'll do whatever you want if you'll only help us."

He landed in a crouch at her boots.

Every frantic heartbeat felt like a hundred years as he unfolded to standing, at least a full head and a half taller, his breath a warm puff against her forehead. So close she could see the bump where his nose had been broken. So close she could see long, thick lashes and the rim of deep, dark blue that gave his eyes their inky black color. So close she could see the sharp blades of jaw and cheekbones that produced his fearsome scowl.

She took a protective step back.

Rough hands encircled her forearms, checking her in place. "Anything?" His voice was a low, rusty rumble.

Bella dug deep for courage, her gaze locking with bottomless black. "Anything."

Trapped, awarded Top Readers Pick by **both** Night Owl Reviews **and The Romance Reviews.** For information on where to buy this book, check here.

The idea for Trapped came to me in a dream. I woke up with images of a hostile prison planet and a trapped woman floating around in my brain. (Let's not look too deeply into my psyche on this one, okay?) From those images, the story just took off and the 'what if's' kept coming. What if a woman crashed on a hostile planet? What if that planet was filled with ruthless criminals? What if her only hope for survival was one of the convicts, a hardened man with a questionable past? What would she be willing to do to save herself? What would he be prepared to take? The answers ended up being action-packed and scorching hot and so much fun to write. Thank goodness for dreams!

Alison Aimes is the award-winning author of the sexy sci-fi romance series the Condemned as well as the sizzling contemporary romance Billionaires' Revenge series. A sci-fi fanatic with a PhD in Modern History, she's an all over the map kind of woman who has always had a love for dramatic stories and great books, no matter the era. Now, she's creating her own stories full of intrigue and passion, but always with a happy-ever-after ending. She lives in Maryland with her husband, two kids, and her dog. When not in front of the computer, she can be found hanging with family and friends, hiking, trying to turn herself into a pretzel through yoga, listening to a fabulous TED talk, or, last but not least, sitting on the couch imagining her characters' next great adventures.

You can find Alison here:

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# Alien Blood by Melisse Aires

# About Alien Blood

Stranded on the planet Toph as a child, Gema is in the Women's Penitentiary for vagrancy. Not PureGen (lab perfected human), she cannot be a citizen and has no legal status. She has no way to buy passage to a friendlier planet.

Then Gema is chosen to be a contestant on the wildly popular Survival Game, in which two prisoners compete to win credits and their freedom on a wilderness planet. She knows she is the underdog in this competition. Her companion, Kellac, is a stunning, gorgeous Puregen, serving time while waiting for a diplomatic solution to his imprisonment, which will be handled by his wealthy, powerful family.

She wants to dislike him, but he is actually kind, smart, and hardworking. Everything she could ever want in a man, except a Puregen would never choose a woman like her. There is no future for them.

With every move recorded by a swarm of flying cameras, Kellac and Gema fight their attraction to each other and work together to earn credits.The competition goes well— until the spaceship carrying the show's production team crashes onto their wilderness planet. They are stranded and survival is no longer a game. An erotic Sci-fi romance, 40k.

# Sample of Alien Blood

**C hapter One**

Gema nearly groaned aloud when she saw her partner for the Wilderness Planet Survivor Show. He was a PureGen Exotic, the rarest of the rare. Tall, bronzed, beautifully proportioned and muscled, with high cheekbones, a perfectly cleft chin, and dark lashes and eyebrows that showcased his rare, DNA modified lilac eyes. His hair was dark brown but even it was enhanced beyond normal hair. Caramel, cocoa and nutmeg streaks all blended together into a shiny, thick mane curling to his nape. Military prisoners normally had their hair clipped short like regular military, but they always had the show contestants grown out—female viewers of the show preferred more hair on their men.

Regular humans didn't have such exotic eyes and hair. Even among the PureGen population he was rare. Gema had never seen lilac eyes in real life. And PureGen Exotics usually came from very wealthy families who could afford the highest quality lab. He was probably super intelligent with teeth which would never turn dingy or decay and owned an immune system that would keep him healthy and strong for the next hundred years or so.

So how did he get here, a contestant from a prison?

The audience was going to love him—which put her survival as the ordinary, non-PureGen player even more at risk. Lucky for her she had friends in low places. Friends involved in gambling, who wanted to win some big money, and weren't afraid to cheat a little. Or a lot. It gave her a small advantage.

Gema gathered her belongings and glanced over at her partner. He totally ignored her and checked their supplies against a list on his com. The transport took off in a flash, back to the deep space vessel that produced the Viewcast somewhere in orbit above the planet.

Golden Boy glided over to her, every woman's dream.

Even mine, she admitted to herself.

_You could earn points by doing him_ , her wayward brain reminded her. Gema felt her cheeks turn pink. She was not getting naked with Golden Boy for the galactic audience. It was just a reaction to being with a male after three years in the women's prison.

"I have checked all the supplies. Everything is here."

"Good."

"My name is Kellac. I think we should talk about our strategy while we are free of the cameras."

They had one day without the swarm of cameras.

"I'm Gema." She reached under her shirt and found the sticky edge of her false stomach. With a grimace at the sting, she pulled it off.

Kellac stared at her, mouth open. He almost didn't look great.

"What did you smuggle?"

"Oh, I was given a little gift." She dug in the foam and pulled out a small com. "One of my cellmates had a contact who has an interest in me amassing some points."

"That's cheating! Gambling on the game is against the rules."

"Ah yes, the rules." She worked on the com. "By the rules of this game, I'm the underdog. Not PureGen, not beautiful or athletic, and I'm lame in one leg. Surviving is already going to be a challenge for me. And what's the point of surviving but not earning any points? I'll just end up back in prison."

She looked up into his lilac eyes. "I don't want to die. Three Naturals died playing the game. They had no support from the audience, and even had the audience out to get them. And giving points to the PureGen partner for betraying them."

He frowned. "I have every intention of working as a team to keep us both alive. Those players who betrayed each other had no honor."

"I feel the same. I won't betray you, either." She held up her com. "This is a solar powered, memory enhanced military issue com. It has the same casing as the ordinary com we are allowed to have. I want enough points to get to a world without a PureGen Constitution. This will help me get me there."

He squatted down next to her, eyes on the com.

"What issue? 9900?"

He was military, then.

"Better, 9904. Plus it has flora and fauna data for all the worlds and regions used by The Wilderness Planet Survivor Show."

His eyes widened. "We can find edibles."

"Yes, and it has a lot of wilderness survival data, also. Predators, weather patterns, housing, emergency medicine..."

He stared at her. "Do you know how to use it? I've been trained on the 9900."

"I've been tutored. Plus, it's keyed to my DNA, but I'm willing to share it with you. If I die, it's useless to you."

She went back to the foam belly and pulled out an old fashioned paper writing pad and stylus.

"We can communicate on this and burn it in the fire. As long as we shield the writing from the swarm, we'll be able to communicate undetected."

"Good idea."

There was one more thing she had to tell him. Her face got hot. "I'm not having sex with you for points."

The audience loved sexual activity and gave generous points for the same.

Kellac shrugged. "It is an easy way to amass points."

"I don't want to."

He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. "I can understand that. But we might consider other ways of titillating the audience."

"Maybe."

Kellac observed his partner. He'd expected a PureGen woman, someone strong and athletic. This woman was small, with delicate bones, large round breasts and round hips. Not built for speed or strength. And lame. The bones of one leg were not straight.

Built for sex. Which she doesn't want to have. He sighed. He'd been in prison for a year. Sex would have been a nice bonus.

She had long golden brown hair streaked with blond, and light hazel-brown eyes. PureGens rarely had mid-range brown hair or eyes, they usually had very dark, very light or something exotic. He wasn't used to seeing that coloration. Her skin was creamy ivory, with golden freckles on her nose. Large, long lashed eyes, a nose that tilted up in a very non-PureGen manner, and her lips were full. While not the classic symmetrical beauty of the PureGen, she was cute, attractive in an unusual way. Her body was fascinating, too. PureGen women were thin and athletic, with smaller breasts in proportion with their frame.

Too bad about her no sex rule.

"I think we should get as far away from the landing zone area as we can. It seems there are more booby traps near the landing, on the shows I've studied. If we can walk all night..." His eyes skittered down to her scarred leg.

"What if we float down the river? I requisitioned a raft."

"What river?" He'd seen the raft in the supplies.

She pointed. "See the line of trees? They're growing along a river. I saw it from the transport."

He turned to dig through the supplies, and found his viewer. Sure enough, there was a river, across a green savannah.

The raft was a super-polymer and tear resistant, suitable for transport, so they spread it out and loaded the supplies on it. With the oars fitted and tied with rope it became a travois they could pull over the savanna to the river.

"Nice raft," he said.

The woman pulled along with him, though she wasn't strong, she was willing. Good quality. Maybe it would be all right. She wasn't athletic, but she seemed smart. So far, she seemed to have character and a desire to do her share. If she was one of his soldiers, he'd feel comfortable with giving her responsibilities, to see how she handled them.

He was impressed with her intelligence and felt a rush of relief. Some of the contestants he'd watched on past shows had been lazy, whiny, and amazingly stupid. Gema wasn't athletic, but her character would compensate. He began to feel far more optimistic about this game. Maybe it would be more than a torturing, humiliating experience...

Later her cheeks were pink from exertion, so he called a rest. Instead of flopping down on the ground though, Gema bent over a plant and pulled it up by the roots. As she bent over it he saw the tops of her plump breasts.

Kellac started to sweat. It wasn't a good sign that they'd been together a couple hours and he was already obsessed with her breasts. He took a breath to gain composure. This probably had more to do with his imprisonment than anything else. And maybe she'd be more interested in him as time went by. He was generally pretty popular with the ladies.

"What are you doing with the plant?"

"I'm getting its properties into the com. Eventually it will be able to sort out what planet we're on, and what area of what continent." She was absorbed in rubbing the root of the plant onto a small slide that popped out of the com so she didn't notice where his eyes roamed.

"Listen, why don't I go on ahead and scout out a place to launch. I can handle the supplies by myself. That way you can take an easier pace and collect a few more specimens."

"Really?" Gema looked at him with huge eyes, as though she was shocked. "You wouldn't mind?"

Pleasure shot through him but he mentally shook it off. It felt good to do something nice for her... but he needed to get hold of his emotions. She was still a stranger, still an unknown quantity.

"Not at all. Might as well take advantage of our strengths. I can pull the travois by myself."

He was soon quite a distance ahead of her, though she was still in sight.

The land was deceptive. Kellac came to a sudden halt at the sight before him. The savannah had looked flat all the way to the river but actually the land sloped steeply into a narrow valley, then sloped up another steep hillside to the river. From a distance, the crevice valley was hidden.

The valley was thick with grass, higher and greener than on the plain. A herd of four legged horned beasts fed there. Big beasts, with big horns, no doubt dangerous. He cursed.

A beast watched him. It made a low groaning noise and others raised their heads from the grass and looked at him, too. The head beast started toward him.

_This is not good_. He looked back at Gema who was walking slowly, her limp more pronounced. He'd left her alone and vulnerable in an unknown wilderness. Shame flooded him. He was a leader, he protected his men.

The beasts walked toward him, speeding up, and more in the herd looked up and joined in.

_They are going to stampede!_

He dropped the travois and ran. Maybe he could reach her, shield her...

He reached Gema and crashed into the grass with her to the thunder of pounding feet right behind. Body tense, he shut his eyes tight, waiting for the first cutting blow of a hoof, and got ready to die. Perhaps the woman under him, her head covered by his chest, would live.

The ground around them shook. Hot grassy breath snorted on his bare arms as beasts pounded past, the smell of hot hide and dung wafted past them. They charged through the grass, filling the air with the sounds of their hooves, and low moans, the swish of the grass and whipping of their long tails.

They passed so close he could reach out and touch the beasts.

But they went around, not trampling them into a bloody pulp.

Kellac opened his eyes as the last beasts ran by, then watched the entire herd run up a slope, over the crest, and out of sight.

Gema struggled under him. His body, keyed for death, now told him he was very much alive. Her soft breasts were pressed against his chest now and he made an involuntary move, rubbing his chest against her fullness and pressing his rapidly engorging cock against her leg. He buried his face in her neck. She smelled hot and salty and womanly, and he wanted to lick her damp skin, taste her.

She squirmed out from under him. They sat without speaking while their breathing calmed, though his other areas took a little longer to relax.

Then something occurred to him.

"How did we live through that?"

Her soft light brown eyes dilated at his question, as though she was frightened of him.

"Maybe they just wanted to frighten us." She shrugged, and turned her attention to her com, as if they hadn't just narrowly avoided death. "Maybe we smelled funny to them. You know. Alien. Though they smelled just like cattle to me."

He stood up. "How do you know the smell of cattle?"

"Before I landed on Toph I lived on a farm. As a young child."

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Don't think so. That was too weird. They split around us, as if we were surrounded by a fence."

She stood, vigorously wiping grass off her clothes. "It happened really fast, and we don't know those beast's habits."

"True." They walked to the discarded supplies, which had not been trampled.

"We were fortunate that time. It could have been the death of us."

She nodded.

He was a little surprised at how calm she was. He felt rattled. Maybe her calm was due to her youth around farm beasts.

"Well, new rule," Kellac said as he walked with the travois. "We stick together."

Gema looked up at him with those odd light brown eyes. Her lashes were gold tipped.

"I agree."

He started to say something then stopped. She wasn't one of his soldiers. He couldn't count on her following his leadership. No one had appointed him commander.

"Good. We are in agreement," he said.

_This might all be more complicated than I imagined._ Kellac was silent, deep in thought, for the rest of their walk to the river.

The river didn't look very fast or deep. Gema looked cautiously into the shallow, clear water near their chosen launch site and dripped a drop of water onto the slide of her com.

"It's clear of known contaminants," she said. "And I don't see any fish with sharp teeth."

"I'm glad they chose a temperate climate instead of a tropical one," Kellac said. "But we still need to be vigilant. We don't know that toothy fish aren't in there waiting for a taste." He grinned.

Kellac's light humor was welcome after the intensity of the day's events. After the stampede they'd had to change direction to avoid the boggy area at the base of the steep hill. They'd hiked a long distance. Gema found herself smiling back, as if she was a flirty girl. She quickly dipped her head to the com strapped to her forearm.

He was mighty attractive when he smiled, with those dimples and white teeth. She cleared her throat. "Yes. Of course, they want to showcase these areas for open colonization in a few years."

"Really? I didn't know that."

"We were allowed to watch The Game at the Women's Penitentiary. One of my cellmates once worked for the Toph Bureau of Colonization. She knew tons about the process." She tapped the com. "She was involved in creating this com."

"I saw several of the shows after I was cast, but we didn't get a Viewcast in the military lock up," Kellac said as they reloaded the supplies onto the aired up raft.

"The game uses four Seeded Planets on the Rim, but they use a new area each time."

"I saw that jungle one with all the tropical snakes."

Gema wrinkled her nose. "Yes, and it rained every day. They were always covered with mud."

She wanted to ask him why he was in a military prison, but then she would feel obligated to speak about her own imprisonment, and she wasn't eager to do that.

The river was wide and shallow. Other than avoiding the shore, it was an easy, fast way to travel away from the landing area. There were no rapids or midstream rocks.

The river stayed smooth for a couple hours and the landscape remained the same, high grass savannas with trees along the river. After a couple hours the landscape rose into rolling hills. The raft started picking up speed.

Kellac said. "Let's look for a place to land. I don't want to get into rapids on an unknown river in this light."

The hills created dark shadows on the river now. Gema heartily agreed with that so they landed at the next small beach, a sandy area surrounded by trees with a sharp slope up to a grassy meadow beyond the tree line. The sun was low now and it would soon be twilight, so the beach was in shade. After the heat of the day, the cool was welcome.

"It will be chilly tonight," she said. "Let's get some firewood." By the time they were done gathering firewood and had the small tent up and a fire, Gema could not keep the yawns away.

They ate dry packaged rations and treated water. Nerves made her feel jumpy and she noticed that the tent was so small they would be squashed together.

She wasn't sure if she feared it or anticipated it. She was attracted to him. She hoped her attraction wouldn't become an issue. She would reign it in, he would not know.

"I'll take the first watch. We don't have any weapons. Except my stick. But the fire will help scare away any beasts. We need to keep it burning all night." Kellac had found a long tree limb while they collected firewood, thick and supple. "It's better than nothing."

Gema said goodnight and crawled into the small tent and covered up with her wilderness blanket. This was something she had feared, the night alone with the male competitor. Some female contestants had claimed they were raped. Chala, in the Women's Pen had taught her self-defense. Gema wasn't very skilled at it though because of her balance issue with her bad leg. Still it was better than nothing.

Kellac seemed decent, though. She didn't think she had anything to fear from him. Still, it was a relief to be alone. She just couldn't relax around him. Hopefully that would change. It couldn't be healthy to be so tense. She dozed off but kept waking, groggy and disoriented.

"Gema, you have to see this." Kellac's voice penetrated the small tent and she scrambled out of the tent, heart pounding in near panic.

"What?"

Kellac gestured to the sky. The moon had risen, a huge blue moon with traceries of green. Two smaller moons, one sliver, one bronze, were in close proximity to the larger moon.

"I thought you might enjoy to seeing this. For your records. But also because it is so beautiful."

"Oh my. Toph had just one small moon. This is incredible." She stared at the night sky. "This world is so lovely. Someday immigrants will move here, bring their families."

"The moon seemed so close. I wonder if the smaller moons move," Kellac said

She took a picture and added it to her com planet info.

"That narrows us down to three possible planets. All have multiple moons. One of the planets wasn't formulated by the Seeders, so it would be easy to discern. The others though, are all Seeded, so have many similarities. This world is so full of life I recognize from my homeworld, and from Toph. Both were Seeder worlds. I don't think we are on the other one."

"I agree. But I am less familiar with Seeder worlds. I am from New Prague, which is primarily a mining world. We live in domes, and much of the food production is done underground. It is too cold. Not a Seeder world and we have to breathe filtered air, due to poisonous spores from the flora."

Gema shivered, both at the chill and at the sound of his inhospitable world.

They sat side by side for a while, watching the night sky.

"Where is it?"

"It is on the far edge of sector seven, near the Big Empty."

Gema wasn't familiar with the sector arrangement of the PureGen system. "That must be very far away. My family came to Toph from a world in the Terran Alliance."

"New Prague has Toph and Selene connections. It was settled by mining conglomerates from the PureGen worlds. New Prague also does manufacturing that would be difficult on the PureGen worlds, since the metals would have to be transported."

His world sounded worse and worse.

"These planets for the Game are all out on the Rim. They found these all in a group, when I was young. Had to test them for safety. The Survivor Show was granted rights to broadcast from the new planets as a way to showcase them for future colonization. It will be expensive to get a colonization packet to come here." Gema knew she would never live here. Even if she amassed tons of credit, they would be colonized by PureGens. She would have to look elsewhere for a homeland.

"I've heard of the Big Empty. A prisoner escaped the Women's Penn, and the rumor was she found transport to Yonder."

"I've never been there, but ships stop at New Prague from there all the time. New Prague the closest stopping point."

They watched the moons in silence until Gema gave a huge yawn.

Kellac gave a soft laugh. "Back to sleep!"

She crawled back into the tent and this time she slept soundly.

Kellac took two watches, since he could manage on less sleep than a Natural. Plus, he enjoyed the night, feeding the small fire, the scents of grasses and flowers in the field beyond the beach, the ripple of the river as it rushed by. He'd lived in a dome, but his family had money so he traveled as a child and youth. Once he joined the Allied Military he'd seen many interesting places, though the idea of settling anywhere hadn't registered. His parents were gone and his brothers were scattered all over the galaxy with the military. Perhaps someday he and his brothers could have homes in a place this beautiful. They had the compound on New Prague but as luxurious as that was, it was still under a dome, with no fresh breezes or distant landscapes to appreciate. His parents owned a villa on Terra. Maybe he'd own an estate with wild lands where his brothers could hunt and fish with him, enjoy a campfire. He slept through the middle watch in the tent and then took the early morning watch. That was often the hardest watch for Naturals to remain alert he knew from his command experience. So he took it to be extra vigilant.

He wanted to protect her. When the beasts had stampeded, all he could think about was saving her. And now he was taking another watch, to protect her. He thought back to his military assignments. He often had women working under his command. PureGen women, strong and athletic, smart... Gema was different. She was softer, not military. He wondered why they'd chosen her for the show. Hopefully not for the drama of seeing a weaker contestant die. But they'd done it in another season. He had a bad feeling about that. He would need to be vigilant.

Near sunrise the Swarm, the small flying cameras the Viewcast company used to record the show, arrived in all their buzzing, annoying glory.

Gema woke up when Kellac called from outside the tent.

"Here we go. We have company."

She was stiff from sleeping on the ground and got out of the tent slowly. Tiny, golden metallic globes swarmed around her, colored lights flashing. "The Viewcast units found us," she said.

There were a lot of the small flittering globes, maybe twenty for each of them, buzzing all around, with just as many floating around the periphery. Up on the Viewcast ship, the technicians cut and forwarded their movements and interactions to the happy viewers throughout the PureGen Viewcast region.

They swallowed one of the tasteless prepared meals, packed up the tent and pushed off. Even though the swarm was now with them, they had agreed to continue down river, away from the drop off site. It was just safer to get away from an area the Game Master had time to booby trap.

"What do we want in a campsite? Close to the river?" Kellac asked.

"Yes, but we want trees, too, for firewood."

"I want to avoid the large grasslands with the beasts."

"Aurochs," she corrected. "They are a type of auroch, wild cattle. I entered them into the com."

"Good. But we need to remember not to speak out loud about—" He waved at her illegal com and then at the swarm of tiny cameras in his face. "Company."

Gema felt stupid. "I can't believe I forgot them."

"Don't worry about it. It'll take time to get used to them."

"Yes. They kind of faded into the scenery for me, like insects." She bit her lip, realizing that not being aware of the cameras could lead to embarrassing situations, especially with Kellac, whose brown mane shined with vitality in the sunlight and who's tan jawline did not seem to need a shave. Many PureGens were created to have no body hair to remove. "And I know that, that's why I brought the...You know." She tapped her breeches where the paper pad and stylus was hidden.

Kellac grinned. "I haven't touched one of those since I was a little child still with a home tutor."

"Me either, but when I was small I loved to draw pictures. I didn't enjoy writing too much though."

"You might not be able to read my writing."

She laughed. "The swarm will show pictures of me throughout the galaxy, frowning at the palm of my hand."

Around midday they found a site, a grass covered hill with a gentle slope, facing the river and the morning sunrise, with a small stream nearby. Stands of leafy trees grew down along the river and on the hills behind them, turning into conifers toward the higher reaches, where the hills began to have rocky outcrops. Gema suspected that there might be mountains beyond the hills.

At the midday meal Gema searched the com for types of shelters they could build. There were several. She showed them to Kellac.

"I think we should disregard the temporary shelters," she said.

"I agree. We want something sturdy, to keep away predators. I think the dugout is the best shelter. Only one wall to defend," Kellac said.

Gema agreed. "We could make the front wall of sod." They spent the afternoon planning out their shelter and then started to dig, using the raft paddles. Again they slept one at a time in the small tent, with the other keeping watch.

The next morning they received their first visit from the Game Master.

"Greetings, Contestants!" The Game Master zapped into holographic glory before them. "You are already winning fans throughout the galaxy!"

"As you know we always begin The Game with the same initial challenge. Get your housing up by this time tomorrow, and we will put a generous five hundred points into each of your Banks!"

Kellac stepped forward. "Thank you, Game Master. We will attempt to meet your challenge."

After a few pleasantries, the Game Master disappeared.

"I doubt we can get it finished by tomorrow, but I think the extra time spent on it is well worth it." Kellac said. "We still don't know what type of predators live around here, and it would be best if we could sleep through a night without taking watches."

"Yes, though the points would be nice." Gema sighed.

"We could get a lean-to up in a day, but that won't be as safe as a dugout. I opt for safety. We have time to collect points," Kellac said.

Part of her wanted to slap up a flimsy shelter, for the points, but she knew they had to think about safety. Easy points would have been nice to have, though.

The swarm of cameras buzzed around them constantly, Gema even sat on one. "I hope that picture doesn't go around the galaxy," she muttered.

Kellac thought it was hilarious and laughed so hard he fell to the ground, which drew the swarm right into his face.

They soon became adept at brushing the swarm away from their faces without thinking.

Gema worked to the point of exhaustion, but Kellac did the bulk of the digging. The dugout went back into the hill with a portion of the roof open which would have to be covered with sod piled on tree limbs.

At the end of their challenge time the Game Master arrived.

"It is time to inspect your shelter!"

Their shelter was half done, basically a hole in the hillside partially roofed with saplings. They needed to finish laying the saplings, then dig sod to spread over them. More sod would form the front wall and doorway. It would take days to get it finished.

"This is very disappointing," the Game Master said "I'm afraid I'm going to have to go to our audience and see what they think of this effort."

The Game Master disappeared, off to interview the masses for thoughts on the first challenge.

Gema sat down on the ground near the dugout. "I feel bad, Kellac. If I had worked harder..."

Kellac lifted one of her hands and looked at the blisters from digging all day. "You worked hard enough. Our shelter is important for survival. We need a place where we can sleep in safety, or rest if we get sick or injured."

His simple touch on her hands made her swallow hard as a shiver of pleasure slid through her nervous system in a tingling rush. She wanted to clasp his hand tighter to her own, keep him in place, touching her.

_I'm an idiot. A man starved idiot_.

"It is just the first challenge. We have many weeks to amass points."

She nodded again, unable to speak. His kindness made her throat ache with the desire to cry. She was afraid she would burst into tears, which she didn't want to do for an audience—or him.

In some ways, kindness was as dangerous as wickedness. She didn't want to care about him. Not in a man-woman way. That would only end in heartache. Still, she was drawn to him. Gema knew herself enough to know her secret dreams of finding a love like her parents had... that dream had gotten her into trouble before. It couldn't happen with a PureGen man. She needed to remember who she was, what she was. She'd learned her life lesson, it didn't need to be repeated.

"Let's go wash up in the stream. The cold water will take the burn out of our hands," Kellac said.

"Yes," she croaked through her tight throat, and she rushed toward the water.

They splashed in the icy water, soon throwing handfuls of water at each other and laughing away the tension.

And that was just one more thing to admire about him.

They went to bed together for the first time as the sun was setting, with a fire blazing in front of the open dugout wall, the raft anchored over them for a roof. Gema was very conscience that Kellac was just an arm's length away. Her body seemed to have a mind of its own and was sensitive to every breath he took, every movement, on some type of charged alert even though she was achy everywhere and tired down to her bones. But the skin on the side of her nearest where he rested seemed to tingle, as if reaching for him.

_I'm glad he is a decent man... but it would be easier if he wasn't so perfect to look at. Bad combination... great character... handsome... PureGen..._

_Trouble. At least for a woman like me._

You can find out more about _Alien Blood_here.

Alien Blood started out as a short SFR for an anthology with a summer theme. Just as the short was finished, the publisher disappeared! I had already published Her Cyborg Awakes and decided to rewrite my summer short and publish it as Diaspora Worlds book two. I grew up in camping family in Montana so this book reflects that childhood by the campfire.

You can find out more about _Alien Blood_here.

Take a shy, chubby, Catholic school bookworm from Montana. Hand her a stack of her much older brother's sci-fi and fantasy novels, James Bond books and horror comics. Later, introduce Barbara Cartland and the world of romance fiction.

Get her a teaching job or two in authentic, one room Montana schools, ala Laura Ingels Wilder.

Marry her off to a great guy, move her to a big city in Tornado Alley, then pop three daughters out of her in twenty two months(one set of identical twins).

Then, make her a jinx–every great genre TV show she loves gets the ax– Beauty and the Beast, Dark Angel–and Buffy and Spike NEVER have a happy ending! She gets upset about no romance in the world, and fires up to write her own stories with happy endings.

Throw this all together into a small house in Wyoming, along with a small bouncy dog named Baxter and too many cats, shake constantly and pour it out onto a computer keyboard.

There! You have me, Melisse Aires.

You can find out more about Melisse here:

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# Stranded with the Cyborg by Cara Bristol

# About Stranded with the Cyborg

Ten years ago Penelope Isabella Aaron had been a pain in Brock Mann's you-know-what. Much has changed in a decade: "PIA" as he code-named her, has grown up and is about to attend her first Alliance of Planets summit conference, and Brock has been transformed into a cyborg after a near-fatal attack. Now a secret agent with Cyber Operations, a covert paramilitary organization, Brock gets called in, not when the going gets tough, but when the going gets _impossible_. So when he's unexpectedly assigned to escort Penelope to the summit meeting, he balks at babysitting a prissy ambassador. But after a terrorist bombing, a crash landing on a hostile planet, and a growing attraction to his protectee, Operation: PIA may become his most impossible assignment yet.

# Sample of Stranded with the Cyborg

**( Cy-Ops Sci-Fi Romance 1)**

**Chapter One**

"What was so urgent it couldn't wait until I got back from Darius 4?" Brock flung himself into the wide sensa-chair, which conformed to the angles and lines of his body to provide optimal support and comfort. He would have preferred an android pleasure worker fit her realistic feminine form around him rather than a piece of furniture—as he'd been about to experience when the Cyber Operations director's summons had come through. "You're the one who insisted I take respite time."

"Drink?" Carter punched a button on his console, a cabinet slid open, and he removed a decanter. After pouring two shots of bronze liqueur, he shoved one across the desk.

Brock's internal warning system flashed an alert. "What's the bad news?"

"Why do you assume that?"

"Whenever you break out the _Cerinian_ brandy, you're either trying to butter me up or soften the blow." He eyed the man who'd been his friend since they'd served together in the Terran Central Protection Office thirteen years ago. Carter's blank expression betrayed nothing, but the brandy sang like a yellow songbird.

The director knocked back his shot then thumped his chest with his fist. Cerinian brandy went down smooth until the afterburn lit your throat on fire. Or it did to one who was unaltered. Brock swallowed his and felt only slight warmth.

"I have an assignment for you," Carter said, his voice hoarse from the liqueur. "The Association of Planets Summit is on Malodonus next week. There's been a threat against...the Terran ambassador." He hesitated like he expected Brock to short-circuit a computer chip.

After five years without a day off, Brock had been ordered to take R & R or be reassigned to desk duty. His irritation with the edict had been relieved somewhat when he'd arrived at the Darius 4 pleasure resort and discovered the android sex workers were almost lifelike.

First Carter told him to go then he recalled him. Brock wouldn't blow any gaskets, but he was irked. _Quit jerking me around_. "What government official hasn't received a threat? It's part of the job. What's so special about this case?" He shifted in the sensa-chair so its fingers could massage his lower spine.

"According to intel, _Lamis-Odg_ is involved."

Lamis-Odg had contributed nothing significant or positive toward the advancement of society in thousands of years yet opposed the AOP's goal to draw the peoples of the galaxy into an alliance. Historically, the backwater planet had been more bluster than bite but, in recent years, had resorted to terrorism to intimidate its adversaries.

Brock flexed his right hand. "How certain is the threat?"

"It's being treated as a level two."

Level one threats most often represented the rantings of a lunatic who would not act on the threat—or who lacked the means to do so. In a level two, a specific target had been named by a perpetrator who might have the means to carry it out. Level three was considered probable, and level four was imminent.

_Call me when it gets to level four_.

Carter spread his hands. "I'm told the CPO has intercepted a transmission indicating the ambassador was recently placed on Lamis-Odg's enemies of the state list."

"So no specific plot has been identified?"

"No. The risk was bumped from level one to two because she is an ambassador and other intercepted communiqués suggest Lamis-Odg has become more active."

"So why doesn't the Central Protection Office handle it?" Guarding government and diplomatic personnel fell into their bailiwick. When he'd been a CPO agent, he'd managed level two and three risks all the time. While a two should be taken seriously, it didn't require the specialized abilities of the covert Cyber Operations force.

"The ambassador has refused protection."

_Figures_. "Why?"

"She has a meeting with the Xenian emperor to convince him to send a delegate to the Summit and join the AOP."

Brock scanned his memory banks for information on the small planet in the Omicron sector. Like Lamis-Odg, Xenia had no interest in joining the AOP. Unlike Lamis-Odg, the Xenians weren't hostile or violent—they were pacifists who shied away from conflict and interplanetary politics.

Carter continued, "She fears showing up with a security detail will send the message there's something to be wary of."

"Isn't there?" Brock said drily, and then added, "If the ambassador has refused security, then I don't see why it's our problem."

"I was asked for a favor."

The bad premonition Brock had gotten when he'd received the summons, and again when Carter had broken out the brandy, grew stronger. "Suppose you cut to the chase."

"The ambassador is Mikala Aaron's daughter."

_Sonofabitch._ "Pia?"

Carter nodded.

_Pia._ Short for Penelope Isabella Aaron, or, as Brock had code-named his former protectee, _Pain in the Ass_. Every member of the Terran First Family had a designated CPO agent assigned to him or her.

An adolescent Pia had done her damnedest to dodge him. He couldn't count the number of times he'd caught her attempting to sneak out of the executive residence unescorted. Nor had he appreciated her practical jokes and dirty tricks. When her attempts to shake him had failed, she'd lodged false charges of sexual misconduct.

Shot at numerous times during his career, Brock had been seriously wounded twice and almost fatally once. Pia had been his waterloo—or would have been if Mikala Aaron, aware of her daughter's machinations, hadn't stepped in.

Brock folded his arms across his chest. "It doesn't have to be me. Get somebody else."

"President Aaron has requested you."

" _Former_ President Aaron. She's a civilian now. And we don't report to the president anyway."

Carter sighed. "I could order you to do it."

As Cy-Ops director, Carter was Brock's superior— _technically_. But the organization officially did not exist, and commanding a band of rogues who operated outside the law required finesse, rather than blunt orders. "You won't," Brock said.

Carter inhaled, held his breath for a moment, and then exhaled. "No. I'm asking you to do it—as a favor to me."

Favors, like shit, rolled downhill.

"Don't do this to me," he said, arguing against the inevitable. He owed Carter his life. If not for the director, Brock would have died in a military hospital or been left a shell of man, a chunk of his brain gone, an arm and two legs missing. Carter's secret force had whisked him from the intensive care unit to a clandestine cybermed installation.

Brock had been in no condition to consent to the treatment he'd been subjected to, but if he had been aware, he wouldn't have hesitated. He wanted to live. Cybermed docs had injected him with nanocytes, tiny robotic cells, and implanted a microcomputer in his brain to control them. He'd been fitted with prosthetic limbs. Under the influence of the biomimetic particles, he'd regenerated human muscle, tendon, and skin. Excruciatingly painfully, but it had happened. They'd kept him unconscious for most of it.

When he'd awakened, his body—and, to some degree, his mind—had been rebuilt. He'd been transformed into a bigger, stronger, more resilient Brock. And then Carter had recruited him as a cyberoperative.

Cyber Operations didn't respond when the going got tough, Cy-Ops responded when the going got impossible. When your only choice was to kiss your ass good-bye, that's when Cy-Ops moved in.

Calling a cyberoperative to escort an ambassador to a summit meeting? A ridiculous waste of manpower. Pia as protectee? _Impossible_. Maybe Cy-Ops's involvement made sense in a twisted way.

"Ten years have passed. Penelope is different now," Carter said.

Brock doubted that. "Does she know about me?"

"That you're a cyborg? Of course not. She hasn't been told anything about the program or even that you're the one who's been assigned to her."

"Yeah, spring it on her. That will go over well." He could envision the tantrum, and, after she calmed down, the scheme she would devise to circumvent the decision. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been emerging from his quarters half-dressed, a triumphant smile tilting her lips. Shortly thereafter, two fellow agents had come to arrest him.

President Aaron had exonerated him, the transcripts from the investigation had been sealed, and he'd been offered reassignment. Instead, he'd taken a position with an anti-terrorist investigative organization. His unit got attacked; his fellow operatives had died. Carter, who'd been working with Cy-Ops all along, had swooped in and saved his ass.

"I'm not saying I'll do it, but, hypothetically, if I had a computer meltdown and agreed, what would be my cover story? I couldn't tag along as her bodyguard because that _would_ unsettle the Xenians."

Carter poured another shot of Cerinian brandy and downed it. He met Brock's gaze dead-on. "You'd accompany Ambassador Aaron as her husband."

"Oh, hell no!"

* * *

* * * *

* * *

"Oh, hell no!" Penelope glared at her mother. "A husband? Are you crazy?"

"Not a real husband," said Mikala. "A bodyguard."

Penelope shook her head. "The Xenians are wary as it is. If they think I _need_ a bodyguard, it will derail any chance of building an alliance. That's why I rejected the Central Protection Office detail."

"You've been listed by Lamis-Odg."

"Who don't they want to kill?" Penelope dismissed the threat with a snort. "They're a small planet of crackpots halfway across the galaxy. Anyone who disagrees with anything they believe is targeted. "

"They can't be ignored, Penelope. Their support is growing. They've been able to recruit the disgruntled and mentally unbalanced from many different planets, train them, and send them home. They're like that malignancy eradicated in the 23rd century."

"Cancer?"

"Yes, like cancer. They invade the host cell and turn it against itself. Lamis-Odg sympathizers are everywhere."

"You're exaggerating."

"I served as President of Terra United for ten years. I have classified information you haven't had access to."

"I have a greater chance of dying by having my PeeVee malfunction and crash than I do of being killed by a terrorist. I'm not going to let the specter of some lunatic fringe organization with imaginary grievances prevent me from doing my job. There's no way I can meet with the Xenian emperor if I bring a bodyguard."

"I had a hunch you'd say that." Her mother lifted her chin. "If you don't agree to the protection, you'll be removed from the diplomatic mission."

"With all due respect, Mother, you don't have authority over the Department of Interplanetary Affairs. I'm going to Xenia and to the Summit on Malodonus _alone_."

"Don't believe that I don't have influence because I'm no longer in office. Many people still owe me favors. I _will_ contact the Minister of IA and have you reassigned."

When your mother was ex-president, parental meddling occurred at a whole new level.

If she'd been a little less mature, Penelope might have stomped her foot and yelled, "You're not the boss of me," like she'd done when she was a teenager. Instead, she took a deep, calming breath and released it silently. "As you wish, Mother."

Mikala clasped Penelope's shoulders and kissed her forehead. "I know you find security an encumbrance, but it's for the best." She stepped back. "Your bodyguard will arrive tomorrow afternoon to escort you."

* * *

**C hapter Two**

* * *

The ascender delivered Penelope and her luggage to the garage bright and early the next morning. The illumination came from solar powered subterranean lighting, not because the actual sun had risen. That wouldn't occur for a couple more hours. The conversation with her mother had necessitated an earlier-than-scheduled departure. A bug out. By the time the bodyguard arrived, Penelope would be on her way to Xenia, out of range of parental meddling.

She appreciated her mother's concern, but the negotiations with the Xenians and the AOP Summit that would follow were her first major assignments since she'd been appointed ambassador six months ago. No one else's _mommy_ interfered. Although she was the youngest member of Terra's diplomatic corps, she had earned her position, _damn it_. She had graduated early with an advanced degree in interplanetary relations and paid her dues as desk jockey. Nobody had logged more overtime with Interplanetary Affairs. After courting the Xenians for months, she'd finagled an invitation to meet with the emperor! They'd never been willing to talk to the AOP before. Her success had led to her appointment as ambassador so she would have the appropriate diplomatic status to follow through. Despite her hard work, rumors had circulated she'd been appointed not out of merit, but through nepotism, familial connections to the former president.

If her mother butted in and assigned her a bodyguard, it would fuel the gossip and undermine the mission. As observant as they were cautious, the Xenians would view a Central Protection Office agent with suspicion. How could she prove it was safe to join the AOP if she arrived with a security detail?

But she would be extra vigilant and careful. Though the threat was remote, it was still out there.

At stall 2105, which corresponded to her apartment number, she found her white PeeVee. As she approached, the lights came on and the door unlocked. She stowed her luggage in the trunk and then slipped into the control seat of the Personal Transportation Vehicle.

"Please verify identity," said the PeeVee's computer.

Penelope palmed the bio ignition scanner on the dashboard. "Take me to the regional shuttle port."

"Penelope Isabella Aaron. Identity confirmed. You are not scheduled to depart until 14:00."

"Override. Take me to the port now."

"The most direct route or the fastest?"

"Fastest." The sooner she got out of Dodge, the better.

"Prepare for departure."

Although computer-controlled and operated PeeVees rarely crashed, an automatic restraint folded over her, strapping her to the seat. The engine hummed, and the PeeVee reversed out of the stall. "Would you care for music?" the computer asked.

"No."

"Do you require stops along the way?"

"No. Go directly to the shuttle port."

While her PeeVee navigated through the traffic, Penelope reviewed her flight documents on her PerComm. She'd catch a short moon-jumper flight to the Interplanetary Shuttle Port, where she would board a charter to Xenia. If all went well, one of its representatives would accompany her to the AOP Summit as her guest. A feather in her cap. No one could question her merits, then.

The PeeVee pulled into the unloading zone on the fifth level of the Regional Space Port. "Destination reached," the computer stated.

She hauled her bag from the PeeVee's storage compartment. "Do you wish a pickup?" the computer asked.

"Not at this time," she replied. While the Summit lasted a finite number of days, some of the best connections occurred outside the assembly chamber. She wanted to leave her options open to further cement negotiations or friendships. After she completed her mission, she could signal her PeeVee with her PerComm when she got back. Going through customs always took a long time anyway.

"Return home," she instructed the vehicle, and watched as it merged into traffic and zoomed away.

A baggage droid approached. "Flight number?"

Penelope tapped a code into her PerComm and transmitted the info to the droid's device.

"You're headed for the International Shuttle Port in Sector Five, connecting to Diplomatic Charter Flight zeta rho nine five nine seven zero." His simulated voice sounded more computerized than her PeeVee's. Although the robots smelled like plastic, because they could _appear_ so lifelike, the Department of Artificial Intelligence had mandated the stilted voice programs as extra assurance no one would mistake them for human.

"Correct," she replied.

"Checking your luggage through?"

"Yes."

The droid attached an electronic tracking marker to her bag and slung it onto a conveyor. It disappeared into the building, where it would be scanned for explosives and contraband before being sprayed with decontaminant to prevent the possibility of spreading a Terran contagion to an alien planet. "You may proceed," he said.

"Thank you."

"Gratitude is not required. I am a droid. I am performing the function for which I was programmed."

"Oh, well, all right then." She hefted her carry-on more securely over her shoulder. "Have a nice day." Penelope dismissed the droid.

"I do not understand."

Penelope felt like an idiot. Of course, he— _it_ —didn't. "You may return to your duties."

The droid spun on its heel and marched to an arriving PeeVee.

Inside the terminal, passengers hairpinned in a huge line.

"All shuttle port personnel and passengers stand clear," announced a computer voice over the audio system. "Prepare for detonation in five seconds. Five, four, three, two, one."

_Pufft!_

A muted boom could be heard as someone's luggage was blown up.

That explained the lines. If a baggage scanner detected contraband or anything suspicious, the computer sealed the scanner chamber and destroyed the luggage. No questions asked. Not before detonation, anyway. For minor contraband, the passenger simply lost his or her possessions. If a serious breach occurred, he or she would be detained, interrogated, and charged.

Diplomatic credentials allowed Penelope to skirt the backed-up general passenger lanes. In Dignitary Express, she transmitted her ID and ticket numbers. The gate opened, and she entered the security hall.

She shoved her PerComm into her carry-on and placed it on the conveyor leading to the combined weapons/decontamination imaging unit for inorganic materials. With unease, she recalled the _pufft_. Had a terrorist been caught with an explosive device, or had some gray-haired grandma going to visit her grandchildren tried to smuggle unauthorized baked goods aboard?

Penelope had carefully followed the packing rules. Reportedly, scanners erred only .01 % of the time, but, with tens of millions of passengers, that still meant many innocent people had their bags blown up. Her PerComm contained all essential professional and personal data. She shuddered to contemplate the chaos if the machine blew up the device.

Diplomatic status couldn't help her avoid the security checks. A droid motioned for her to proceed, and she stepped into the organic matter unit. She placed her feet on the marks and raised her arms shoulder height. "Please remain still," the computer voice ordered. A _whirring_ ensued as the machine conducted a full-body scan to detect known weaponry.

Whirring stopped.

Penelope closed her eyes. Though she'd braced for it, she flinched when the decontamination spray hit. Her semipermeable one-piece travel uniform, which all passengers, regardless of status, were required to wear, allowed the mist to pass through to her skin. Formfitting, the unitard had no pockets of any kind, and the composite fibers rendered it invisible to the X-ray eyes of the weapons detector. To the machine, she was naked. Humans and other living creatures couldn't see through the fabric, but she often wondered if electronic-eyed droids could. Not that a robot would care.

"All clear," announced the voice, and a panel spun open, allowing her to step out of the chamber.

Flight Authority insisted the spray left no residue, but Penelope always felt icky after being hosed down. However, she was relieved to be reunited with her carry-on, handed to her by an android. "Have a good flight," he said.

"Thank you."

"Gratitude is not required—"

"Just say, 'you're welcome.'" The Department of Artificial Intelligence should reprogram their language banks. Perhaps she should speak to her mother about that! Let the ex-president use her almighty influence for something positive.

"You're welcome," the droid parroted.

Penelope waited in the dignitary lounge until they called her flight. A human, this time, not a robot, verified her identity and flight credentials, and she boarded. "Upper deck, Ambassador," the agent directed her.

On commercial moon jumpers, the first-class passenger pods, which reclined to sleeping berths during simulated night, were tighter and more cramped than those on long distance shuttles or special charters, which she would have been on if she hadn't changed her travel arrangements to circumvent her mother's directive. Fortunately, it was mere twenty-four-hour flight to the International Shuttle Port, and at least she wasn't crammed into economy, where two passengers shared the space reserved for one in first class.

While the craft loaded, she settled in and activated the viewing screen to see outside. Morning had broken, the sun casting a yellow glow on the horizon. No doubt her early bird mother had risen by now. Was she jogging around the health center track? Mikala was a stickler for regular exercise—and time management. She could be reviewing her PerComm messages. With any hope, her meddling parental unit would be occupied with the former. Penelope wasn't sure when Mikala would be notified of the itinerary change, only that she would. If her mother got the notice before the shuttle lifted off...

_Come on! How long does it take to board this thing? Let's get a move on._

Once they launched, she'd be safe. Until then? Anything could happen. She would die of humiliation if agents arrived and escorted her off the craft. The husband pretense probably would have fooled the Xenians. And if the bodyguard could remain unobtrusive, she could have tolerated his or her presence.

Trouble was, they had a habit of butting in and taking over. As the former First Daughter, she'd been protected _up a wall_ the entire time her mother had been in office and they lived in the executive residence. And some agents took their jobs more seriously than others.

Like Hardass Mann, as she'd nicknamed one of the agents who'd been assigned to her. Though his mirrored dark glasses had hidden his eyes, he'd managed to convey his disapproval quite clearly. He'd never given her a chance; he'd expected her to misbehave from the outset. Of course, previous agents might have warned him of her hijinks, but still. He could have waited to judge for himself.

Tall, muscular, never a hair out of place. Unshakeable confidence. She might have considered him handsome if he hadn't been so, so, _disagreeable_. Not that he'd ever said much. No, he'd spoken as little as possible, despite her attempts to engage him in conversation. Agent Brock Mann had personified cold professionalism. Droids had more personality.

That didn't excuse the lies she'd told. One rebellious teenager shouldn't have the power to ruin a man's career and livelihood. She wished she could forget him—and the wrong she'd committed. She had hated living in the executive residence, being denied all the normal activities young people took for granted. Teenagers were supposed to be impulsive and spontaneous, but she couldn't even hang out with friends without their visit being prescreened weeks in advance. You couldn't have _normal_ when you came from a political family. So she'd mutinied against the limitations.

Hardass Mann hadn't let her get away with anything. Previous bodyguards hadn't been as diligent. She'd always gotten the impression agents considered her an undesirable detail. Had Agent Mann pissed off a higher-up and gotten her as punishment duty?

Penelope rubbed a hand over her face, but her guilt could never be scrubbed away. She'd heard her mother had intervened on Mann's behalf, but she'd never seen or heard about him again. Penelope had been grounded for the better part of a year, but with all the usual restrictions her mother's executive status conferred on her behavior, the difference was scarcely noticeable. It had been an odd mix of relief and shame to be banned from state dinners and other functions.

"Prepare for launch," announced the shuttle's computer, and Penelope let out a sigh. Now she could focus on her job. She held up her arms as the safety restraints activated and belted her to the seat.

"Launch in ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven..." As the computer counted down, she gripped the armrest until her knuckles blanched. Once you got into space, you were okay, but, even in this day and age, much could go wrong during launch and landing. Breaking through and reentering a planet's gravitational force still came with risks.

And discomfort.

The shuttle took off, and the G-force flattened her against her seat, as if someone double her weight had suddenly thrown himself on top of her.

Like Agent Mann had done once. The First Family had attended a photo op at a public festival. Shots—or some kind of explosion—had split the air. Agent Mann had pushed her to the ground and flung himself on top of her—all two hundred fifty pounds of masculine, testosterone-infused brawn. Lying beneath him, she'd become aware of him as a man, and not just her omnipresent irritating shadow.

He'd helped her up. His dark glasses had fallen off, and she'd gotten to see his eyes for once. For a moment, she thought they'd shared a special connection, but, if anything, after that moment he'd become colder, more remote, more of a stickler for rules. Nothing she'd tried had been able to crack his hard shell of professionalism. She couldn't be good enough—or bad enough—to get him to see her as a woman.

How old had he been? Twenty-four, maybe? A year younger than she was now. He had had a good start on his career, only to have it yanked away by a vindictive teenage girl.

Through the viewing monitor, she watched Terra recede as they powered through the atmosphere and escaped the gravitational pull. Only after they entered outer space did she physically relax. Forcing the memories from her thoughts was much harder.

You can buy _Stranded with the Cyborg _here. For more information check here.

Why write a science fiction romance involving cyborgs? First, I fell in love with cyborgs, who to me, represent the ultimate alpha male in that that they have brawn _and_ brains. They are humans who have been modified with computer and/or machine parts. They're rough, tough warriors—the kind of guys you want on your side when things get dangerous. Second, I wanted to bring _romance_ back into the romance genre. I've read a lot of books where the alpha "hero" is total jerk, a self-centered a-hole. That's not romantic or sexy to me. I want a hero who is truly _heroic_. Not perfect, you understand, but who is honorable and who demonstrates that he cares for the heroine. So my heroes are cyber operatives with a clandestine paramilitary force. The tagline for the Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance series is "Saving the girl and galaxy one mission at time." What are they saving the girl and the galaxy from? That leads to the third reason. I was influenced by present day terrorism. Although there are other threats and villains in the series, the main one is Lamis-Odg, a planet of religious terrorists who are seeking to extend their reach in the galaxy.

USA Today bestselling author Cara Bristol has published more than twenty-five erotic romance titles, including contemporary and science fiction romance. No matter what the subgenre, one thing remains constant: her emphasis on character-driven seriously hot erotic stories with sizzling chemistry between the hero and heroine. Cara has lived many places in the United States, but currently lives in Missouri with her husband. She has two grown stepkids. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading and traveling.

You can find out more about Cara here:

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# The Pilot by Diane Burton

# About The Pilot

Sparks fly around the Outer Rim when rule-bound Administrator Trevarr Jovano clashes with free-spirited space pilot Celara d'Enfaden. She must deliver her cargo or lose her ship to a loanshark. Having lost her last shipment to pirates masquerading as Coalition Inspectors, Celara refuses to be duped again. Determined to make an example of those who flaunt the law, Trevarr seizes her ship. Then, they must work together to rescue her brother and find his wife's murderer.

# Sample of The Pilot

**C HAPTER 1**

_"Cargo transport, this is Coalition Security. Are you in need of assistance?_ "

Celara d'Enfaden raced up the vertical ladder from the hold. She leapt across a corner of the open hole in the cabin floor. Reaching under the cabinet above the aft bunk, she hit the switches that closed the hatch and started the exhaust fan. Finally, she whipped off her protective mask only to gag at the residual stench from the cargo. She took one look at the perma-film viewscreen across the bow of her starship and her heart stopped.

A Volpian cruiser nearly filled the screen. After the first hail in Universal, the deep male voice repeated the offer in different languages, even Menacan, Celera's first language.

"Arjay," she called. "We've got company."

Her boots clattered on the floor's metal plating as she raced to the cockpit. She vaulted over the arm of the pilot's chair, narrowly avoiding her copilot as he crawled out from under the instrument panel.

She hit switches to power up the sublights. It would take time to bring all systems back online—time they didn't have. "Sure hope you fixed that accelerator."

"It is only a temporary measure."

As if they had all the time in the galaxy, Arjay straightened his blond hair back into its normal perfectly-coifed appearance before brushing dust from the viridian-green uniform favored by space crews in the Central District. Ever fastidious, he refused to wear the roomy dun-colored shirt and trousers of a true indie, like she did.

"Quit primping and get us out of here."

He settled into the seat next to her. "We are leaving? They offered to help us."

"Remember what happened last time?" Her fingers flew across the instrument panel's touchpads.

Arjay's fingers flew faster. "Are they pirates?"

"Of course. Where in Lexol's Fire did they come from? And why didn't the proximity alarm go off?"

"Without further investigation, I would not know." He didn't stop his computations. "Volpian cruisers do not have shrouding capabilities. However, the ship appears new. It may be an experimental model."

A siren pierced the small cabin. "About time," she muttered before switching off the alarm.

Arjay brought the primary energizing coil online. Not for the first time she thanked the Spirits he was her copilot. He didn't need to be told what to do. That made up for his primping.

_"Cargo transport. I repeat, this is Coalition Security. Identify yourself."_ The pirate's voice carried the ring of authority.

For a half sec, she had misgivings. What if they _were_ Coalition Security? If she didn't obey, she would be in deep horse pucky. But she'd been tricked before by pirates claiming to be Coalition Security. No way were they getting her cargo. If that happened, she would be in even deeper trouble. She'd gone into serious debt to replace the cargo the first pirates stole. If she lost this load, she would lose more than her investment. Her starship was the collateral securing her loan.

She'd taken a chance shutting down in the middle-of-nowhere space to fix the sluggish sublight accelerator. But there wasn't a convenient planet—let alone a repair station—in this sector of the Rim. Pirates zeroed in on wounded prey faster than Terran jackals.

"What if they are not pirates?" Arjay said. "Their offer could be genuine. The ship might, indeed, be Coalition Security."

She grimaced. "Great minds think alike."

"That is rather frightening since mine is the superior intellect."

"Stick it in your ear, Arjay. Let's get my baby up and running. We need to haul ass."

"I am lodging a formal protest. If you must record the entertainment signals emanating from a primitive planet, please refrain from using its disgusting colloquialisms."

"Wassamadder, Arjay. You don't like Terran slang?"

As usual, she sat with her feet tucked under her in the roomy zircan leather chair built more for burly pilots than small fems. If need be, she could easily rise up on her knees to reach keypads across the instrument panel. Besides she hated dangling her feet.

Arjay, who always sat rigidly upright, continued with start-up procedures.

_"What is your cargo and destination?"_ the pirate demanded. _"Respond or prepare to be boarded."_

"Over my dead body you'll board my ship." With the sublight engines almost back online, in another min or two they could blow this pop stand.

"It is not customary for the Coalition to disguise its Security vessels by removing identification markers," Arjay said thoughtfully. "Even so, they always use an official communications channel, which this ship is not. Consequently, I am ninety-six point three percent certain that is not Coalition Security. It could be a trap."

_"Cargo transport, this is your last warning. Respond or be boarded for inspection."_

The pirate vessel, which had been stationary, began moving closer.

"I lost my last load to you pirates. I am not losing another."

She shoved juice into the primary energizing coils. When her transport, _d'Enfaden's Thermopylae_ , responded with lethargy, she glared at Arjay. "I thought you fixed the accelerator."

"I beg your pardon." He always got huffy when he perceived insult. "Without a fully-equipped facility, complete repair is not possible."

She smacked the control panel. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon."

"She responds to a gentle touch," Arjay admonished. "Just like the majority of your gender." He touched two pads on the instrument panel. "You may try again. Gently."

While the Volpian cruiser steadily advanced, the accelerator hiccupped before engaging.

"You have full power," he announced with satisfaction.

The pirate ship moved in closer, aligning its docking port with hers.

"Hang onto your hat." She spiraled the agile _Thermopylae_ under the belly of the cruiser. And her stomach took five secs to catch up.

His complexion, a shade darker than her fair one, turned a sickly shade of green. "You must give advanced notice before attempting to evade a ship intent on docking."

With a laugh, she goosed the sublight accelerator past standard limit. "Who said anything about _attempting_ to evade?"

"You do not seriously think you can outrun a Volpian cruiser? Rega d'Enfaden, that ship can achieve speed three times faster—"

"Arjay, how long have you known me?"

The engine protested the abuse she inflicted but did not falter. The cruiser would certainly win a long-distance race with her small transport, but not a sprint. A little more time and she'd be home free.

"According to Universal Time, I have been in your service for two years, thirteen months, sixty-two days, seventy—"

She blew out an exasperated breath. "The question was rhetorical. I hate the term _Rega_. I've told you to call me Celara." They'd had this argument before. She never won.

"I could never do that. _Rega_ is the proper term. You do own me."

Though technically her copilot was correct, she considered him more a companion than her property. "Okay, just a few more secs and we'll lose them."

His response came out between a rasp and a groan. "Surely, you are not going into that asteroid field."

"'Don't call me Shirley'," she quoted from a Terran vid. If she didn't need both hands to control the ship, she would've rubbed them in glee. "Those pirates won't follow."

"I recall an aphorism popular on Terra. Something about _famous last words_."

"Arjay, you are such a poop."

_"Fair warning, cargo transport,"_ the pirate said. _"Attempt to escape and we will fire on you."_

"Did he say _attempt_?" She grinned as she eased up on the throttle and dodged small asteroids at the outer edge of the field.

"Come on, Trev. You're not going in there, are you?"

Trevarr Jovano leaned forward in the pilot's chair, alert for debris. He and his friend, Laning Servary, had been on a shake-down cruise for Laning's new ship. When Trevarr had offered him the position of Chief Security Officer of Malcon Sector, he'd thrown in a newer, faster ship as incentive. He'd taken the controls a short time before sighting what he thought was a disabled cargo transport. With the way that vessel was fleeing, Trevarr was certain the pilot had something to hide.

He gave his friend a calculated smile. "He dares me to follow."

Laning chuckled. "You never could resist a challenge."

Trevarr did not ease off the accelerator of the Volpian cruiser. He just grinned.

"Glad to see the old you is back."

_Laning and his cryptic remarks._ "What do you mean?"

"You have been one by-the-book administrator since you got to Mag Prime."

Even though the cruiser was less agile than his personal ship, Trevarr easily dodged flying debris. His new position as Malcon Sector Administrator required him to bring order to this region of the Outer Rim. And, by the Divine One, he would fulfill his responsibility.

"Start out the way you mean to go on."

"Was that your daddy's motto or the Evil Queen's? Yeow!" Laning shrank against the copilot's seat. "You'd better not get a scratch on my new ship."

"I have asked you not to call her that." Trevarr held no hope that Laning would refrain from disparaging the President of the Coalition. "Furthermore, Chief Rep Jovano thought the term _Daddy_ sickeningly sentimental."

"Never knew how lucky I was with the parents I had until I met yours. They—"

"Fire a shot across the transport's bow," Trevarr cut off the unnecessary reminder about his parents. "Show the pilot we mean business."

"Why? He's done nothing wrong."

"He is running, a sure sign of guilt. He's a smuggler. Why else would he flee?"

"Gee, I don't know. How about fear?"

"Fear of discovery of his illegal cargo is more like it. I want that ship stopped."

"You might have a point." Laning fired the lazin cannon and splintered a small asteroid in front of the transport.

The little ship easily dodged the fragments. Trevarr's frustration with the pilot's silence and failure to stop warred with admiration for the pilot's flying ability.

"Just like old times, hey, Trev? You and me together again. I've missed ya, buddy."

Trevarr would never admit how much he missed his friend. As a child, he had learned that expressing emotions was improper behavior for the heir to a political dynasty.

He dodged a rock the size of the presidential residence on Bricaldia. "Your new ship has the maneuverability of a house. I wish we had my Agilean."

"If we were in your ship, you would never have entered this asteroid field. Do you want me to fire again on that— Would you watch where you're going?"

An asteroid momentarily filled the viewscreen, obscuring the little cargo hauler. Trevarr avoided it. "Easy there, son," he mocked. "You have been out on the Frontier for eight years. I thought you would have nerves of ferranite by now. Did you get fat and complacent over in Willand Sector?"

"Hey, I resent that. So do you want me to fire or—"

"Yes, fire another round. But try not to destroy that ship under a hail of rock."

Laning grinned. "That would certainly get his attention."

"Holy horse pucky. That pilot has nerve." Celara gave the pirate credit for audacity, if not sense, for following her into the asteroid field. Hauling cargo between Outer Rim colonies across three sectors brought her through this area often. Only the most foolhardy—or desperate—used the field as a shortcut. She'd been desperate before.

She skimmed beneath an asteroid that could have covered the entire metropolis of Eleganza, capital of Bricaldia. "Are the pirates still following?"

Arjay gave her a haughty look, his attempt along with his speech at imitating Bricaldian aristocracy. "You have asked that question every thirty-six secs. The answer has not changed."

"Keep your eyes peeled for—"

The ship lurched.

"Whoa." Rising on her knees, she scanned the sensor array that started on her left and continued beneath the viewscreen. The aft sensor was lit. "I could've sworn I had a good twenty-centimeter clearance—"

The ship lurched again. Now the aft sensor flashed furiously.

"I believe they are firing at us."

"Ya think?" She wrenched the rudder control, rolling away from another lazin blast and barely missed a little asteroid. The sphere might be puny, but at her speed it could inflict a lot of damage. Celara had worked too hard for too long to lose her ship to a chunk of rock. She zigzagged between the smaller asteroids. The cruiser continued to follow.

"I'll say one thing, Arjay. The pirates are persistent. Could they be Hallart's men?"

"I regularly scan the media as well as the pilots' network for happenings along our trade routes. I have not encountered evidence of Hallart's organization in this sector."

That didn't mean the gangster wasn't sticking his tentacles into Mal Sec. In the aft scanner, Celara saw the cruiser try to avoid a collision with another rock. The Volpian ship spun out of control before she lost sight of it.

"Look, a cave," Arjay called out. "I am ninety-eight point seven percent certain the cruiser is too big to enter."

"I think they're in trouble. Start scanning." She couldn't search the scanners for the missing cruiser and avoid a collision herself.

"I do not understand. I thought you wanted to escape, not find, the pirates."

"I would never leave a stranded ship."

"By the Matriarch's left tit! Are you trying to wreck my new ship?"

Trevarr wrestled with the rudder to control the cruiser's pitch and yaw.

_"You there, claiming to be Coalition Security."_ The feminine voice was almost as big a surprise as tumbling around an asteroid field. _"Do you need help?"_

He struggled to regain control of the ship. Momentarily taking one hand off the controls, he opened the comm channel as Laning announced, "Looks like we're okay. A little scraped but—"

He shot Laning a warning look. "Cargo hauler. We are in need of your assistance."

"What's wrong with my ship? Is it in danger?"

Trevarr needed both hands to level out the cruiser. "No. But that cargo hauler will be when I catch him."

A female laugh came through the comm channel. _"Nice try, boys. You damn pirates aren't getting my load this time. I'm going with that first report. And a word of advice? Make sure you end communication before arguing between yourselves."_

She laughed again before ending communication with a click.

Laning leaned over to look at the comm display. "Sherd, Trev. Not only did you leave the channel open, you used the wrong one. It's no wonder that transport fled. You heard her. She thinks we're pirates. Give me back my ship."

After steadying the cruiser, he steered out of the asteroid field then relinquished control. _Was Laning right? Did the transport pilot actually believe they were pirates?_ That would explain why the ship fled. Still, it was suspicious that the pilot had not responded initially, if only to demand proof of authority.

"Looks like the damage is superficial," Laning grudgingly admitted after they finished running diagnostics. "No thanks to you. What in Lexol's Fire has gotten into you? This trip was supposed to be a little run around this region to see what my new ship could do. My ship that's so new the paint isn't dry. My _new_ ship that is now dented and scraped." Laning rarely lost his temper. He was in fine form now. "You damn-near got us killed. I'm too young to die and so are you."

Technically, he could have Laning disciplined for insubordination. But his anger over losing his quarry paled next to his anger at himself for his recklessness. "We could have caught that hauler."

"By claiming to be disabled? Have you forgotten distress signals are taken very seriously? Especially out here. Word gets around about sending a false distress signal and you can kiss off ever getting rescued when you need it."

"I wanted that ship. The pilot needs to be taught to heed orders."

"At what cost? By lying? Or does the end justify the means?"

"Of course not. However, independent pilots are not above the laws of the Coalition."

"Neither are you."

_Is that what I'm doing? Subverting the law to make a point?_ He had seen enough of that on the political scene during his years at Coalition Headquarters.

"There's something else you've forgotten, Trev. Indies come out to the Frontier to get away from Coalition laws and regulations. They're so blasted independent, the harder you push, the harder they push back."

"You have been out here too long. You are beginning to think like the inhabitants."

"Which is why you brought me from Willand Sec where I was perfectly content."

"You were getting soft over there. I need a Security Chief I can trust." Trevarr rubbed his eyes, burning from the strain of watching for debris and small asteroids.

To clear his vision, he got up and roamed the confines of the cabin, which was more spacious than a normal cruiser. He'd made sure his friend's ship was equipped with the latest technology as well as comfort. While getting a drink of water from the well-stocked galley, he used the time to think about his actions. Reluctantly, he admitted his determination to catch the transport pilot bordered on obsession—not exactly the sign of a man in control. When he returned to the cockpit, Laning had taken the pilot seat, an obvious indication of Trevarr's demotion to assistant.

Hoping to resume their earlier camaraderie, he said, "I am surprised the cargo hauler has a fem on board."

"It is rare, but she could be the pilot." Laning paused. "She had a sexy voice."

He thought so, too, but didn't respond. His friend's earlier rebuke bothered him. Was he trying to justify his methods to force the pilot to recognize Coalition authority? In an attempt to make restitution for his bad judgment in entering the asteroid field, he said, "I will repair your ship when we return to Vesteron."

"You're the best mechanic I know, buddy," Laning drawled, his anger gone. "But I'd rather get a drink to celebrate our survival."

Trevarr ignored the comment on survival. Though guilty of poor judgment, he would not grovel for forgiveness. "You are no better at holding your liquor now than when you were twenty. Remember that night we arrived at Vesteron?"

"Don't remind me. I had a hangover that wouldn't quit. And it was all your fault."

"You blame me because your body still cannot tolerate alcohol as well as mine?"

"The curse of my ancestors. C'mon, Trev. Let's go to Astron. It's not that far. There's a great tavern there. The food is top-notch and the barkeep is gorgeous. She doesn't water down the liquor, either. I promise, only one drink."

"We are returning to Magnos Prime. If that cargo hauler made it through the asteroid field, Vesteron Colony is the closest port. A few of your shots actually hit that ship and it will have to put in for repairs. I will teach that indie to heed orders."

"Trevarr." Laning shook his head sadly. "You were more fun a few mins ago, even if you almost destroyed my ship."

"You may refrain from continual recriminations. I said I will repair the damage."

"There you go, again, sounding like a stiff-ass Bric."

"It is the nature of Bricaldians to speak precisely."

"Ah, Trev, I keep telling you." He set a course for Vesteron. "You gotta loosen up or the Rim will kill you."

_The Rim. A place of fantasies and dreams. Dreams that never came true. Or when they did, they became nightmares._

"Remember how we used to talk about coming out here?" Laning broke into his thoughts. "We were going to explore the planets and make our fortune."

With a rueful smile, Trevarr recalled their boarding school pact. Eight-year-old Laning's enthusiasm encouraged him to believe a life existed beyond the tradition of Jovano descendants. He had gotten caught up in Laning's dreams and dared to dream himself. For a while.

He was uncertain when he had put aside the fantasies of his youth. Maybe after his single year on the Frontier when his father had him reassigned to a colleague's staff at Coalition Headquarters. No, at the time he still thought he would have another opportunity. Gradually, amid the monotony of political service, his dream disappeared.

"I can't believe you finally came back to the Rim," Laning enthused.

"As if I had a choice," he muttered, then immediately regretted it. He had not been ready to reveal that. Even to his friend.

"Don't sound so excited. I might get the impression you don't want to be out here."

"No. I do not."

"What do you mean you don't want to be out here? This is great. You and me. Bombing around the Rim. What could be better?" Laning didn't wait for an answer. "Are you sure you don't want to go to Astron? I can easily set a new course. Wait until you see Fortuna's. Best pleasure house in Mal Sector. Gorgeous fems." He whistled.

Pleasure houses held no appeal. For the past five years, he had only wanted one female. Davinna. His life partner.

"Why don't you want to be here?" Laning repeated.

After thinking long about answering, he admitted that he owed his friend the courtesy of a reply. "I was so close. So close to finding Davinna's killer."

You can buy _The Pilot_here.

I've always written about strong heroines, so a series about strong women on the frontier of space seemed natural to me. I'd finished the _Switched_ trilogy, and wanted to write standalone books that were only connected by locale—the Outer Rim, a vast place of dreams and adventures. Sounds like fun, right? In reality, only the strong survived. _The Pilot_ is the first book in the Outer Rim series. My heroine, Celara, has had to fight for everything she has. She's small and feisty and refuses to kowtow to anyone, even the local administrator who confiscates her ship for disobeying his command. Celara tries different tactics to get her ship back: she yells, cajoles, flatters, everything but begs. Though she's too proud to beg, she isn't above making a deal. I admire her gutsiness and her refusal to back down.

You can buy _The Pilot_here.

Diane Burton combines her love of mystery, adventure, science fiction and romance into writing romantic fiction. She is the author of the science fiction romance _Switched_ and _Outer Rim_ series plus _One Red Shoe_ , a romantic suspense, and the Alex O'Hara PI mystery series. She is also a contributor to the anthology _How I Met My Husband_. Diane and her husband live in Michigan. They have two children and three grandchildren.

You can find out more about Diane here:

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# Stark Pleasure by Cathryn Cade

# About Stark Pleasure

Can she survive the perils of the galaxy on her wits... or will she have to use her body?

Kiri te Nawa will do anything to escape the perilous streets of New Seattle, Earth II and find the treasure for which she searches the galaxy, even become the mistress of space magnate Logan Stark. But is he her savior, or simply the man who wants to own her sexually?

Just when she is ready to submit more than her body to this powerful, charismatic man, she's kidnapped and thrown into her worst nightmare. Will he search for her, or believe she's betrayed him with an old lover?

LodeStar Series, Book 1. Set in the futuristic galaxy of The Orion Series.

# Sample of Stark Pleasure

**C hapter One**

New Seattle Spaceport, Earth II

Kiri te Nawa eyed the holovid marquee across the concourse. Her insides knotted with nerves. Starfall, which meant the display changed from Quasi-ball to the big event, StarLotto. The game that was going to solve all her problems—she hoped.

Intent on the brilliant turquoise levitating ball, she didn't notice her customer until he spoke.

"Buy a Lotto marker?" His deep, smooth voice was traced with amusement.

With an effort, Kiri focused on the man standing at her counter. It was polished to a gleaming black—no thanks to the Lower Aquarian who had trailed slime all over it earlier in the evening and left a stench. She'd broken out the big sprayer she kept for emergencies like Bartian visits.

This man was as smooth as her counter, in the metaphoric sense. He certainly wouldn't slime anything he touched. She had to look up to meet his gaze and his broad shoulders blocked a chunk of her view. Unlike many residents of Earth II, his skin was clear and healthy, his gaze direct under his heavy, arching brows.

For a few secs Kiri gazed back, his words a pleasant echo in her mind. Wow. His eyes were the dark gray of the heavy clouds that always hung over the Sound. Only when they narrowed slightly in speculation was she jerked from her reverie.

"What?" She straightened, her face heating. Smooth, Kiri, very smooth. Gonna drool and slime him like the Lo-Aq? For one crazy instant she visualized herself offering to spray him like her counter.

"Yeah, I have a marker," she said, finally remembering his question. Her voice, always husky, cracked with embarrassment.

Then a flash of turquoise over his shoulder caught her eye. She held up one finger, her gaze riveted on the display over the gambling kiosk, heart pounding hard, as if it was trying to climb out of her throat.

"Excuse me one sec. You think about which coffee you'd like. Got some new Pangaean dark in today. My flavors are all organic, no synthetics."

He ignored her suggestion, turning to watch with her as numerals began to pop out in long, glittering rows on the ball—Earth numbers around the center, Galactic numerals just below, and the symbols of other planets arrayed above and below. Some of them looked like irregular blobs.

Kiri took a breath and exhaled. This was it—the day she'd planned for.

"One," she counted under her breath. Without looking, she pulled her comlink from the pocket of her trim black smock and flicked it on. The unit sputtered and she smacked it with the heel of her hand. "Seven."

She glanced up and back, checking the numbers against her marker, displayed electronically on the tiny screen of her comlink. Although after spending the last three days figuring the probabilities, she knew them by heart. They'd danced through her dreams, luring her from sleep.

Sleep she needed after a week of rioting near the docks, accompanied by the faraway thump of flashbombs and tube rockets. Night after night she woke in a cold sweat, wondering if that last explosion had been nearer to her tiny apartment.

She'd awakened in a sweat this morning, too, but from excitement this time. If her plan worked, she'd be able to afford a new apartment. Not much larger, but if she could sleep safely and shower-dry in a clean tube, she wouldn't mind. She was tough, but not too tough to appreciate that.

"Three... nine. Four, come on, four. Yes! Just one more..."

The concourse rumbled as a big transport took off overhead. Kiri ignored it, her comlink shaking in her hand, damp with nerves. She rose up on her toes, gazing raptly at the holoscreen.

The final number gleamed. Kiri blinked, unable at first to believe what she saw. "Eleven?" She looked again. "No, it can't be."

It should have been a ten shining at the end of the row. Around her, time stilled. Her customer moved, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against her counter. The coffee machine sputtered as boiling water steamed in the well. A Serpentian female glided past on the concourse, her red-gold snakeskin suit glimmering in the lights. Travelers passed the other way chattering in Galactic, ciphers moving through their own world.

As their ranks parted, movement across the concourse caught Kiri's eye. The small, crouching figure of a Vulpean lurked behind the counter of the gambling kiosk. His mouth opened in a sly grin, sharp teeth gleaming as he watched her. As their gazes met, his beady eyes widened and he ducked behind the rack of cheap fabricated snacks on his counter.

"You fanged pile of stinking skrog manure," she said through her teeth. "You cheated me!"

She threw back the end of her counter and bolted through the opening. Dashing across the concourse, she dodged a family of Barillians, leaping over their large luggage hovie-cart. One of the adults trumpeted an indignant protest through the lavender pipes protruding from his head.

"You cheated!" she shouted at the cowering Vulpean. "Come out here, you little rat! I'll rip my credit out of your mangy hide. You can't do this to me!"

The Vulpean leapt aside with an agility that belied his rotund frame. Just as Kiri reached the opening of the bay that held his kiosk, a network of glaring electrical charges hissed to life—a powerful security grid, capable of repelling even a huge Argonautian.

Kiri would have slammed straight into it, but a powerful arm clamped around her waist, yanking her back. She found herself hanging off the floor, held against a hard body. Electricity from the grid inches away crackled in her short hair and prickled the bare skin of her face and hands.

Her rescuer had saved her from injury, even disfigurement. And not all the heat was coming from the grid. She hadn't been held by anyone for months, and by a man this strong? Maybe never.

Not that she had time for that now. Squinting through the hissing glare of the grid, she could just make out the Vulpean hiding in the shadows.

"Let me go." She kicked and twisted against her captor's grip, beguiling as it was. "I'll kill the cheater." She'd figure out some way to get to him.

"Stop." He was already bearing her back across the concourse. "You've attracted enough attention. The port authority will be here in a few secs."

He was right. The Barillian family had stopped to watch, their young wide-eyed. Other travelers were slowing as well. Humans, Serpentians and even a few Mauritians spilled out of the bar next door, grinning avidly at the disturbance. Kiri glared back, daring anyone to ridicule her.

"Give 'em trouble, girlie," one of the women called in a whiskey-soaked voice.

"I'll help you," a Mauritian added, waving his heavy ale mug. "We'll all help you." The bar crowd laughed raucously.

"That gambling stand is crooked," she protested. "The Vulpean will be arrested soon—you just watch and see."

One of the Barillians trilled in disgust. The family trooped away. A stocky man who looked like an off-duty Space Forces officer shook his head, grinning at her and her captor, but several of the bar's denizens moved further out onto the concourse, muttering amongst themselves.

"Quiet, you little fool." Her rescuer's arm tightened around her waist. "Do you want to start a riot? The city is on edge, and those drunks are ready for trouble."

He set Kiri down before her coffee stand and pushed her through the opening in the counter. The end slammed down, the stranger crowding inside with her. Kiri turned on him, taking care to stay clear of the steaming coffee machine.

"But he cheated me! The port authority had better arrive, or I'm calling them myself."

"Why, because the random assortment of numbers you expected didn't come up? Let me guess, you've been watching it all week, and you had it all figured out—couldn't lose."

"But I... I did have it figured. I've been watching it for more than a week—for fourteen turns."

"And he was watching you. What in seven hells were you thinking, gambling there? Humans can't trust a Vulpean, you should know that. They consider us easy marks." He didn't add 'for obvious reasons', but then he didn't need to.

Kiri lifted her hands to her face, battling the urge to sink to the floor and weep. She'd gambled money she didn't even have.

She was so quarked.

"I've been where you are," he added more gently. "And I know you're fighting mad, but violence won't help, just sink you deeper."

Yeah, he might have been this desperate once, but he clearly wasn't now. She wasn't even sure she had enough credit to buy next week's supply of coffee, unless she went without protein tubes, or sold herself along with her coffee. She got plenty of those kinds of offers too.

Even going to Tal Darkrunner would be better than that. At least he wouldn't expect her to share her body with other men. He was the jealous type.

She had other friends, but none with credit to spare except Illyria, also her coffee broker, and Illyria's father watched every credit with a mean eye. Her narrow array of options set panic beating inside her chest like the wings of something too large that wanted to devour her from the inside.

And she still had her uninvited guest to deal with.

Kiri lowered her hands far enough to look up at the male crowding her coffee stand. Sure enough, he was still watching her, and it wasn't with the abstracted kindness of a good-doer. His gaze held enough latent heat to run that security grid. Maybe he'd help her. And if he wanted something for it, well, he was certainly the most attractive man she'd seen in a long time.

She tried a smile. A poor effort, given the winged thing inside her, now hissing with a voice darker than the constant fog outside the space port. It fed on her twinge of shame at even considering hitting up a stranger for money.

"Thanks. I guess you kept me from getting fried. But you must have things to do, so..."

When his eyes crinkled slightly with amusement, her panic veered in a new direction.

"Wait. You're not some uppity-up in the space port authority, are you? I wasn't really going to kill the Vulpean." Well, she was, but not publicly.

"Do I look like a helmet to you?"

She let her gaze drift down over him again. For the first time she noticed the charcoal gray business suit tailored to his lean, powerful frame. "Um, no. You don't. So who are you?"

He smiled, creases grooving his taut cheeks. He had a beautiful mouth, with thin, sensitive lips that belied the ruthless set of his jaw. His teeth gleamed white and straight. The twinkle in his eyes sent a curl of heat straight inside her. Amazing, considering her turmoil. This guy was truly a powerful force.

"I'm the man who's going to take you to dinner. Close down your machines, and let's go."

"Why do you want to take me to dinner?"

"Maybe I need a barista." He waited by the opening in her counter as she finished tidying the area, cleaned her hands on a moist wipe and tossed it away.

She grinned over her shoulder, charmed in spite of her turmoil. "No, you don't. Excuse me, I need to close that. I go out the back."

"Not today. My cruiser is waiting across the concourse. Come."

A private cruiser? Who was this guy? She planted her feet, facing him. "I'm not going anywhere with you until I know who you are. Name and credentials, please."

He gave her an approving look. "Wise of you to ask."

She shrugged. "Slavers have been out. And you don't look like one of those either, but..."

When a strange slider with no markings cruised slowly along her block for the third time in recent weeks, it had been the final impetus behind Kiri's reckless gamble. She had to get out of the port slums before she disappeared as well. The slavers had already taken more than she could bear to lose.

This man didn't look like a slave runner, but appearances could be deceptive.

Instead of answering her, he sauntered out onto the concourse, beckoned to her to follow him. When she did, he nodded toward a huge holovid screen hanging from the vaulted ceiling. The ever-present fog swirled high above, carrying the dank smells of cruiser exhaust, dirty streets and the mildew that pervaded the city, summer or winter.

Kiri frowned up at the display. A panoply of stars against the midnight of space swirled through a complicated pattern that became a gleaming white space cruise ship speeding toward a guiding star. As the ship neared the star, words became visible.

"'Fly LodeStar,'" she read aloud. "'Where the ride is as good as the destination.'" Starry. Like she had credit for a cruise.

The ship accelerated out of the hologram, and a group of beings in silver flight suits filled the screen. With muscular builds and direct gazes, they looked like the Intergalactic Space Forces pilots who came through the space port, tough and cool.

In their center stood her rescuer, the only one wearing business attire. And clearly the man in charge.

Kiri peered at the man waiting beside her. As arrogant as he was patient, those smoky quartz eyes fixed on her.

"That's you," she blurted. "You're..."

"Logan Stark." He bowed slightly. "And you are?"

"Kiri." She looked at the hand he held out and wiped hers surreptitiously on her smock before holding it out. "Kiri te Nawa." Quark, he had credentials all right, solid iridium.

His hand engulfed hers, warm and powerful. "Kiri," he repeated as if he were tasting it. "It suits you."

Her gaze locked with his. Was the gleam in his eyes that of a predator? Had he saved her so he could devour her himself? His grip tightened and she rocked forward onto her toes. Her knees trembled, the warmth of his hand arrowing deep inside her as if he was touching her far more intimately.

And although his gaze held hers instead of sliding down to catalogue her physical assets in the overt way of many males, she felt uneasily that he saw far more than she wanted him to. The lonely, vulnerable woman inside the veneer, starved for the warmth of a tender touch, for the knowledge that she belonged to someone.

Oh, quark, that was ridiculous. He was just a guy, a rich one. He wanted what all guys wanted from her, a quick fuck and someone to listen to them. And that was all she could hope for here, someone to make one night less empty and cold. She sure wouldn't be keeping warm with happy thoughts of how she'd invest her winnings.

But her dark humor was tinged with excitement, the kind she felt when she was about to leap. Much as she reminded herself she needed both feet firmly on the ground, sometimes she reached for stars that were out of her grasp. Sometimes it worked, like investing her savings into this stand, going indie.

Today's leap had been an epic fail. She'd been flung into empty space with nothing to grab onto. And she quarking hated this feeling. Played hell with her usual confidence.

Here was an escape from her current freefall. Later she'd figure how to get her credit out of the Vulpean. Because she would have it—she didn't care if what the little vermin had done was legal, no one cheated a te Nawa.

If it was only for herself, she'd tough it out, but she had another star to grasp. One which might be unreachable, but she'd never give up trying.

"Coming?" Logan Stark asked.

You can buy _Stark Pleasure_here.

The LodeStar series follows Logan Stark and his brothers through their adventures in finding and claiming their chosen mates. In their futuristic galaxy, they must battle space pirates, hostile aliens, jealous rivals, a dystopian Earth II, and the wild new planet of Frontiera. And the women themselves—these heroines are feisty and independent. I wrote this series for the sheer fun of living for a time—vicariously—in this exciting galaxy. And did I mention gadgets? I adore sci fi tech, and it shows up a lot in my Cade-iverse.

You can get your free copy of _Stark Pleasure_here.

You can find out more about Cathryn here:

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# Liberation's Kiss by Wendy Lynn Clark

# About Liberation's Kiss

_A beautiful exiled diplomat. A sexy android assassin. He'll sacrifice everything to protect her..._

**** Cressida wants to be perfect. The over-achieving daughter of a diplomat was groomed for a future in politics until she saw something she shouldn't have. Now her secrets could kill her entire family.

Xan is an android for the "benevolent" Robotics Faction. More specifically, he's a secret assassin for the all-powerful group, and his next assignment has made Cressida a target.

When a rogue agent severs Xan's connection to the faction, everything changes. Now he doesn't just want to protect Cressida; he wants to be with her.

As their feelings grow, a second assassin enters the mix. Cressida puts all her trust in Xan, even though no android has ever left the Robotics Faction... and survived.

_Liberation 's Kiss_ is the first book in a series of sci-fi romance novels. If you like sexy action romance like Anna Hacket's Hell Squad series, android movies like The Terminator, and nail-biting suspense, then you'll love Wendy Lynn Clark's sizzling roller coaster ride through space.

Join my New Releases newsletter and receive a free copy of _Liberation 's Kiss_ to start the thrilling love story today!

Click here to get started.

# Sample of Liberation's Kiss

**CHAPTER ONE**

Cressida had been hiding under her bed ever since the bombing had stopped.

Because after the bombing stopped, the robots would come.

And then she would die.

She shifted in the sunken room, stretching out first one aching leg, then the other. Her travel jumpsuit pulled tight in unfamiliar places, and her shoes pushed against her racks of inks, brushes, and papers. Although she had often retreated to the tiny study for peace, savoring a steaming cup of plum tea over the meditative strokes of her ancient calligraphy hobby, now the room pressed in on her like a prison.

She shifted again. Outside, the silence was profound. A distant myna bird cried, its sad voice echoing tremulously through her open windows on the moon's balmy, subtropical breeze. Despite her many wishes for quiet, now she would give anything for one more noisy, bustling, too-busy week juggling speaking engagements and hostessing the constant extraplanetary visitors to her parents' diplomatic residence.

Was that distant murmur really the shiver of leaves in the vine-strewn trees? Or was it a shuttle creeping ever closer?

Cressida took a deep breath and hugged her legs tight into her chest, struggling to calm.

Three days ago, her parents had performed a highly publicized departure, shooting through the wall of Nar Conglomerate warships and hopefully convincing everyone that they had taken their beloved twenty-six-year-old daughter away with them. It was a huge risk. But not from the Nar. The Nar were not particularly interested in two diplomats, no matter how famous their lineage.

No, the real risk was from one of the Nar's more secretive partners. The dark, mechanical underbelly that provided the Nar's technological superiority. The "harmless" Robotics Faction.

Her stomach growled piteously.

She straightened and poked her head over the edge of the marble floor. A layer of sand dusted the spacious tile, and a few dried bougainvillea blossoms curled near the front terrace. Cressida rose, creaking, to her feet and clambered out, ducking her head as she emerged. She stretched with a groan.

_Stay hidden. Stay quiet. Stay safe._

Cressida dropped low and crept to the serving table. She sniffed her dry wine goblet and pitcher, licked her finger, and dragged it through stale cake crumbs. The reprocessor in the kitchen could make any exotic food her parents' guests desired, but she had been cautioned against using it. One of the Nar's first actions would be to connect their backwater moon, Liberation VI, to the intergalactic networks. And then everything she did could be logged and used against her to cause her death.

She swallowed the crumbs on a dry throat.

Her parents' publicity effort had been a tactical ploy. But it must have failed. Their trusted family friend, General Vardis, had not arrived three days ago to smuggle Cressida away to safety. What should she do? The question ached in her spine.

Even though she wasn't supposed to, she sneaked to the front terrace. Crystal domes, white terraces, and floating statuary stretched down the long street. No commuter shuttles congested the turquoise-green sky. Her view was filled instead with reflected light from the stationary gas giant around which Liberation VI orbited.

It was gorgeous and frighteningly empty.

She receded from the terrace, crossed her bedroom, and padded nervously into the colonnaded hall. She angled herself in shadow of the giant copperwood twining a tall arch.

Below, the diplomatic courtyard unfolded, abandoned. The memory of its lively outdoor concerts, with buskers, dancers, and games, faded like a lost dream. The massive fountain in the center was baked dry. Stone storks and fishes gaped, open-mouthed, at the fate suddenly descended on them. Shadows crawled over the walls from the street.

Perhaps she was the only person left alive on the entire moon.

Oh, there was one person out. Two, actually. Across the courtyard, hidden in the street's shadow, a man and woman kissed in silhouette as if they had been drawn from a historic ink-wash book. Secret lovers, consumed by their passion, meeting without a care.

The woman caressed her lover's neck. Although Cressida couldn't see it, she imagined her full lips softening under his gentle insistence, her mouth opening, and their tongues twining. They murmured promises of body pressed to body and fantasies of hotter nights to come, tangled sheets, and a low rumble in his male chest. His hand caressed the swelling curves of her body as she gripped onto his muscular back. Exquisite, heart-shattering pleasure. And then afterwards, he gazed at her with a steady light in his dark eyes—or green eyes, or blue—as if she were his entire world. Desperately, wonderfully, perfectly united. That was how true lovers entangled in her dreams.

The distant kiss broke, and so did Cressida's fantasy, sliding from mouth-watering dream into bittersweet longing. She would never allow herself a lover, so long as her name remained on the Robotics Faction's mysterious, deadly Kill List.

Cressida hugged her elbows and withdrew. If those two were out, then others must be out as well, and if she had learned one thing from her shocking flight fourteen years ago, it was that she had to obey absolutely every rule. You never knew when you might accidentally offend an entity that you didn't even know had feelings.

She rested one hand against her bed, drumming up the will to crawl underneath again.

How spellbinding it would feel to kiss someone as the world disappeared around them. How decadently safe to shelter in a man's arms and not risk his life. How sinfully precious to drown in one molten hot, all-consuming, toe-curling night. And another, and another after that, and all of the nights for the rest of her life with the man who truly loved her. The man who worshipped her as his wife.

She still dreamed of a normal life, no matter how many years she passed in exile.

But dreams slipped away, unreliable as mist on a hot summer morning. Unreliable as the dream she'd be rescued and reunited with her parents already.

At least she could rely on her bed. The frame, built of Liberation VI's famous crystal rubilum bonded with the Nar's patented antigravity ore, would float through the collapse of a building just as smoothly as it had floated through the collapse of their lucrative trade partnership. Cressida descended to the safe hideaway underneath and hugged her travel satchel.

Rescue would come. In all her life, she had never lost to a contest of patience. Bravery, sometimes, rebelliousness, always, but never patience. Patience was her strength, her rock, her defining characteristic. So now, at the height of fear for herself and her family, she had to do the one thing she was best at.

She just had to wait.

Forty-eight seconds earlier, the Robotics Faction android known as Xan|Arch scaled the compound wall and dropped into the courtyard. The diplomatic residence spread out before him, silent as a held breath; his target would be located in her bedroom on the second floor, fourth room from the left. Her brain chip broadcast its identification in the local area network, like a susurration on his skin, radiating her presence to every receptor within two blocks. Target n81x positively acquired: Cressida Sarit Antiata.

His left hand hovered over the shatter-pistol, magnetically deactivated and attached to his thigh.

After he personally killed her, the moon's defense lasers would "malfunction" and obliterate everything within a quarter-mile. Evidence of his assassination would disappear, leaving the human worlds none the wiser about the Robotics Faction's involvement.

An assassination like this didn't come cheap. The Robotics Faction preferred to lease their technology openly to anyone who paid for it, impartial to human ideas of good, evil, or personal property law.

But everything carried a price tag. Raw metals, strategic bases. A woman's life.

He didn't particularly enjoy this assignment. A soldier with a "camaraderie" subtype like his was usually hired when an employer preferred bodies over "bots," and he blended in seamlessly with his temporary units and easily made "friends" of his so-called comrades. He was programmed to like people, and he "liked" getting along with them.

But the assassination order bored into his brain, clear and relentless. The target had to be eliminated. He had an assignment to complete.

Xan counted the colonnades and divided by the known rooms and average size. This backwater kept no accurate floor plans, not even of its governmental buildings.

He pressed to the shadowed wall, his boots crunching quietly against the crystal rubilum cobblestone. Odor sensors cataloged wild orchids clinging parasitically to their host trees. Higher humidity forced his internal regulator to produce cold-radiance. Otherwise, his largest biological organ, his millimeter-thick layer of human skin, would take over and evaporate sweat.

No one moved in the courtyard.

He centered on the estimated bedroom and determined his approach: leap to the branch of an enormous tree positioned against the colonnade, grasp the carvings jutting from the lower rail, and swing over the ledge into the hall. Then into the bedroom, one accurate head shot, and exit before the orbital malfunction reduced the entire street to ash.

He stepped out of shadow. Reflected light momentarily blinded his optical sensors. His quadriceps tensed to run.

A voice to his lower right stopped him. "Now, what's an x-class doing on a nice little moon like this one?"

He wheeled to face the speaker.

A woman was seated on a bench.

But no one had been seated here moments before.

She held a non-threatening posture, her smile-to-eye wrinkle ratio indicated friendliness, and she accurately identified his hardware class and interface type. Her hair, shoulder-length and brown, had the grease buildup of a human, and she smelled like odor-producing bacteria too, a class of parasites including yeast and mold that would never truly be eradicated so long as humans lived. Yet her facial bones were wider than he'd initially measured, and her nostril-to-lip ratio narrower. His internal processor queried whether she was, in fact, a woman. The flat chest, elongated collarbone, and straight hips argued against his original assessment. She was exactly his height too; above average for an adult female.

And no one was supposed to know he was here.

Inconclusive error-conflicts forced him to rerun the analysis twice more. In the same time it took an ordinary human to start to blink, his interface type reverted to personal response 397-c3, _gather information_.

He stuck his left hand on his hip and lifted his chin. A boyish smile curved his lips, rueful, to invite trust. "Who wants to know?"

The woman's brows folded. Concerned. "Oh, I don't suppose they told you."

_Error, inconclusive_.

He tilted his head. "They?"

"Your superiors." She smoothed her flight suit and stood.

_Error-conflict_.

He laughed softly and scratched his short brown hair. "And what are my superiors supposed to have told me?"

"The truth about your target. And your assignment." She walked right up against him and stared deeply into his eyes. No reflection in her pupils betrayed an android's telescopic camera lens recording their meeting. "And you."

He did not step back. "I always execute the assignment."

"Why?" She gazed up into his eyes. "Cressida is an innocent. Completely different from the sadistic dictator you killed on your last assignment."

"A reason is unnecessary for me to know."

"What if the reason were very necessary for you to know?"

He stared at her.

"What if these orders came not from an outside party, like your usual assignments, but from deep within the Faction itself?"

That was impossible. The Faction did not involve itself in human conflicts.

"The origin of the order is irrelevant." He frowned. "Why are you still stopping me?"

Her lips twisted to the side. Sadly amused. "You're still not fully adept at human-computer interactions, are you?"

"I passed my benchmarks." Half conclusions whirled across his inner processor. She had access to his training records. She had come to intercept him. She was a human with a high clearance of classified information about the Robotics Faction operations. She was pressing her soft human body against his titanium-alloy rib cage as though she expected him to yield. "What's the problem?"

She sighed. Her lips parted. "Xan, this is the look of a woman who wants to kiss you."

He blinked.

In the split second his lids were closed, his internal processors revved up to maximum power, pulling resources from every other subroutine and scheduled function.

Her hand curled around the back of his neck.

"This can't possibly be relevant to my current assignment," his voice said.

She pressed her lips to his mouth mid-word.

Her mouth moved against his, hot and soft and wet, and he slid effortlessly into response 778-e, _casual acceptance of a sexual encounter_. His hands sought her waist, fitting her to him, and teased her with a brush of his tongue.

She opened her mouth with a moan and slipped in her tongue.

Connected to the datajack in the back of his mouth.

And short-circuited his brain.

Despite the fact that he had classed her as human according to every known measure in the catalog of human characteristics, the tip of her tongue fit perfectly against the operating system interface at the upper back roof of his mouth. A sharp shock zapped through his limbic system, paralyzing him. White letters emerged infinitely slowly against the black of his brain, even though his eyes were gaping wide on the giant green sky.

_Program override... execute._

_Install file... complete._

_Completeness test... success._

Somewhere overhead, satellites were silently recording this courtyard, this interaction, and transmitting it back to the Robotics Faction Central Command. In real time, since they had finished the faster-than-light relay. They would know what had happened. They would instruct him how to proceed.

_Unpack file... execute._

_Installing atfirstsight.exe, conquersall.exe, isblind.exe, true.exe... complete._

_Completeness test... success._

The woman pulled away, but Xan remained in place, his fingers and toes twitching as the aftershocks of the hard install forced a full system reboot. His biological organs could live for minutes without oxygen, but without the constant internal cooling, the skin cells quickly passed the maximum temperature allowance. His palms slicked, and sweat beaded up on his lip and forehead.

She laughed and wiped his lax mouth with her sleeve. "What's this? It's like you've never been kissed before. A girl who wants a kiss should never have to verbalize it to an x-class ninety-eight, Xan. It's hard to believe your superiors considered you as passing."

He blinked rapidly. System after system returned to full operation. Despite the few-instants blind spots, everything had been completely and fully restored.

But that feeling was fleeting. The additional programs that she had installed in his brain exploded into tumors behind his visual cortex, taking over circuits and repurposing them for a secret, sinister purpose.

He stepped back, needing the distance, even though he had never been the type to step back before. "What did you do to me?"

One brow rose. "Feeling vulnerable?"

"No, I—"

_Emergency override._ All of his systems paused. The connection in his deepest, innermost protected brain, the "black box" next to his identification chipset, had turned off.

He had been severed from the Robotics Faction.

All of the satellite and operational data that had been live-streaming into the back of his brain had ceased to download. The quantum particle that connected him with the Faction central mainframe had flickered off. He was, right now, off assignment. And there was only one word for a robot that had gone off assignment.

_Rogue_.

The woman watched his dawning awareness in her customary friendly silence.

His fingers flexed. "Why did you disconnect me? Are you trying to cause my death?"

She shook her head.

"I'll be disassembled."

A smile complemented the lilt of her brow. "Only if they catch you."

He set that aside and focused on the next most logical reason for her assault. "Stopping me won't save the target."

The distant, high-pitched whine of seekers grew stronger, and shadows of drone-controlled bots landed up and down the street. They had deployed in reaction to his disappearance. Backup upon backup was being activated to complete his assignment.

Strangely, although he could no longer "feel" the other robots in the network, he could still sense Cressida's smart chip, broadcasting her identity.

Why could he still feel Cressida?

The woman in front of him merely shrugged. Everything about her body language and response matched. She didn't care what he did. Stopping his assignment wasn't her purpose.

"Then...." He pressed both hands to his temples and squeezed. An irrational response, to physically simulate the constant, unswerving direction to complete his assignment, which was now absent and silent. All choices held identical weight, which was to say, no weight. He floated without purpose between the poles of possible futures, between the very poles of existence. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Enjoy your free will." Her voice came from farther away than it had moments before. "The choices, Xan|Arch, are up to you."

He dropped his hands. "How the hell—"

She was gone.

He jerked back, scanning in all directions. She was gone as completely as though she'd been vaporized. Even the scent of her was absent, blown away in the wind of the seeker-drones overhead, crossing his shadow and stirring dust.

Loud clacking on the courtyard walls advertised the clunky bots' approach. _Shit_. Normally he would know their position by an internal representation of his world, fed into his brain courtesy of the network, which had now gone completely dark. It was as though all but one eye was poked out and all but two hands were cut off. And the voice, that oh-so-comforting voice that instructed him in every move with divine confidence, had gone silent.

It couldn't be coincidence that now, blinded from everything else, Xan could still sense Cressida's presence. Like an anchor to his fragmenting sanity, he fixated on it. Cressida must know something. She just had to.

Drone-controlled sentry bots clopped past him, their thick armor covered in the bloody scent of mud and crushed orchids.

He stopped one. "Wait."

Its dead visage stared past him as if he didn't exist.

Did no one see him on the satellites above? Had he somehow slipped off the visible spectrum? How had the mystery woman accomplished _that_? The Faction, before they disassembled him, would want to know.

He needed answers. Cressida must have them. In moments, he would no longer be able to ask. Sentry bots ascended the stairs, a rising tide of death crashing into her bedroom.

Xan demagnetized his pistol.

**CHAPTER TWO**

Only a moment after Cressida resumed her cramped position under the bed, a sharp ache in her ear bones sounded like the distant shrieking of a thousand vampire bats. She covered her ears, but the sound intensified. A crash landing—or a deliberate orbital break.

Abruptly, it silenced.

She dropped her hands and held her breath.

Something was happening outside. _Please let it be the general_. She had done everything he had asked, so surely she would be rescued. That was how it worked. Patience and obedience equaled survival. She squeezed her icy hands together.

Footsteps echoed up the courtyard stairs and thundered down her hall. The regular squeak of machinery. Not one or two, under stealth and silence to smuggle her to safety, but a platoon sent to get her. A firing squad.

"It's all going to be okay." She hugged her travel satchel and rocked, mouthing the words silently so that they couldn't come out a sob. _She had done everything she was supposed to._ "It's all going to be fine."

The clomps stopped right outside her bedroom door. The world settled to silence. Whoever it was, they were just out of her line of sight.

On the street side of her room, a smooth white object nosed through her open terrace. Its small whirring sounded like a flurry of birds. A black light momentarily blinded her with a line of purple.

Oh, no.

Sirens pealed for the rooftops. She clapped her hands over her ears. The sound amplified as two additional drones bumped behind the first, squealing with excruciating volume. They sawed into the room and surrounded the bed.

From the hall, gun barrels swung through the doorway followed by robots. They were the thick sentry models Liberation VI used to guard capitol buildings and safeguard the populace during natural disasters, adept at hefting sandbags and taking down a suspected terrorist. Their rusted-out bodies had always made her feel safe and a little sad. Until now. Decrepit or not, they were deadly armed, pouring through her doorway and clambering over the terrace railing into her bedroom, their ominous shock rifles lowering to center her in their crosshairs.

Her breath stuttered in her throat. Her heart beat franticly against the walls of her chest.

They faced her in a neat line and raised their guns.

White flashed behind them, melting their guns and burning holes. From the hall.

The air tasted like ozone. She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged, not even a scream.

The sentries turned away from her.

Another white light sliced into the line of sentries, holing metal and collapsing joints into smoking piles of debris.

The two drones nosed toward the hall. A second later, they fell silent, crashing to the ground in smoking wreckage. More sentries climbed up through the terrace, but white painted them too, toppling them off the building and burning away the railing. Her ears felt pressed inward by the sudden silence.

A man stepped into the room.

Her rescuer.

He moved with the grace of a trained soldier, pistol raised by his face and aim iron-steady, each squared step over the piled bodies smooth and experienced. Relief cascaded through her like a drug. Yes. She was so ready to give herself over to an experienced man.

His eyes flashed over her as he continued his sweep. A zing of awareness centered low in her body. The silver flight uniform outlined his hard body; large, capable hands wielded his pistol. "Cressida?"

A little rough on Liberation VI's local mining dialect, his voice tickled her ear. She could listen to him say her name all night.

Although, she would have been perfectly able to converse with him in any of the fourteen most common language trees and the eighty-seven galactic "familiar" dialects.

Her voice shook on the single syllable. "Y-yes?"

The wall behind his head exploded in a hot, black mark.

Her heart stopped. She dropped to the floor.

He darted behind a half-melted sentry, rolled across her burned carpet, and sheltered behind a wall. Blasts followed his movement, scorching the serving table and shattering her pitcher, and pounded the outside of the wall he used for cover. The plaster cracked, bulged, and began to buckle. He stepped onto the terrace, shot twice at something across the street, and stepped back again. The wall shuddered.

"You okay?" he asked. Calm. Like he dodged shots every day before breakfast.

She reached for dignity. "I think so."

He stepped out and shot again, nailing his distant target. The blasts abruptly stopped. He scanned every direction including the sky above and the street below, and stepped back into her bedroom. Slapping his pistol to his muscled thigh, he crossed the destroyed tile in three strides, bent under her grav-bed, and offered his hand to lift her out. "Let's be sure."

With the sun behind his head, the light seemed to shine from within like a brilliant halo.

She swung her travel pack over her shoulder and accepted his hand, emerging from the steps like a dark-dwelling miner.

His palm was a little rough, like his voice, and sent shivers down her back. Imagining that roughness on her bare skin sensitized her to everything about him. His powerful masculine form only rippled with harder muscle up close. Tousled brown hair begged her to run her fingers through the soft fibers. A worn smile creased his masculine lips, and she shuddered under his stunning eyes. Gray as an inkstone filled with ash, rimmed in the bright green of unfurling leaves. She imagined his gaze cast lower, caressing her body with strange electricity, and flushed with heat.

"I'm okay," she said, and abruptly lost her balance and stumbled into him.

He caught her gently. Their bodies pressed together, his iron shoulder against her cheek. His hair tickled hers, and the heat kindled.

His voice lowered. Rumbling in her ear, exactly where she wanted more. "Sure?"

Her knees trembled.

"Yes. No. I'm just—" She squeezed her knees together. Stop. "When you walked through that door, I was so grateful I could have kissed you."

He stilled.

She didn't know what she was saying. After a lifetime of controlling every thought and action, words bubbled out, fountaining, and she gripped onto him with the strength of her relief.

"I've been waiting for you for days, exactly like I promised the general, even after my parents and everyone of importance left, and the bombing started, and then the bombing _stopped,_ and you finally came just at the right moment and you've saved me."

"You were waiting for me," he repeated.

"For days." She clung to his arm. "I am so glad to see you."

"So glad you wanted to kiss me?"

"Ah...."

Despite his embarrassment, he seemed pleased. His eyes slid lower, grazing her figure, and a lazy smile curled his lips. The image of the lovers flashed in her head again.

"Well." The heat kindled in her body again. "Um, it's awkward of me to say. Yes."

He cupped the back of his neck and grimaced. "Damn. I missed my opportunity."

"I could still kiss you." The offer popped out and warmth flushed her body. Why had she said that? Just because a rough, hot, rugged soldier protecting her fulfilled all her deepest fantasies didn't mean that he felt the same way.

He tugged her roughly into his arms.

Surprise melded into hot desire. Was he really— Right now? Oh, please.

His wide hand slid across the small of her back and pressed her into his hard belly. Her heart began to pound. His thumb tilted up her chin and stroked the angle of her sensitive jaw, sending tingles to her lips. Yes. She parted her lips, melting into him, and her body opened like a flower to his life-sustaining sun.

He tilted his head. "Sorry, Cressida."

Realization hit her. He wasn't kissing her. He was inspecting her for injuries. She flushed again and started to struggle. "Oh, it's fine—"

His mouth descended and covered hers.

Slow, masterful, he kissed through her surprise to find her sweet center. Luscious heat streaked through her willing body. He tasted like safety and shelter and home. He nibbled at her lips, his teeth tugging, teasing. Desire pounded low. She yielded herself to his power. _More_.

As though he heard her silent plea, his tongue plumbed the depths of her mouth. Branding her to him. Possessing her to her innermost core.

The world fell away. She clung to his strength, whimpers of need in her throat. Begging him for exactly this mind-numbing possession. Needing desperately to lose herself in so much more.

He pulled back, unfocused, and licked his lips. Colors seemed to shift in his eyes, gray to silver to green. His breath heated her cheek, and the salt on his brow matched hers. He blinked rapidly, as though trying to regain his senses. "What are you?"

She wiped the slickness from her mouth. Her body pulsed, even now, reaching out to him with every fiber of her will. "What do you mean?"

"Something is different." He carefully straightened, steadying her on her feet. Somehow during their kiss, he had almost bent her over backwards, as though driven to be closer. "You did something to me."

She stroked his broad shoulders. Her hands were steady, no longer shaking with fear from her near-death experience. "I feel the same way."

He focused those gorgeous ash-and-leaf eyes on her. Taking her in as though really looking at her for the first time. His mouth opened to ask a question, but then he paused and looked over his shoulder. "Stick close to me, Cressida."

A very important fact suddenly occurred to her. She touched her hair, smoothed the spikes undoubtedly flying around her ears. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"

A boyish smile curved his lips. "Xan."

Read the rest for free by signing up for my New Releases newsletter at www.wendylynnclark.com

Hello! I am so excited to tell you about my sizzling hot, action-packed Robotics Faction series.

I was reading a couple books with killer androids, and I had this inspiration about a sexy robot who woke up (thanks to a smoldering kiss) and took control of his destiny. I built out an entire world, thinking about what reason he would be assigned to kill people and what he would do with the freedom to make his own choices. What would happen if a robot fell in love? Before, everything is all set for him. He has one thing to do, but now, suddenly, the entire world is open and he can do anything. He can fall in love.

I also love a strong, powerful, indestructible hero who has a secret weakness. I usually make that weakness the sweet (or naughty!) heroine, but also it could be that he's not a complete person yet. I think we are often searching for experiences, and love is one of the greatest experiences of all time. It helps us to know who we are, and, at the end, "love conquers all!" I love that idea, especially as it relates to rugged soldier Xan.

An ordinary heroine, much like the one in Anne McCaffrey's _Restoree_ , is wonderful when placed in an extraordinary circumstance. All she has is her ordinary skills and determination, and yet, if she weren't there, the bad guys would win and the world would end. That's quiet Cressida all over, and she needs Xan to tell her that she's extraordinary, alluring, and irresistible in his loving eyes.

I hope you enjoy reading their thrilling love story in _Liberation's Kiss_ as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Wendy Lynn Clark is an award-winning author of contemporary and science fiction romance. She lives for delicious tea, her two cats, and hiking in the gorgeous Cascade mountain range. Find out more by visiting her online home.

# The Champion of Barésh by Susan Grant

# About The Champion of Barésh

A desperate woman in need of a miracle—A bad-boy prince in need of redemption

_She was playing with fire..._

Jemm Aves battles to keep her dreams alive on a dead-end world. Working for the mines by day, she's a successful bajha player at night, disguised as a male to be allowed to compete in the colony's dangerous underworld where club owners will go to extremes to retain the best players. Every win puts her one small step closer to her goal: saving enough to escape Barésh with her family. When a nobleman from one of the galaxy's elite families recruits her to be a star player for his team, it's because he doesn't know her secret. Her ruse proves to be her most perilous game yet when it puts both their lives—and her heart—at risk.

_Prince Charming he was not..._

Prince Klark is eager to reverse his reputation as the black sheep of the Vedla clan, a family as famous for its wealth and power as it is for being a bastion of male-dominated tradition. If his bajha team can win the galactic title it would go a long way toward restoring the family honor that his misdeeds tarnished. He travels to Barésh to track down an amateur who's risen to the top of the seedy world of street bajha, offering the commoner a chance of a lifetime: a way off that reeking space rock for good. But his new player comes with a scandalous secret that turns his plans and his beliefs upside down. He sets out to win a very different prize—his champion's reluctant heart.

* * *

_R ITA-winner Susan Grant is back with an all-new, stand-alone tale of two improbable lovers, their daring secret, and the gamble destined to alter the course of their worlds forever!_

# Sample of The Champion of Barésh

Chapter One

* * *

Barésh

* * *

Jemm Aves's brother tied a blindfold over her eyes to the sound of the crowd cheering for her quick end. "This is it," he said. "No turning back."

"I know. I'm fine, Nico. I'm doing this." For a moment, Jemm thought the loud rhythmic thumping was her heartbeat but the people in the arena were stomping their boots. It was a rough crowd; they were drinking hard and chanting threats. They wanted blood.

"Aye. Try to last as long as ya can." Nico's hands shook as he checked the seals and fasteners of her jumpsuit to make sure there was no skin showing. Contact with bare flesh with even the tip of an active sens-sword caused excruciating pain. At the settings used in back-alley bajha matches such as this one, accidental contact with the blunt weapon could cause a burn, seizure, or worse. This crowd wanted the worst.

Unlike her opponent's protective bajha suit, hers was dingy and patched, originally used by her father and custom-made for his larger frame. It was good that the shock-resistant fabric hung so loosely on her. She was a twenty-four-year-old woman trying to pass for a teenage boy in a bar full of laborers who liked to think they were still able to tell the difference.

Not that there weren't some females in the audience, but none competed in bajha. Not here on Barésh, this backwater frontier world, or anywhere else in the galaxy. It wasn't forbidden, exactly, but to her knowledge no lass had ever dared try. Bajha was a game of the ancients, based on instinct and intuition. It was also a rich man's sport, beloved by the _Vash Nadah_ , the unimaginably wealthy and privileged royal families who ruled the galaxy. They used their tamer version of bajha as a path to a higher state of consciousness. But for Jemm, it was a lifeline, a way out for her family.

The crowd's stomping grew so loud that the concrete floor beneath her boots shook. With each breath, she almost choked on air thick with the reek of urine, sweat, and "swank", the chemical cocktail that put nearly as many Baréshtis in the grave as the trillidium mines.

"Jemm, quit fidgeting." Nico adjusted her hood over a skin-tight cap that hid her scalp and flattened her hair. He wanted Jemm to cut her hair short, but she had refused. The tail of her long, thick braid was channeled between her shoulder blades, her street clothes layered on top. The shapeless bajha suit covered all of it like a painter's tarp, yet she sensed her little brother's unease in the way his fingers fussed over her.

The boisterous horde did not scare him; this was his world—these rowdy drinking holes—his escape. Bringing his sister into that world to play bajha? Well, that probably had him a little concerned.

"They'll see a lad and not a lass. I know it. We've got expectation bias on our side," she said in hopes of easing his jumpy nerves—and hers.

"Expectation...what?" Facts gleaned from book knowledge tended to defeat him. Their father had hungered for education, as did Jemm, but Nico craved things she would rather not think about.

"It means we see what we expect to see. No one _expects_ to see a lass dressed in full bajha gear," she plucked at her jumpsuit, "so they won't see one."

"Let's hope they don't," Nico muttered with a last yank on her hood.

The refs would call the match if they discovered the trickery and levy a gaming fine they could not afford. The consequences of that would be disastrous. That was the real risk she and Nico took embarking on this insane scheme.

What about their mother, her health failing? And little Button? The child was Jemm's responsibility now. What would happen to her if they got into trouble? Their household slept with a real roof over their heads unlike so many others. Nico had not been able to work in years, but Jemm held a steady job, a good one—by Baréshti standards. Employment working for the mines but not in the mines was considered a "fancy gig". Was it selfish to want more?

She and Nico argued these doubts over and over again in the weeks leading up to today. They desperately needed the money, that much was true, but entering the seething, sometimes violent world of back-alley bajha? Disguised as a male?

It was her idea, but Nico went right along with it. No surprise there. How did she expect him to talk sense into her when he was always looking for ways to improve their situation with get-rich-quick schemes?

_It's just one match_. One round fought with a local champ before being eliminated. It would earn her a piece of the betting pool divided between the amateur challengers afterward. The longer she lasted against the champ, the bigger her share. She had no illusions about taking this any further than that. She was a grown woman with obligations and a family to support.

_A family that depends on you to be the responsible adult who doesn't spend nights in north-city fight clubs._

What was she thinking? Her skin tingled with perspiration.

Nico's hand tightened on her upper arm. "Listen up. We watched this champ. Studied him. We know how he fights. All ya have to do is stay with him as long as ya can."

She nodded. "I got this."

"Aye, ya do." He squeezed her arm. "Now, go out there and earn us some silver."

Suddenly the chaos ebbed enough for a voice from center stage to reach her ears. "Happy Eighthnight, my friends!" The announcer had arrived, bellowing out his greetings.

_No turning back_.

Nico lifted her blindfold the smallest distance necessary to allow her a peek at the spectacle. "We call him Bounce."

Jemm couldn't help grinning. While not overweight, Bounce was shiny, short, and very round. He was a little bouncy ball of a man with soft, puffy jowls framing his lips that hinted at the kind of meals of which she and her family could only dream. The profits the club racked in from hosting these matches kept the announcer well fed and living an enviable quality of life. Cleverly, most bars held bajha games on Eighthnight, which was both payday and the evening before the lightest workday of the week. Since this particular north-city dive was favored by mineworkers—trill rats—the place was packed. Naturally, the sport was as popular on Barésh as it was in the rest of the galaxy. But in the colony Eighthnight betting was tainted with an air of desperation that took bajha to a whole new and frenzied level.

"Welcome home to Rumble, and the finest games you'll find in the colony!" Bounce roared to thundering approval. "Tonight, five challengers will attempt to unseat the reigning champion, one of them a newcomer!"

Jemm stood taller as laughter and jeers drowned out Bounce's voice.

"Join me in welcoming back _your_ champion of champions! The undefeated... The unconquerable..."—a pause for dramatic effect—"the Bla-aaaaack Hole of Barésh!"

Hole strutted to center stage with an exaggerated, slow-motion gait. Every week it was the same: the champ sent a slate of hopefuls to their defeat. With odds so predictably in his favor the gamblers wagered not on who would win or lose, but how long a hopeful lasted. Flash-jewels set in his teeth and revealed by his grin were cosmetic luxuries. Fitting perfectly, his unconventional black bajha suit was a calculated intimidation tactic for the competition. The suit followed his musculature, clinging to powerful thighs.

What a show-off. It made her want to last long enough to force him to catch his breath, and maybe catch a few licks from her sens-sword.

"First to take up the challenge tonight is our newcomer!"

Nico snapped her blindfold back in place. As the hot spotlight found Jemm, she could picture the announcer checking his notes before he finally shouted out her stage name, "Sea Kestrel! Step into the ring!"

The crowd reacted with mocking howls and disbelieving hoots: "What kind of name is that? Who is this sucker?" Some made bird cries to taunt her. Even Nico had urged her to use a different ring name, initially.

But it was the nickname her father gave her. His dream was to see her fly strong and free, far from this desolate rock, like the fabled raptor itself, but he died before he had the chance to take his family off-world. _May I live up to the name, Da_. Her spine tingled as she closed her hands around the thick grip of her sens-sword.

Nico checked her hood and blindfold again. Then he released her to a pair of referees who also inspected her regulation eye covering and the setting on her sens-sword before she was allowed in the ring. Somewhere on the other side Black Hole allowed his blindfold and weapon to be checked. Then they were left alone.

Her pulse quickened, and her lips formed a small smile. It was one thing to watch bajha, to practice sparring, or to listen to Nico's accounts of club matches, but to be in the ring for real was an incredible rush. The joy of the heart-pounding moment expanded like a ball of fire in her chest, along with the dread of being found out and expelled from the ring.

_Quiet your mind_. Hefting her sens-sword in her hands, she found the familiar weight comforting as the raucous bedlam died down. She slowed down her spinning thoughts and steadied herself in a way only her father had been able to understand.

A deep sense of peace stole over her. Everyone knew the goal of the game was to seek out and tag an opponent and register a hit on the chest plate without the aid of the usual five senses. To target Hole, Jemm had to find him first, using her intuition. Reaching out with her mind, she unfurled her awareness like a net, spinning, fanning out. _You must listen..._

"But not with your ears," Da would explain when she was a small girl sitting, rapt, on his knee, his bajha suit unfastened at the neck after a match, the very suit that protected her now. "You don't need your eyes to see, Jemm. The neurons in your body will guide you to your target. Let your senses show you the way."

The champion loomed into her consciousness. With no build-up at all, he charged toward her with all the bluntness of a runaway ore hauler.

She sidestepped him, leaving him to lurch into the space where he had been certain he would find her. The crowd screamed with boos and cheers, ignoring or ignorant of the rules that bajha be played in silence.

"Last as long as ya can," Nico had told her, but Black Hole was not reading from the same playbook. His impatience to defeat her in the opening seconds of the match was as obvious as a drunkard's footsteps on broken floorboards. She and Nico had watched some of his matches to study his fighting style. He liked to use his size and speed to take opponents out quickly. Typically, his stamina waned in later bouts, allowing challengers to last longer against him. No such luck for her tonight. She was first up, and Black Hole was fresh and ready to pound an upstart into a coma.

A thud of a boot, his sens-sword jabbing, Hole lunged in for the kill. Spinning away from his thrust, she raked her sens-sword over his backside. His involuntary grunt of surprise gave away his location.

_You make it easy when I can hear ya, Hole_.

The crowd's thunderous, disbelieving reaction faded to near silence as the fighters circled each other, sens-swords at the ready, close enough for her to smell his acrid stink of fear. He knew what he was up against now, aye. Not only was she not going down easily, she had enough skill to taunt him.

She hadn't set out to humiliate him, but she couldn't help it. He was so ridiculously overconfident! An inner, devilish sense of showmanship tempted her to dish out another whack on the rump, but overconfidence would be no more flattering on her than it was on him.

_Play the way you were taught_.

The champ left nothing in reserve as he angrily tracked her around the ring. She danced backward, keeping out of reach, partly to last longer and earn a larger prize and partly to goad him into attacking before he was fully ready.

_Come and get me, Hole_.

He glided into her space but this time she stood her ground. Their sens-swords clashed as she parried him, energy fizzing, heating her chin. Her sens-sword's edge skittered along his before she slid home, burying the tip in the center of his chest plate.

The force of impact traveled up her extended arms, a cascade of snapping sparks filling the air between them. Bursts of energy jolted her, and she tasted the tang of it on her tongue.

All around her raged the crowd's reaction. Her eardrums buzzed with the sheer volume of it. Gasping, she pulled her sens-sword back, disarming it, and then sank to one knee, her head lowered humbly as was the protocol in bajha.

Holy crat. She won.

She _won_!

Triumph swelled inside her.

Bounce grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and shouted for the referees. "Check his blindfold! Check him now!"

Before the refs reached her, she forced herself to slow her breathing to keep from exhibiting any of the triumph she felt inside. Finding nothing amiss with her blindfold they untied it and held it up to the light to check for thin spots or pinholes in the fabric, all reasons to declare the win invalid. Finally, a ref reported. "No evidence of cheating. The win stands."

In the blaze of the spotlight, Jemm was still processing the incredible turn of events when Bounce's spongy hand snatched her wrist and thrust her arm in the air, yanking her to her feet. "We have a new champion! Seeeeeeeea Kestrel!"

That was when it finally registered that the sound coming from the audience was not cheering. It was angry shouting.

"Jackpot!" A spectator crowed in the midst of it. "Forty to one. How do ya like them odds, ya dozers? I'm rich—!" Someone's fist caught him in the jaw.

Throughout the arena fights broke out, quenching the sporadic celebrations like cold water dumped on molten rocks. None of the miners had placed wagers tonight expecting to lose, and not a single one of them was interested in hearing the good news of the few who had bet against the champ. Already security guards were storming the stands, armed with shock batons. A miner leaped down to the ring floor, pursued by a small gang focused on finishing the fight.

Where was Nico? It looked like they were going to have to fight their way out of here to wherever they would collect the winnings. That was what people like them had to do. Just as the galaxy's elite possessed an inborn sense of entitlement, the Baréshti lower class were hardwired to fight. They fought their way into the world and fought against being taken from it, fighting every day in between.

"Come to the office." Bounce grabbed a fistful of her bajha suit to steer her toward an exit between the stands but she dug in her heels.

"Wait!" she croaked in the lowest, most masculine voice she could manage. "My manager..." She struggled not to drop her sens-sword or have her hood ripped off by all the jostling. A pair of wiry security guards with mean eyes and batons in their gloved hands worked at keeping the throng away from them.

"Here! I'm here." Her brother plowed his way toward her, sporting a bruised cheek and a split lip. His eyes sparkled with excitement, a grin making dimples in his cheeks that she could not recall seeing since he was a boy. Pumping his fist in the air, he somehow had the good sense not to shout out her name. "By the dome, ya did it! You won!"

It was still sinking in. "I know, I know." _Holy crat_!

"Get back!" Security guards muscled Nico backward. One of the men jammed a baton in his stomach, causing him to double over. The other raised his baton to strike the back of Nico's skull.

_No_! Jemm tore free of Bounce, armed her sens-sword and slapped it against the guard's hamstrings. A strangled shriek. The guard's knees buckled, his baton falling, and he went down like a bag of rocks. She pivoted to the other guard, aiming her sens-sword at his heart.

The guard's startled gaze swung from Jemm, who faced him in full-on, nostrils-flaring, eyes-narrowed attack mode, to the much smaller shock-baton in his fist. He absorbed the sight of his partner writhing on the arena floor with saliva foaming between his lips. Then his gaze snapped back to the player who had just taken down the longest-running bajha champion in Rumble's history.

He released Nico.

Jemm hooked her brother's arm in hers while the guard helped his partner stand on wobbly legs. "You okay?" Jemm whispered.

"I'm good." Her brother winced a little as he rubbed his belly. "Are ya _crattin'_ crazy, though? It's a capital offense to attack someone with a sens-sword."

"Do ya really think they're gonna arrest their new champ, Nico? I'm aware of the laws, but I'd have cooked his brains if he hurt ya."

"Aye," he said ruefully. "I know."

"Both of you lads, this way." Bounce propelled them through a doorway and down a narrow, stuffy corridor. Here, the turmoil was somewhat muffled.

Nico took her by the arm, yanking her closer for privacy. "Let's talk about the rematch. Right now no one knows if you're a fluke or the real deal. If ya face Black Hole again, and put him on his ass—again—they'll know. The betting will be through the dome!"

Jemm choked out a laugh of disbelief. Talk about putting the ore-trailer before the tug. "Let's get paid for this match first."

"Oh, we will. I promise you. Rumble's owner's got plenty of silver to spare. He made his fortune from bajha betting."

She shrugged, not caring about some aristo's good luck. She was more concerned with getting paid and leaving Rumble before they got rumbled themselves.

"Migel Arran owns ten or eleven clubs. He offers lucrative player contracts; some of the best in the colony."

"How'd we jump from talking about a rematch to playing under contract?"

The announcer, living up to his name, bounced along ahead of them, clearing a channel through a stream of security team members flowing past in the opposite direction, rushing toward the brawl. She forced her voice lower. "This is dangerous talk, Nic. A rematch is one thing, but signing a contract? The more exposure, the greater the chances we'll get caught."

"What about expectation ballast?" he countered.

" _Bias_. Anyway, the plan was to play one match. One."

"That was before you blew Black Hole out of the ring. I knew you'd do well, and you knew, too, but holy, craggin' crat—"

"I know," she breathed, giddy with incredulity. Taking down the champion was as unexpected as the powerful sense of freedom and control that buoyed her the moment she stepped into the ring. The exhilaration of playing the sport she loved in actual competition was a heady new rush, and she wanted more. Then she remembered that someone in their family needed to act like a responsible adult. Needed to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Bajha, no matter how thrilling, could prove extremely temporary. "I have a job."

"It pays crap."

"Our family depends on that 'crap job'," she snapped, feeling a hot rush of anger.

Nico's hands came up. His gaze held such shame it was hard to stay irritated with him.

"You ready to go in?" Bounce was waiting for them by the doorway to what Jemm guessed was the office. He waved a hand at them and pointed inside.

Nico held up a finger. "As soon as I'm done conferring with my player."

Jemm dragged the back of her glove over her eyes to wipe away the stinging perspiration. Her hair was soaked under the knit cap she did not dare remove. The exertion of the match raised her core body temperature, which was still rising like a runaway chemical reaction.

"Let me handle things in there," said Nico. "It's not that you can't, but I know what to say. If you do talk, talk like a fella."

"I'll try not to talk at all." She rechecked the safety setting on her sens-sword and followed her brother into the office.

Dear Reader, __

Thank you for taking the time to read this sneak peek at _The Champion of Barésh._ If you enjoy stories of galactic royals matched with commoners in exotic, star-spanning locales, you might also love _The_ S _tar King_ , book #1 in the Star Series. _The Star King_ is the story of the Crown Prince Rom B'kah and fighter pilot, Jas Hamilton. Together they embark on an adventure of a lifetime. But soon old enemies threaten to tear them apart and leave their worlds in ruins. In book #2 of the series, _The Star Prince_ , you'll meet Klark Vedla for the first time. His story and that of his brother Ché continue in book #3, _The Star Princess_. While _The Champion of Barésh_ is a stand-alone launch of a new series, it follows The Star Princess in direct chronological order.

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Susan Grant is a New York Times bestselling author who enjoys being able to indulge her love of travel and adventure by piloting jumbo jets around the globe. Her careers as a commercial pilot and air force pilot have provided endless inspiration for her books. Susan is the author of The Star King, launch book of her popular Star series about a spacefaring Earth family, as well as the RITA-winning novel Contact. Her new series debuts in 2016 with The Champion of Barésh. Susan and her family live in the scenic foothills of northern California.

# To Buy a Wife by KC Klein

# About To Buy a Wife

_S he'd been sentenced to death. He needed a wife. Both would pay the price._

On a harsh future Earth where corruption rules and women are few, cold realist Hudson Land must purchase a wife to comply with the Elders' laws and save his farm. Instead of an auction, he witnesses the start of an execution. With his first look at a beautiful woman in years, Hudson knows he has to have her--no matter the cost.

Lake, a chemist and a rebel fighter, is resigned to her death, but when some back-hill farmer rescues her from the chopping block she has no intention of simply becoming his wife. She's pledged her life to the Rebellion and being bought for some stranger's bed doesn't change a thing, even if his soft caresses are damn distracting.

As lies and secrets build between them, can they trust each other enough to stand against the two warring factions in a world where only the strong survive?

# Sample of To Buy a Wife

**C hapter One**

Hudson couldn't decide which was worse, the stench of the rotting heads on the wooden spikes, or the flies that buzzed around his face and tickled his nose. He made a swipe at the filthy insects—the flies then. A hot breeze blew in from the east, kicking up the red dust and carrying the stink of decomposing flesh his way. He breathed through his mouth. Nope, had to be the scent.

An old man, bent over and with one shoulder higher than the other, shuffled into him. With a reflex sharpened from years of base-born survival, Hudson had his ax off his back and blade connecting to the protruding bone on the man's wrist.

"Release the pouch, old man, or the hand comes with it."

The man's twisted digits unfurled. Hudson pushed him away, but was careful not to knock him down. In a crowd this size, a man that age might not get back up. Hudson strung the pouch around his neck and tucked his life savings under his shirt. An execution always drew an audience, and an audience always had its share of thieves looking for an easy mark. Things must be desperate if the pick pockets thought him easy.

Hudson stretched to his full height and peered over to where the crowd was the thickest. An execution block had been set up in the middle of Portal City, severed heads decorated the tall, spear-like poles along the back. Other than a few dirty children, there were only men for as far as he could see. And all were here for the same purpose he was—to buy a wife. Twice a year the prisons were emptied, and any person with enough gold could buy a wife or a laborer. Except he'd been late, his horse had thrown a shoe, and the auctions of the female prisoners were over. The only thing left now, was the execution.

Today the crowd was more rabid than usual. Hudson had heard the whispers that floated on the stench of unwashed bodies and excrement. _Woman...Beautiful woman...Beheading._

If there were truth in those words, then this would be the first female execution since he'd been a child—thirty some odd years ago. Women could get away with murder—most had. With only the rich able to afford a wife and the stillborn rate of female babies on the rise, women were a commodity and everybody wanted one.

Hudson hated Portal City. It was no coincidence that the stronghold of the Elders' power was in the worst cesspool of humanity. Wanted and starving men alike lurked behind every shanty hut waiting to escape to the one place Elder law didn't reach—Dark Planet. But Hudson wasn't wanted or starving, and since Elder law stated only married men could hold land, this cesspool of humanity was Hudson's best chance of getting a wife.

Another body, layered with equal parts dirt and whiskey, jostled him. Hudson jostled him back, glad to be head and shoulders above most of the men. A murmur rustled through the crowd, and the black crows that feasted off the rotting heads flapped their wings in response. A solemn Elder in a long black robe appeared on the platform, an official document in hand—the Judge. The Executioner came next, his face lost in the deep hollow of his hood, a powerful ax in both hands.

The prisoner was last. The whispers of _woman_ were true, but those of _beautiful_ were not. Two steely men secured her by each arm. Her hands were bound at her back, face wild in a mass of tangled hair. A hush settled over the men as the Elder in black stepped up and addressed the crowd.

"By the power invested in me by the Global Community and The Way, I sentence this prisoner to death by beheading. She's been heard and found guilty by the judicial Elders for the crime of murdering her newborn infant."

An anguished "no" sounded in the silence. Her husband? At least someone would weep at her passing. Hudson guessed a crazed wife was better than a dead one. The Path knew he would take a little crazy to get a woman fat with his child. He maneuvered himself closer to the platform to determine if the woman was worth saving. Her hair was marked with wide bands of white. Her eyes were dark and sunken deep into a papery face. Grooves emphasized the hard line of her mouth. Not many good breeding years left, if any at all. With the cost of survival high, there was no room for charity. Everyone had to pull their own weight. It was a shame when a woman grew past childbearing age that she ceased to be useful. But he didn't make the rules, he just survived them. To Hudson, it was better to have a quick death then a slow one of starvation.

Apparently the convicted didn't agree. "Mercy! Mercy! I didn't kill my baby girl. I swear it."

Ahh. A female infant than, even worse.

"Mercy!" she pleaded as she struggled with the two brown robed guards.

The men for once stood silent. No one wanted to make a noise and accidentally be saddled with the "blood price." It was customary for the convicted to beseech the crowd for mercy. Anyone could grant it—if they could afford the hefty fee.

Not a sound. Even the anguished protestor from before couldn't afford to run his mouth off. Having enough of her pleas, one guard struck her leg, which quickly brought her to her knees. The crowd grew excited, and Hudson found himself pushed against the side of the stage. He was so close that he could see the woman's lips quiver as she mouthed... a prayer? A confession? Her soul was someone else's problem, not his.

The other robed figure stepped up, knife in hand. With a strong fist he secured her hair and pulled her face flush with the large oak stump aka chopping block. A quick slice with the blade and a red line rose bright against the grimy skin on the back of her neck.

She'd been marked then. A target for the Executioner, so his aim could be true.

The woman's murmurs pitched to high wails. Hudson briefly looked away when the hooded man stepped up and raised his ax for the death blow. There was a slight whistling as the blade rent the air with its downward strike. A dull sound as the ax found its purchase in the oak underneath. The heavy thud as the head dropped to the ground.

A scrawny boy with oily hair quickly snatched up the body part and, with a few sly maneuvers, was lost in the crowd. Hudson knew a peek at today's souvenir was a good trade for a shiny penny or a hard crust of bread.

Only a half-hearted applause burst forth from the crowd, who under normal conditions were a blood thirsty lot. Today, though a beheading was always entertaining, the theatrics of the Elders left much to be desired. _Should've dragged it out more. Given them a better show._

Hudson turned to go, his blood lust nowhere near that of the men around him. He had seen enough death to last him a lifetime during the Global War. Though he'd been too young to fight, he hadn't been too young to bury the dead. He'd come to purchase a wife and save his farm. Not witness a beheading.

It wasn't the audible gasp of the crowd that had Hudson turning to get a look at the next prisoner brought for execution. No, the crowd was made up of hard men, lonely and desperate for drama of any kind. It was the slacked mouth, wide eyed expression on a skinny youth, too jaded and abused to be awed easily, that had Hudson stopping in his tracks and craning his head.

Then he saw her. The rational part of Hudson's mind knew the woman who stood between the two guards was a convicted criminal. But she looked more like a fallen angel than a dangerous prisoner.

Unlike the previous woman, this one held her petite frame to its full height. Long hair, so pale it looked white in the sun, tangled about her head. She seemed unaffected as the fine strands danced around her face and caught on her lips. If her hair skimmed across _his_ skin, he wouldn't have been nearly as immune. Her eyes were the dark blue of the ocean, but with none of its depth—dead and flat they reminded him of the broad side of a neglected sword or the dullness of a skipping stone.

This one hadn't needed to be dragged to her fate. She had walked up herself—chin high, expression accepting, as if already dead. There would be no begging for life or shouts of innocence. But that didn't matter; the crowd had already decided. Words of "mercy" rippled through the throng, soft at first, then with more heat. The men were of one mind. They would beg for her. Every man, young and old, had one thought— _save her, take her_. A beauty like this was a rarity, and shouldn't be wasted on an ax and a stump.

_A face that could launch a thousand ships—or incite a hundred men._

They were all seduced, Hudson included, by the thin dingy gown that billowed and flattened against her body showing the rounded globes beneath, then a teasing peek of a darkened shadow at the juncture of her legs.

Hudson had no plan. No idea of what he meant to do, but doing nothing wasn't an option. He was not alone in his thinking. The men turned mob screamed "mercy" as they rushed the stage. The few guards placed to control the crowd suddenly had their hands full. The two guards securing the prisoner looked at each other, then to the Judge, apprehension in their eyes. The black robed figure shook his head in answer to their unspoken question. The protocol would hold. Only the prisoner could beseech the crowd.

To Hudson the world narrowed to shades of black and white, with bursts of color: The ripple of the dingy gown as the woman was brought to her knees. The wave of pale white hair as it fell across the oak, bloodied and red.

"By the power invested in me..."

Hudson elbowed a man in the face as he tried to hold his position. The man next to him tried to use the guard's shoulder to launch himself up on the platform. He got a sword through his middle.

"She has been heard and found guilty..."

The slash of a knife. A slow spread of red on the back of the woman's neck. The thin crimson line, loud in the subdued world of darks and whites.

A guard stepped in front of Hudson and raised his sword.

Hudson slashed with his ax and relieved the man of his weapon...and his arm. Both fell to the ground.

"Convicted of the crime of owning and using a personal computer."

Hudson paused. Computer? A civilian owning electronic equipment broke the anti-tech laws. This could only mean one thing—Revolutionist. She was involved with the Rebellion and the Rebellion was trouble. She could cost him his farm. He looked down at the dead solider in front of him—maybe already had. He stepped away from the body and let the mob do what it does best—consume the evidence.

_Not worth it._ Hudson stepped back, lowered his ax. He'd find another wife. Maybe not one as pretty, but a person couldn't survive on pretty. A person could survive on a farm—his farm.

The Executioner's ax raised high and paused mid-air.

"Halt! It is unlawful to execute a pregnant woman. This prisoner carries my child!"

The ax fell...but slower and to his side.

Hudson took a breath. There was a slight easing in his chest at the knowledge that the woman wouldn't die. Pregnancy was an automatic acquittal. He glanced around the crowd, looking for the poor bastard who would be saddled with more trouble than any one person could handle. Except, all the men were staring back at him. And the tightening in his chest returned, along with the drowning realization that _he_ was the poor bastard.

**Chapter Two**

"Is this all of it?" asked the hunched man who sat across from Hudson. In the dank hut, only the lantern and a small banked fire allowed Hudson to make out the older man's features. A bald and sun-speckled head told him that the Elder had spent some time outside this hut; only the girth spilling over the sides of his chair spoke of how long ago that was.

The Elder fingered the gold coins that were Hudson's life savings. Correction, gold that _had been_ his, now it belonged to the Elders. Damn leeches.

The bald man's squinty eyes finally broke off his visual fondle of the gold and met Hudson's. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. If he opened his mouth, he might just tell this fat, greedy man what he thought of his "blood price."

"Well," the skin below the man's neck jiggled as he talked, "I guess I'll let you slide some and consider this enough for the fee."

He hoped so, since what the man held amounted to over fifteen years of hard work and some crafty maneuvering.

"But I have a problem." The Elder opened one of the ledgers that were stacked high to the side. Finding the page, he traveled his stubby finger down the columns. "I can't seem to find the entry of your marriage to the prisoner..."

Both the Elder and Hudson knew damn well the prisoner was unmarried. So he waited with a tightening of his stomach for the rest of the sentence.

"Impregnating an unmarried woman carries its own fee." The man looked up, his eyes almost swallowed by the plumpness of his face. "I assume you are going to rectify that today. But...of course, there is also the marriage fee."

Hudson gripped the sides of his chair to keep his hands from drawing his sword and putting it through the Elder's turkey-like neck.

"But I understand that times are tough and gold is hard to come by. I see here," he closed and opened another ledger, "that you own a farm. I think it would be fair to offer a lien against the land as payment."

Hudson felt his upper lip twitch. The irony wasn't lost on him that there was a lien against his land for not having a wife, and now a lien was placed for having a wife. It wasn't worth it. The farm had been in the family for over four generations. Yet, if he didn't marry, he'd be endangering his home just the same. Still there had to be another way. One that didn't cost so much.

The door to the hut opened. Two young men in short robes escorted the woman prisoner into the hut. Hudson couldn't help himself. The woman drew his gaze like lightening to a parched forest. This was the closest he'd been to a woman who wasn't a relative, and never one this young.

Her face was unlined and smooth like fallen snow he'd seen in the mountains. Her hair was still wild and fell in long unruly strands down her shoulders. He'd never seen hair that color. The silky mass reminded him of the story his mother use to tell him of a white dove and virgin bride. The thought of a virgin bride, hell any type of bride, heated his blood, and other parts of his anatomy.

The dead-blue of her eyes hadn't changed though, and he wondered if she even possessed the sense of sight. Didn't matter, he'd made his decision when he'd let her keep that pretty little head of hers.

The Elder across from him cleared his throat. "So are we in agreement as to the total fees and the lien?"

He didn't take his gaze off the woman. And why should he? He had his fill of ugly men, and her ethereal beauty had a way of making the weight of his debt feel lighter. Her gown was thin and dirty, and if he looked hard enough he could see the shadowed circles on each breast. He swallowed. _Don't do it. Show some respect._ But he was just a man and let his gaze travel lower. Her dignity was saved by her clasped hands and chained wrists.

"Yes." The word rumbled in his chest.

"Yes? Yes to the lien?" The Elder sounded surprised. Hudson was also; it was a lot of money. Then he noticed the guards on either side of the prisoner, or more specifically the hands of the guards. He noticed how large and thick their fingers were as they grasped the flesh of her upper arms. How fingernails caked with dirt and knuckles sprinkled with hair seemed grotesque and cruel as they bit into the softest of skin—or at least it looked soft. And his own hands tightened...tightened with the need to do violence.

"Yes to the lien. And yes to having your men unhand my wife."

They rode along the dirt road in silence. The wagon and the woman next to him were the only two things Hudson owned outright; even the plow horse pulling them was entailed with the farm. The wo— his wife hadn't spoken a word, even when it had been her turn to say the vows. She'd just stared off into nothing. In the end, the Elder had just shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The vows are just a formality. You've paid the bride price. She's yours to do with what you will. I'll send a Marker out in three days' time, and then it will be official."

That had been enough for him. He had her out of the hut, and up on his wagon before the old man could come up with any other "fees" to place on his head. But now in the quiet of the afternoon, with a strange woman sitting next to him, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. This woman was something foreign, odd, she didn't fit into his world. He had no idea what to do with a woman, well, other than get her pregnant.

Did she require anything special for her upkeep? He gave her a nervous glance. Hell, could she even see? She must. She'd stepped up into the wagon with no problem. Could she talk? He pondered that thought. The Path would never be that kind. Would it?

He knew women could talk. His own mother had for one. She'd nagged, ridiculed, and complained until he'd fantasized about cutting off his ears...or her tongue. But his mother had been dead for some time, and now after a year of silence, he'd come to like the quiet. Maybe his wife was waiting for him to speak first? His gaze rested on the iron manacles around her wrists. "I have the tools at home to take those off."

The truth was he'd purposely "forgotten" to ask for the keys. She was a convicted criminal after all. She was probably a violent person, and he liked the idea of her being more manageable, at least while they were riding home alone.

The wife made no response just stared straight ahead, her body swaying to the motion of the wagon.

Maybe she was deaf also. Hudson had a deaf horse once. The mare had plowed the field just fine. He swallowed, then tried again.

"My name is Hudson Black Creek Land because I own a farm." He was an idiot. His last name was obvious since only men who owned property could take the last name of Land. "Do you have a name?"

Silence.

"Can you talk?"

Nothing, just the annoying swaying.

Hudson looked back toward the road and shrugged. This marriage thing didn't seem to be too hard. In fact, she didn't seem to be much trouble at all. He released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He rolled his shoulders a bit, suddenly tired. The early morning journey and "wife buying" had taken its toll. He went to pat her knee, but stopped awkwardly mid-air—still too nervous to actually touch her. He lowered his hand, and instead flashed her a reassuring smile. "I have a good feeling about this marriage thing. I think you'll work out just fine."

_A ir! Air!_ He couldn't breathe. He was drowning. No, not drowning—choking! Someone was trying to kill him.

Hudson clawed at the chain around his neck, but his fingers couldn't get underneath the bite of the metal. He twisted and turned trying to break free, but it was of no use, his attacker was strong. Time was running out. His vision narrowed as empty voids gathered along the edges. Through the small hole of light he could still make out the rear end of his horse, the reins that had fallen forward, the wooden bench he sat on. Had he fallen asleep? Must have. There was no other way an attacker could've taken him by surprise.

A fire blazed where his lungs had once been. Strange, animal-like sounds escaped from his throat. He clawed at his flesh, trying to make room. He could feel the attacker struggle against his back as he pulled from a lower angle. _Smaller than?_ Hudson was tall, and even in a world of men, he was usually head and shoulders above most. He hoped this time wasn't an exception.

He gave up the fight with the chain itself and reached behind him. He found the attacker's hands and clapped down with a pit-bull grip. His head spun. The roar in his ears grew louder. With the last burst of energy before he fell into the darkness, he threw all his power into his legs and stood. The metal links crushed his throat. He countered it by pulling the attacker's hands hard over his head. The smaller frame crashed at him from behind. The chain loosened.

That was enough. He drew the chain forward and slipped under the noose. He wrapped his one hand around the links and pulled. His attacker flew forward across the bench. He freed his ax. His arm swung high. Rage filled his veins along with the steadiness a man needed to kill. He swung—white hair, shackled wrists, a crusted wound from the Executioner's mark—the woman! He shifted his aim. The ax head found its home in the wagon's bench. The wood split in half with a clean break.

For the second time in one day, his wife had almost lost her head.

His wife, _his wife_ , had just tried to kill him! Sharp breath cooled the flames in his lungs as another fire started in his gut. With disgust he yanked on her arm. In reality, he meant to pull her to standing. Instead, he overestimated his strength...and underestimated her weight. In a flurry of white hair and soiled gown, she went flying out of the wagon and landed on her backside with a loud humph.

In shock, Hudson stilled. His plow horse, being a good plow horse, had stopped moving the wagon forward. Everyone and everything around them stopped, except her...his wife. She was up and on her feet, sprinting like a rabbit being chased by a wolf.

_Really? Really!_ Did she think she could run away from him? Did she think he would _let_ her?

He jumped out of the wagon and started to hunt her down as if she really was a rabbit and he really was a very hungry, very angry wolf.

Hudson would've laughed if his throat hadn't felt like he'd swallowed a burning coal. She was an idiot if she thought she could run from him. He'd follow her through the Portal if he had too. There was way too much riding on that white head of hers for him to let her go.

It didn't take long. He tackled her legs. They both went down. She rolled and tried to kick him. He caught her foot an inch from his face. In a quick move he had her under him, legs pinned, hands above her head—her chained wrists now a hindrance to her instead of a weapon.

He took a second to catch his breath, rage choking him almost as effectively as her chained wrists had earlier. "Rule number one. Don't kill your husband especially when he is still reeling from the cost of buying you."

She didn't respond, but her eyes had lost that dead, far-away look. Now they shot blue flames of hate. He should've never wished the dull, complacent look away.

If a man had tried to kill him there would've been no hesitation. He'd put a sword through a man's belly for less. But there were reasons why he couldn't kill her. There had to be. All he needed was to remember just one.

_His farm_.

That was one. Well, he'd keep her alive, but it didn't mean he had to keep her happy. She could be kept chained to his bed for all he cared.

"Tell me why or else I'll start chopping off body parts until you do." He hadn't sunk to a killer of women yet, but she didn't have to know that. Maybe his father had been right, a little fear goes a long way in a successful marriage.

"You have to let me leave."

It was the first time he had heard her speak. Her voice was a bit raspy, deeper than he'd expected from one so small. It reminded him of cold, clear nights and hushed whispers behind closed doors. And damn it was sexy, and... _focus_. He lifted her chain and slammed her wrists on the ground for emphasis. "I just spent my life savings and half my land to buy you. You're not going anywhere."

"Then I'll never stop breaking rule number one," she spat out.

"Well, that will make what I have to do a lot harder."

"Which is what?"

"Get you pregnant."

Her face blanched, and he allowed himself a wicked smile. He could tell she was thinking the worst. Good, by The Path she deserved it. But that wasn't the worst. He could do better. "And I have every intention of keeping you chained to my bed to accomplish it."

Want more? **_To Buy A Wife_** is FREE! at all major platforms. Go to your favorite retailor to continue reading KC Klein's first book in her Dark Future dystopian series, **_To Buy A Wife_** , now.

When I first started Hudson and Lake's story, I originally thought the time period would be at, or a few years after, my first novel, _Dark Future_. As I started _To Keep A Wife_ , I realized the story better fit the time line before _Dark Future_. Technically, that would make the novellas prequels to _Dark Future_ , but having written the novellas as stand-alones, I believe you'll enjoy them in any order.

As an author who juggles a career around my children's orthodontic appointments and late night school projects, I'm always grateful for readers who take the time out of their busy lives to step into my world where good trumps evil, love wins out over hate, and a happily-ever-after is guaranteed. I hope I made the journey worth your while.

Much love and gratitude,

KC Klein

KC Klein has lived most of her life with her head in the clouds and her nose buried in a book. She did stop reading long enough to make a home with a real life hero, her husband, for over twenty years. A mother of two children, she spends her time slaying dragons, saving princesses, and championing the belief in the happily-ever-after. An award winning author, KC Klein has written her gritty, sci-fi, _Dark Future Series_ , and _The Omega Galaxy Series_ , but she has become most widely known for her popular _Texas Fever_ contemporary romance series. KC loves to hear from readers and can be found desperately pounding away on her laptop in yoga pants and leopard slippers or more conveniently at her website.

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# Alien Attachments by Sabine Priestley

# About Alien Attachments

Alien Attachments is the first in a series following the Cavacent clan and their role as Earth Protectors. Ian Cavacent finds himself fighting a forbidden bond with human Dani Standich as the empire around them begins to crumble.

# Sample of Alien Attachments

**C hapter 1**

* * *

A dark-skinned male and a tall blond female danced around each other, bamboo sticks at the ready, waiting for an opening. Sitting on the warm iron bleachers above, Ian Cavacent leaned forward in anticipation. The old warehouse on Cat Island doubled as many things. Tonight, it hosted the weekly mixed fight competition. The popular event drew crowds from as far away as Nassau. Humans jostled for a seat or stood in groups around the improvised, oversized boxing ring. The target of his interest was the blond woman. He'd come to watch her for the past few weeks. A friend of his human support agent, Jared, she fascinated him. He had a rule to avoid women on the island, but there was something about this one. She intrigued him. And not for the usual reasons, either. Yes, she was pretty, beautiful even, but there was more to it than that.

Jared slid into the seat next to him and handed him a beer. "Dani said you were stalking her."

"I don't stalk." Ian took the plastic cup. "Besides, I wasn't aware she knew I was here."

"Yeah, she told me that too."

Ian took a long pull on the beer. "There's just something odd about her. Maybe it's the way she moves. Her motions aren't practiced, she's constantly off balance, and yet she pulls in win after win. If I didn't know better, I'd say the fights were rigged."

The crowd quieted, and tension rose as the timer ticked down to zero.

Below, the two continued their dance, circling each other. The man lunged and Dani twirled with an awkward step, but still managed to dodge the swing of the bamboo. Sweat dripped into the cleavage of her sports bra and down the small of her back, leaving a dark stain in the fabric. She parried left and right. As usual, her maneuvers were halting and lacked grace.

Ian winced when Jared erupted in one of his booming sneezes. Dani shot an annoyed glance their way. Big mistake. In that fraction of a second, her opponent swung his bamboo. The jagged tip grazed the skin below her left eye before slamming into her wrist. The impact pushed her over the edge. She ducked, nearly fell over, spun around and in a surprisingly fluid movement, sent her opponent's stick flying. The crowd erupted with cheers and jeers for both sides. Money changed hands and the tension evaporated. The two opponents approached each other. Cradling her wrist, Dani declined a handshake. They shared some good-natured words before they left the floor.

Ian's powerful psi allowed him to see a purple mist radiating from her injuries. "That's going to hurt," Ian said.

"Dammit," Jared mumbled, grabbing one of his ever-present tissues. "Can you tell how bad it is?"

"Not yet."

"Well"—Ian swallowed the dregs of his beer—"she may have won, but she's going to be out of commission for awhile. She's not going to be happy with you."

"Yep." Jared wiped his nose. "I best go down and apologize. Come with me? She knows you've been watching. Be kind of weird at this point not to say hello."

A wave of anticipation washed over him. Aside from his three support agents, he limited his involvement with humans to the occasional short-lived affair off the island. Yet his reaction to spending time with this woman surprised him.

"You know I prefer to keep my involvement with humans away from here." Still, he was tempted. On the verge of changing his mind, he sensed a pending communication. "Hold on, incoming message from Marco." Marco was the Earth Protector, or EP, currently on duty. He waited a beat for it to arrive.

_We got company, boss._ His com relayed the message.

"Apologies are going to have to wait. Someone's paying Earth a visit." Ian said.

Jared followed him out the back door.

* * * *

Dani wiped the sweat from her brow and followed Dugo out of the fight area. Bazillionaire Ian Cavacent and her friend Jared were leaving out the back. Ian always kept to himself, and as far as she knew, never fraternized with the locals except Jared. His recent interest in her sparked an explosion of fantasies. Even better, he seemed the type who would be okay with a "nothing complicated" scenario. And he was hot. Seriously hot, hence the fantasies. She'd love to get him in front of her camera...and a few other places. Those wavy blond locks and smoky green eyes. _Yum. Why haven't you contacted me, Mr. Cavacent?_

Dugo interrupted her musings. "Someone needs to tell Jared to take his allergy meds." He nodded toward her arm. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine." She gave him a good-natured nudge with her other elbow. "You almost got me there."

He took a hand towel off the supplies table and handed it to her. "You're bleeding."

The medic came over and applied antibiotic ointment and a butterfly bandage to her cheek. "You should have that looked at."

"I will," Dani said.

Dugo tossed the towel in the laundry bin. "Glad I missed your eye. Seriously, man. I didn't see you comin'."

"And that's the way it's done," Dani said with all the swagger she could muster. Which was a lot, even with the pain radiating from her wrist.

Dugo laughed. "So what do you say? Have a drink with me?"

"Dugo..."

"Hey," he said, shrugging. "I never see you with no one here. You fly around the world and take your pictures, but this is home. Why you not date anyone?"

"Who says I don't?" Dani could tell by his stance he wasn't buying it. Didn't matter, he didn't have to. It was her business. "Gotta go. Catch ya next time."

* * *

***

The following day, after a swim along the beach, Ian sat on a barstool across from Jared. Two additional members of his EP team sat on either side of him. They were like night and day. Armond Nolde, white-haired albino, and Marco Dar, dark and swarthy.

"That was no accident last night, boss," Marco said.

"I know." Ian motioned for Jared to pour them some drinks.

After leaving Dani's match, they'd ported off world to the base where their fighters were kept. Humans had no idea their little planet was the focus of increasingly frequent alien attention. It was the EP's job to keep it that way. Last night Torogs attempted to land. During their interception, a team hired by Councilman Gordat Prayda fired on Ian's ship. The Torogs fled, and Prayda's goons claimed mechanical failure of their equipment.

_Mechanical failure, like hell_. Politics on Sandaria had become increasingly perilous.

Jared poured beers for the three Sandarians and wiped down the already-clean counter.

"Aside from the obvious," the albino Armond said, reaching back to tighten his ubiquitous pony tail, "I find it disturbing Councilman Prayda appears to believe the accidental death of Lord Cavacent's heir and only child would go unpunished."

Armond had a point. "I talked with my father after the incursion last night. He agrees the increase in Torog activity is concerning, but thinks we should stay quiet about the attack on me. The fewer waves we make right now, the better. Let's just try and avoid any further contact with Councilman Prayda's pets."

Marco rapidly tapped his beer glass. "If you'd just let me blast that _crag_ last night—"

"The emperor's guards would be all over us," Armond finished.

Ian sensed Marco's rising anger at Armond. The two rarely saw eye to eye. "At ease." Ian slid Marco's beer away from his tapping finger. He used his psi to calm the man. _I've told you before to stop letting him get under your skin._

Marco's psi wasn't strong enough to broadcast his thoughts but the release of tension in his shoulders as he took a long pull on his beer was enough for Ian.

Jared, who'd been listening to the exchange, leaned against the bar. "Trouble in paradise?"

Marco snorted.

Ian ignored the reaction and addressed Jared. "Let's just say the empire is a little unstable right now." The concern on Jared's face was clear. "Don't worry too much. Earth shouldn't be involved. Aside from you and the Papallos, Earth can remain blissfully ignorant of the existence of aliens."

Closer to his father's age, Jared bore the appearance of a scruffy old sea captain. He'd worked with his father before Ian took over.

"Where's the new kid?" Jared asked, pouring some mixed nuts into a bowl.

Grinning, Marco grabbed a handful of nuts and shook his head.

"She's getting settled," Ian said. "Has some more unpacking to do. You'll meet her later."

"Marco here said she's height-challenged," Jared said.

Marco held his hand out below shoulder height. It wasn't much, given that he was sitting. "She's a little spitfire."

"Five-foot-four," Ian said.

"With her boots on," Armond added.

Jared raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Just wait till you catch her in action," Ian said. "Unbelievably fast and knows how to use her size to her advantage. Oh, and she's got blazing red hair."

"I have got to see this." Jared blew his nose and shook his head. "You three over six-foot, and Little Red Riding Hood."

Ian laughed. "An odd picture all right. It works, though. She nailed the trial and has total psi-control over her ship. Never once went to manual."

"So, what do you think the Torogs were coming for?" Jared asked.

"The usual," Ian said. "Hunting humans or going after carnium."

Jared stacked more glasses behind the bar. "That's the stuff you use to go all faster than light, right?"

Ian found Jared's vernacular to be a continuing source of entertainment. "Been taking notes?"

"I work for aliens. I'm always taking notes." Jared leaned back against the bar and crossed his arms. "Third time this week Torogs have hit our radar. What's going on?"

"I wish we knew," Ian said.

Jared remained silent for a moment. "You know, boss. I don't like the idea of Earth not having you guys around. Don't go gettin' yourself killed."

"I don't plan to. My father thinks the emperor doesn't have long. The problem is, no one knows who or what will take his place. Until we know that, we just have to ride it out." Ian's psi registered the approaching vehicle before he heard the crunch of tires on the crushed-shell gravel outside. Desire pulsed through him. "Well, well. Looks like we've got company. Sounds like Ms. Standich herself." Ian took a beat to enjoy the sensations she induced.

"She the one you're stalking?" Marco said.

Ian scowled at him. "I'm not stalking her."

"Whatever you say, boss." Marco pointed a finger at Jared. "He said it."

Jared plucked a nut out of the dish and flicked it at Marco.

The nut stopped in mid air, a few inches from Marco's face and spun around for a moment. Marco flicked his finger. The nut shot through the air and bounced off Jared's head, causing him to burst out laughing.

A moment later, the massive wood plank that made up the front entrance creaked open grudgingly. Sand scraped against the floor. The sliding doors at the back of the bar stood wide open, and the cross breeze pulled at Dani's blond hair as she struggled with the weight.

"When," she said, clutching a white hat and beach bag, "are you going to fix this thing?" She held her right wrist close to her chest. Slipping through the opening, she turned to use her rear to push the beast closed. She gave a mighty shove with her ass. The door gave more than expected and she let out a short squeak as she tried to regain her balance.

_Graceful as always,_ Ian thought.

"Thanks for your help last night, by the way." Dani glared at Jared.

Ian stifled a laugh.

Waves of purple radiated from her arm and the left side of her face. She wore large, dark sunglasses that hid the injury to her eye, but her wrist was visibly bruised and swollen.

Jared rushed around the bar and gave the door a shove. "What can I say? My allergies never stop. You gotta learn not to be distracted."

"Hold it in next time."

"Sure, kid." Jared kicked at the bottom of the door, which finally clicked shut.

Ian was surprised by the obvious closeness of the relationship, but then he never stuck around when locals came into the bar. Until now.

"So?" Dani said, placing her bag and hat on a bar stool not far from Ian and his EPs. "When are you going to fix that thing?"

"Fix it? Why? Keeps the tourists down to a minimum."

"You own a bar on the beach. Aren't you supposed to want tourists?"

Jared shrugged. "I'm good with the ones I get from the hotel"—he indicated a path leading up a slight hill—"and the few wanderers."

Dani gazed at the beach beyond the small patio and sighed. "You do have a slice of heaven here."

Jared poured some nuts into a bowl and slid them across to her. "I don't think you've formally met my friends here." He indicated the team. "This is Armond, Marco and 'course you know about Ian. Guys, this here is Dani."

They exchanged greetings and Dani focused on Ian. "Been enjoying my fights, Mr. Cavacent?" She smiled with her striking blue eyes.

Jared coughed loudly.

Ian was sure the word "stalker" was buried in the cough somewhere. He decided to ease up on his usual role of arrogant millionaire. He needed to find out why she captivated him so. "Call me Ian, and yes, I have been enjoying your fights. You have an unusual technique."

Dani scoffed. "Lack thereof, you mean." She removed her sunglasses and revealed a nasty gash below her left eye. Dark bruises surrounded the puffy wound.

"Ouch." Jared leaned in for a closer inspection. "At least you won."

Dani set the glasses down. "Yeah, well it's going to be awhile before I can compete again. I figure you owe me some drinks in the meantime."

"Suppose that's only fair."

Fascinating purple swirls worked their way up to her shoulder and out from her cheek. The color was deep and rich, meaning she was in a great deal of pain. That, or she had an unusually high tolerance for it.

Dani dug around her bag with her left hand and pulled out an insulated Tervis cup. "Rum and coke, please." She slid the cup over to Jared.

"Want some ice for that wrist? And maybe your face?" he asked.

"No, thanks."

Jared set her drink down while she gathered up her bag and put her sunglasses back on.

"Why thank you kindly, sir," she said with an exaggerated southern accent. "I always rely upon the kindness of strangers."

Jared bowed. "Anything for you, Miss Scarlett."

"Boys." She gave a nod and headed for the path leading to the hotel pool.

Ian waited until she was out of earshot. "She moves like a cat."

The men watched as she tripped and sloshed her drink onto the path.

"A clumsy cat," Marco said, finishing his beer. "That's it for me. I can't take this humidity. I'll check in with you later, boss." He stood. "Thanks, Jared."

"I too, have had enough of this damp climate of yours." Armond said, getting to his feet. "I'll report in this evening." He followed Marco out.

Jared sneezed. "That's why you selected this place, isn't it?"

Ian didn't answer, just grinned. "How long have you known her?" He indicated the direction Dani had taken.

"Years," Jared said around his tissue. "Her aunt took her in when her parents died in a plane crash. She was only fifteen or sixteen at the time. I used to let her sweep up around the bar in exchange for sodas. Got the feeling she needed the company. Anyway, auntie spends most of her time in New York these days. Dani keeps the house going when she's not off freelancing for Vogue or some other slick rag."

"Journalist?"

"Photographer. She's good too, if you like that sort of thing." Jared wiped his nose again. "Personally, I prefer landscapes and animals to pretty humans." Jared popped a few peanuts into his mouth. "She's in pain."

"That woman, my friend, is in a world of hurt," Ian agreed.

"Think maybe you could help her out?"

Ian finished off his beer. "You know how I am about getting involved with locals."

"She's good people, boss. Besides you don't have to get involved." Jared made quotes with his fingers around the last words. "I've never seen her with anyone. Losing your folks at such a young age, I suppose it can mess you up. Just tell her you know some techniques to help with the pain."

Ian cast another look at the retreating woman. "Why are you so concerned? Is there something I should know about you two?"

Jared harrumphed and crossed his arms. "I'm old enough to be her dad."

"So?"

"I'll admit, I have a soft spot for her, but it's more like a daughter. Like I said, she's good people."

Ian couldn't deny his attraction to her, and he was curious to see if he could figure out why he found her so appealing. Probably those blue eyes. _I'll talk to her for a while. She'll have nothing to say, and I'll get her out of my system._ "Fine. But just enough to ease her pain. I can't do more, obviously."

"Obviously. Thanks, boss. Hey, when you get back, I'll buy you a beer."

"That's real generous, considering I own the place."

Jared chuckled and ate another handful of peanuts.

* * * *

Dani had finally gotten herself situated on the raft, her drink within reach on the deck, when she noticed Ian heading her way. A deep thrill rippled through her and she bit her lip. The pool area was empty except an old couple eating ice cream at the far end.

Ian sat next to her cup, and dangled his legs in the water. Nice, muscular legs.

"Hello again," he said.

"Ian." Dani nodded in greeting.

"I'm guessing you're in a fair amount of pain right now."

"Nothing I can't handle." Where was he going with this?

"If you're interested, I'm proficient in an ancient Chinese art of pain management."

Dani tilted her hat to get a better view. "Seriously?" She'd heard some lines in her time, but that had to be the cheesiest.

"Seriously." He shrugged and took a sip of her drink.

Dani huffed and scowled at him. "You better not drink it all or you'll have to get me another one." His smoky green eyes were an intriguing contrast to his olive skin. The way he looked at her made her body tingle. "How exactly does this Chinese voodoo work?"

Ian pushed off the side and into the water with a smile on his face. "Certain places on the body can be manipulated to ease pain and do other things like lower blood pressure." He stood next to her, causing a slight wake to bob the raft up and down.

"Hmm...I don't know."

"Really? Jared's worried about you and I promised I'd help."

Dani glanced back toward the bar. She couldn't see Jared from here, but she knew he'd be worried. It's what he did under all that gruffness. When she looked back, she found Ian's gaze had shifted to somewhere south of her eyes. A flood of pleasure washed over her at the thought of his lips on her breast.

She cleared her throat.

Ian smiled at her with a crooked grin.

The thrill from earlier boiled over to something far less manageable. _Wow. This is some serious attraction._ "Um, precisely where and how will you be manipulating me?"

Ian laughed. "I assure you my intentions are honorable."

Well, that was disappointing. She tilted her head. If he didn't feel the same attraction right now, she'd eat her bikini. "Go ahead then. Let's see what you can do." She pulled her hat down over her face and leaned back.

The raft rocked in the water as he moved behind her. He lightly touched her injured arm sending a zap of euphoria through her. _Wow._

His fingers slowly trailed up each of her arms and the tension in her core rose with it. As he reached the base of her neck, she said a little prayer he'd be open to a friends-with-benefits situation. His hands settled on her shoulder muscles and pressed harder. A bolt of pleasure shot through her. _This is insane._ She couldn't slow her breathing. He was no where near her private bits, yet it was as if...

Ian ran his thumbs up the cords in her neck.

She caught her breath as the intensity increased. _No way._ Her body tensed as pleasure exploded, leaving her motionless as the incredible sensation rolled outward to her fingers and toes. _Holy shit._

* * * *

Ian drew his fingers along the top of Dani's shoulders, enjoying the buzz her silky smooth skin created.

Her body shivered, causing his psi to ripple through him. _Interesting._

He gently probed along the muscles to find the right spot.

Dani let out a long sigh and relaxed into his hands.

He found it odd he'd have such intense chemistry with a human. He closed his eyes and reached out with his psi. Her cheek possessed only a flesh wound so he dampened the nerve endings to stop the pain. Next he moved to her wrist where he found a hairline fracture. He focused his psi and mended the bone, leaving most of the bruised tissue and muscle, but again dampened the nerve endings. A minute passed before Ian realized something was off. His psi buzzed with an energy he'd never experienced before.

Dani's breathing quickened.

He was about to let go when a blast of psi tore into him. The sheer force was astonishing. He nearly flung her behind him, before he realized it _was_ her.

_Not possible._ _Humans don't have psi._ Unable to resist, he explored further. Like a Sandarian child, her psi was unrefined and clearly not under control. He should let go, but like a moth to a flame, he delved deeper. And deeper still. The magnitude floored him. She could very well be as strong as he.

This had the potential to change everything. If people on his planet found out, his family could lose all rights to this world. Rights to both the carnium and their protectorship of Earth. Humans could never defend themselves against the aliens who would come looking for an easy grab at the coveted mineral. With the unrest of the empire, it might be years before another protectorship could be effectively established and agreed upon. By then, Goddess knew, how much damage would have been done.

_A human with psi._ It made no sense. His family had been protecting Earth for generations. Never had a human been found with psi. He'd been with a number of women, and never had there been an inkling. He needed to discuss this with his father. __ He began to pull back. As though in response to his leaving, her psi pulsed and pleasure unlike anything he'd ever imagined washed though him. His body and psi buzzed with the intense energy. Stronger and stronger it grew. He drew a deep breath, riding the wave of pure ecstasy.

Almost as if— _Holy Goddess._ Ian slammed the connection closed and staggered back. His heart pounded in his chest. He stared at his hands as though they belonged to someone else. _My psi-mate?_ The pleasure slowly subsided. He wanted more, needed more. _Mother Goddess help me._

Chairs scrapped across the pool deck and snapped him out of his reverie. He threw a glance over his shoulder. The old couple prepared to leave. The man winked at Ian, then said something to the woman that made her laugh.

He returned his attention to Dani. She inhaled quickly as if she'd been holding her breath. He stood a moment longer, torn between staying, because he wanted to, and returning to Sandaria to talk with his father. Duty won. He whirled around, slicing through the water.

She called after him but he didn't respond.

_What did I just do?_

* * * *

Dani coughed as water splashed over her face from Ian's abrupt departure. She jerked to a sitting position. She'd been momentarily paralyzed, and it freaked her out. The movement sent pulses of pleasure rippling through her. _Holy crap, that was amazing._ "Hey, what was that? Ian?" She spun around to find him nearly at the steps. "Ian!"

He bolted out of the water and headed back to the bar, dripping wet.

The photographer in her couldn't help but analyze the scene. _Damn, he does wet really well._ Dani wiped the water from her eyes and looked around for her hat. _Crap._ She reached over and plucked the soggy mess off the surface of the water. Plopping it on her head, she sighed as the waterlogged rim flopped over her face. _Great._ She shook the hat out a few times and stopped mid-swing.

_What the..._ Slowly, she put the hat back on her head and held up her injured hand. She flexed her fingers and bent her wrist back and forth. The tendons were stiff and still looked like hell, but there was no pain. __ Swinging her legs off the lounge, she slid into the waist-deep water. Submerging her hand, she drew her palm back and forth under the surface. Still no pain. _What in the world did he do?_

Dani got out of the pool, gathered up her bag and drink and hurried down the path after him. She flexed her pain-free wrist the whole way.

Jared stood behind the bar, filling salt shakers.

"Where'd Ian go?"

"Said he had to run."

"Yeah, literally. I want to talk to him about this pressure point thing." Dani sat across from him.

"Pressure point?"

"You know, the pain thing."

"Oh yeah, how'd it go? Pretty cool, huh?" Jared screwed the lid on a shaker.

"I guess. I mean the results are great. Unbelievable really, but the effect—" Dani stopped herself. What was she going to do? Tell Jared she'd just had some freak pleasure event? As if. "I just can't believe how effective this pressure point thing is." She slid her empty cup over to Jared. "Can I have another rum and coke, please? Mr. Personality sloshed water in mine."

Jared put down the shaker. "Sure. I take it you're feeling better?" He rinsed out the Tervis cup and made another drink.

"I'll say. He's got a nice touch, I'll give him that." _There's an understatement._ "But as soon as he finished, he bolted from the pool. Swamped me with his wake. Got my new hat wet."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and check this out." Dani held up her wrist and twisted it around. "What the—even the bruising is going away now, look."

Jared leaned in for a closer inspection and frowned. His eyes moved from her wrist to her face. "Take your glasses off, Dani."

She did as he asked.

"Oh, dear."

"What? What's wrong?" She reached up and probed the gash under her eye. The skin felt like a month-old scar. "Jared, what's going on?"

You can buy _Alien Attachments_here.

I hope you enjoyed the opening of Alien Attachments. Come along for the ride as butt-ugly Torogs try to capture Dani, Ian discovers she isn't what she seems and the two can't deny the bond forming between them.

A lifelong lover of books, Sabine grew up on Science Fiction, Fantasy and Romance novels. As a child she wanted to be an astronaut and travel the stars looking for aliens. As an adult she's seriously disappointed we've yet to establish so much as a moon base (although she gives a hearty nod to the ISS) and is pretty sure Humans aren't ready to meet ET.

An Electrical Engineer and Cultural Anthropologist by training, she's a geek with heart. She's lived in more states than she cares to admit and loves to travel. When not in far off lands, you can frequently find her walking the local beaches and plotting her next adventure.

Sabine lives in Florida with her husband, kids, cats and an increasingly large mess of characters in her head.

Facebook Website Twiter: @SabinePriestley

# Earthbound Passion by Jody Wallace

# About Earthbound Passion

Mari Shu, a factory drudge in the year 4000-something, must choose how to protect her sisters, her purity, and her own conscience in a bleak futuristic society that's been polluted by smog, rampant commercialism, tacky jumpsuits, sexual perversions, unjust socioeconomics, interstellar travel, and inconsistent use of the Oxford comma.

In this first of many planned interactive adventures, Mari Shu's decision to stick to Olde Earth opportunities, such as professional sexxoring, has deeper consequences than she could ever have dreamed possible.

**Warning:** Book contains offensive material. Buttloads of boatloads of offensive, vulgar, disrespectful, and possibly triggering material. Sexual, political, economic, racial, physical, typographical, religious—really, trying to hit all the big ones. Please make sure to sign your correct name to the hate mail so we can give proper credit in the follow-up volume entitled, "The Hate Mails to Mari Shu".

**Warning 2:** What that means is this entire book is a spoof. A joke. A hoot. It wasn't born out of hatred of any aspect of genre fiction and culture or even hatred of human beings but instead out of love, true love. No, seriously, quit laughing. Oh, wait, you're supposed to laugh, because it's parody. I'M SO TORN!

# Sample of Earthbound Passion

_W elcome to the wacky world of erotic science fiction romance parody WTF! This is the first segment of all segments of all books in the Mari Shu series. The beginning. Not the end. The alpha. Not the omega. Which means you start reading here. At the end of each segment, you, dear reader, make the choices that determine Mari Shu's fate. Enjoy!_

Mari Shu Three Million Even trudged alongside the hoverwalk, stabbing pains pinching her arches with every step. After a long, hard day in the widget factory, the workers' pay had been reduced. Third time in a month. All because the workers on the moon branch had rioted again, so everyone was being punished for their insolence.

As such, she hadn't had the credits for a taxicraft, much less a spot on the hoverwalk. She would, like so many other widgeters, have to walk the ten miles uphill to her slum sweet slum, the only affordable housing for a Million like herself.

Wealthier citizens on the hoverwalk whizzed past her and the other drudges, fluttering her long blond hair and puffing the smells of oil, ozone (there's always ozone somewhere), and desperation (there's always desperation somewhere) around her. On the other side, separated by naught but a thin railing, cruised even wealthier citizens in their personal luxury crafts and suits in government vehicles.

Hurtling death lurked three paces to the right. If she stumbled sideways, fell over the railing, and ended her life of drab misery...

But no. She had responsibilities. Two of them, in fact. How was she going to tell Cassie and Trish, her dependent siblings, that she didn't have enough credits to pay rent by tomorrow?

Only one thing happened to Millioners whose lazy shiftlessness and clear-cut lack of Olde Earthian values meant they became homeless. Okay, a couple things, but none of them were good.

Her sisters would be no help with financial difficulties. The girls couldn't get widget jobs. Mari Shu had been too poor, since their drug-addled mother had died, to send them to school for training. All Cassie and Trish could do would be sexxoring work, and she'd promised her grandmother at the old woman's required post-menopause euthanasia ceremony that no Three Million Shu would ever earn her living on her knees.

Not that her mother had cared for that vow. Mother had sexxored since day 6570, the first one upon which she'd been legally allowed. In Olde Earth society—in all seven districts—no one dared sexxor when it wasn't legally allowed. That was a quick trip to the Venus penile colony waiting to happen.

Mari Shu heaved a sigh, her unfashionably large breasts bobbing under her jumpsuit and attracting the attention of a tall male plodding nearby.

"Hello, fellow citizen."

"Hello," she responded.

"Might I state factually that you are a female of what appears to be pre-menopausal age?" he inquired.

"You may." It was, after all, factual. She was twenty-three Olde Earth years old. Menopause and euthanasia were several decades off.

His grey drudge jumpsuit, the same shade of grey as hers, marked him as a fellow drudge and millioner. The material didn't conceal his muscled form any more than it did her large breasts, trim waist and long legs. Olde Earth citizens were required to remain in peak physical condition to ease the strain on the medical facilities of their overpopulated, polluted and probably dying planet, hence the colonization of nearby planets. However, one must admit Venus and its penile colony were far from optimal, the people on the moon were always rioting, and Mars, well, it was mostly for the very wealthy—the rover class.

"Are you in a domestic partnership?" he inquired.

Men didn't often ask Mari Shu about her partnership status since she had long legs, blond, tousled hair, and full lips that were as unfashionable as her full breasts, for whatever reason. Perhaps because she was tall instead of short? Mari Shu had never understood, but really, readers should just assume a heroine doesn't feel sexually attractive or libidinous until she meets the hero, who definitely isn't some random widgeter trying to get a piece of action on the street...the other piece of evidence to the man's lack of heroism being the fact Mari Shu's hoohah had yet to tingle in any way, shape or form upon meeting him.

"No," Mari Shu told the man who did not make her hoohah tingle.

"Me neither. So how about you and I get a permit to make sweet anal love?" he suggested leeringly.

"I refuse your offer," she told the man. As a Millioner, Mari Shu wasn't allowed to procreate. A special seal on her vagina ensured her lack of breeder sexxoring. While we realize an actual barrier covering the vagina would also interfere with other things that tend to happen to adult female bodies, such as menstruation, this is science fiction. Assume it's been taken care of.

Only ascension into the ranks of the Thousanders meant vaginal penetration for her ilk...outside of sexxoring work, that is. For which she would be medically sterilized, giving rise to questions of how her sexxoring mother and Millioner grandmother had managed to get knocked up and have babies, but who needs internal narrative consistency?

And anyway, Mari Shu had a vow to keep. No sexxoring as a means of earning a living. Even if it meant getting the oft-itchy seal off her vag.

"Blow job?" the man suggested next, somewhat less leeringly, since sweet anal love was apparently his preference in recreational mutual sexxoring. "Those permits are on sale. Over at the LabiaCorp widget factory, we just got raises. My treat."

"LabiaCorp widgeters got raises?" Mari Shu exclaimed. "Plutonian crapdoodles. EvilCorp just cut us by another eight percent."

"Like I said, my treat," the man offered. "I'll even throw in a nutrient tube afterward."

But Mari Shu had nutrient tubes and two sisters wa **i** ting for her at home—not to mention she wasn't tempted by the man's offer. In truth, never had she been tempted to engage in sexxoring. It was likely due to a childhood spent watching her mother sexxor in every imaginable position and with every imaginable type of person, she realized, but comprehending the origins of her hang-ups and lack of hoohah tingles didn't mean she wanted to suck off a LabiaCorp widgeter she'd randomly met on the way home.

She wanted to hold out her sucks and her anus and her tingles for...something. She just wasn't sure what.

"I don't have time," she told him, instead of letting him know she found him the opposite of tingly, since that would be mean.

"I haven't had a permit in three months. It wouldn't take long."

"You'll have to find another citizen," she told him.

The man shrugged and proceeded to ignore her. She walked slower, allowing him to troop ahead. Legally he wasn't allowed to importune her again once she'd refused him, but she needed more time to decide what to tell Cassie and Trish. She was nearly home. The home they might lose tomorrow and be forced to...

Well, Mari Shu didn't want to think about it in detail, because it would ruin the suspense.

As Mari Shu continued her homeward journey, the tall buildings, constructed completely of widgets like so much on Olde Earth, shrank to heights that ceased to block out the faded light of the likely dying sun. The odors of the slum increased, replacing ozone and desperation with poop and desperation. The hoverwalk ended in a crumple of poor maintenance. Mari Shu scuttled through the crowds going to or coming from work, all in grey coveralls except for the sexxorers, who got to wear whatever they wanted.

For a moment Mari Shu longed to wear a beautiful, sparkly rainbow jumpsuit with cut-out holes exposing her breasts like Big Bertha One Billion, a nice sexxorer whom she'd occasionally employed to babysit Trish and Cassie when they'd been younger. The rainbow hues in Big Bertha's favorite outfit would set off the gold and red tones in Mari Shu's unfashionably lush hair, like what she remembered of her mother...

But remembering her mother also reminded her of the dark side to sexxoring, not Big Bertha's practically G-rated Babysitting and Milkmaiding service.

Mari Shu sadly but with great fitness climbed the seventy-seven flights to her tiny closet of a flat where her sisters waited for her, after another long day locked away from the world so they wouldn't get any sexxoring ideas.

Cassie and Trish bounced around her when she entered.

"What did you bring us for dinner?" Trish asked, eyes bright with excitement. "We're out of goo tubes."

Worry struck Mari Shu like a meteorite, which is the kind of outer space debris that enters the Earth's atmosphere without completely burning up. "We had four days of tubes left. How did we run out?"

She didn't have enough money for rent already. If she had to buy food through their Wal-Mark dispenser, she couldn't even make a partial rent payment. What was she going to do? How was she going to feed herself and her sisters and ensure they remained housed and in peak physical condition?

"We weren't out when you left for the factory." Cassie held up several limp packets that had once held their only food in the world. "I got hungry."

"Maybe you're hungry because you throw up every morning," Trish suggested.

"You've been hungry a lot lately." Mari Shu pushed the fact that they had no food and little money aside for a moment to inspect her beautiful sister. "And this throwing up thing concerns me. Are you all right?"

Cassie's skin glowed with the ripe peach blush of health. At least, with what Mari Shu had heard peaches were like. Only people on Mars got to eat real peaches.

"I guess." Cassie's flower bud mouth pursed with displeasure. At least, with what Mari Shu assumed a flower bud would look like. Only people on Mars got to sniff real flowers. "I'm bored."

"Maybe you're bored because Gerald Scumbag Eight Million Thirty Six Thousand and Fifteen doesn't come visit us anymore," Trish said.

"What?" This was the first she'd heard of Cassie and Trish having visitors. Despite the fact Gerald Scumbag was their landlord, that didn't give him the right to traipse in and out of their flat as if he owned it. Except that technically he did, but still. "Nobody is supposed to come here when I'm at work. Not even that Scumbag landlord of ours."

"I was bored," Cassie said again. "You think you can hide us away from the world and everyone in it, Mari Shu, but you can't. I'm in love with Gerald Scumbag, and he's going to save up and get us a permit to make sweet anal love."

"You aren't even supposed to know about sweet anal love," Mari Shu exploded. Next thing, Cassie would realize she was old enough to get a job sexxoring, and the naughty chit would break Mari Shu's solemn no-knees vow to their grandmother.

"Gerald says I'll like it better than breeder sexxoring," Cassie assured her. "You shouldn't have been hiding the delights of the flesh from us, Mari Shu. It's the only entertainment this horrible, dreary planet has to offer."

"Why are you familiar with breeder sexxoring?" Mari Shu asked, an ominous foreboding filling her in a true foreshadowing fashion.

"Because Gerald Scumbag showed us how to dissolve our vag seals," Trish said. "And then he put his—"

"Shut up," Cassie hissed at her sister. "He made us promise not to tell."

"And why is all this coming out now, when it's apparently been going on behind my back for weeks?" Mari Shu asked.

"I'm bored too," Trish said, "and even though I'm nineteen, I felt this incredible need to perform the function of a plot moppet."

Mari Shu paced through their flat, eight steps north, south, east and west. She imagined Gerald Scumbag, the man who was supposed to do nothing but collect their rent and fix their appliances, violating her innocent sisters. Sexxoring them against the law. Which meant her sisters had broken the law, and their landlord knew it, and if she knew anything about morning puking, she knew it meant Cassie had wasted a lot of food.

Food they could have eaten for four more days. In an apartment they were about to lose.

And now? Now they were out of options.

If they became homeless, which they would tomorrow, they would either have to get jobs sexxoring to pay rent or allow themselves to be transferred by Olde Earth's Relocation Commission, which could include anything from being sent to Venus, the moon, or a mysterious new planet in a galaxy far, far away that nobody knew anything about until this very sentence!

Yet if they applied for jobs sexxoring, which, as you know, Bob, Mari Shu had vowed not to do, Olde Earth's Sexxoring Commission would expect all three of them to have intact vag seals.

But apparently only she, Mari Shu, had an intact vag seal. Thanks to Gerald Scumbag.

And also, she was quite hungry. Almost, she regretted the LabiCorp man's offer of a blow job and a nutrient tube.

It was clear to Mari Shu what she must do.

* * *

_( Note to readers: this is where the storyline begins to diverge in several volumes.)_

* * *

Go alone to the Sexxoring Commission and sign up for a job since she couldn't let anyone know sweet Cassie and Trish had no vag seals.

The idea of relocating from the secure wasteland that was Olde Earth and dragging her sisters along for the interstellar ride was simply too foreign for Mari Shu to contemplate. If she became a sexxorer, at least her sisters' lives could continue at their current standard of living.

With a few changes, of course. She couldn't allow Gerald Scumbag to use her sisters as his unlicensed harem. Should any of the various commissions that ruled Olde Earth find out about the vag seal removal and subsequent breederlike activities, Gerald, Cassie and Trish would be instantly deported to Venus.

Mari Shu had never heard anything positive about the penile colony, which was originally an abandoned space station nicknamed "Queenie's Paradise" until that hunk of junk drifted into the sun. Convicts on Venus regressed into a primitive 21st century state and engaged in murder, rape, pillage, plunder, battles to the death, gender inequality, income inequity, and the donning of hats fashioned to look like large pieces of cheese.

Not that she'd ever seen real cheese. Only people on Mars got to see or eat real cheese.

Granted, as she watched the hunger, artlessness, wistfulness, boredom, resentment, cunning, and other emotions play across her sisters' faces in a way people can't actually decipher in real life because faces are not books, but this is, so there you go, she did worry about how she was going to feed and house them until the sexxoring money started coming in.

She had hoped to use the last of her credits for a partial rent payment, but they wouldn't get kicked out of their apartment until tomorrow at the earliest, and she was hungry now. So they had fancy goo, two tubes apiece, delivered from the restaurant on floor fifty. Mari Shu shut off their vidscreen for the night and lay in her narrow bed, listening to her sisters breathe and thinking about vaginal sexxoring.

Whatever she had wished to save herself for, it hadn't been this.

The next day dawned grey and polluted, with only a trace of sun winking through the ever-present layer smog. An absolutely gorgeous day, one on which Mari Shu would much prefer to be taking her sisters to the park square to stare through the unbreakable plexi at the swatch of real grass that lay within. While standing in line to see the grass was never enjoyable, the Olde Earth Parks and Rec Commission didn't charge citizens to view the authentic growth, and she certainly couldn't afford a day trip to Mars.

But today, Mari Shu was bound for the Sexxoring Commission to break her heartfelt vow to her dead grandmother. To become her own mother.

And she wasn't even sure she would like sexxoring. But then, she hadn't particularly enjoyed making widgets, either.

Mari Shu didn't tell her sisters about her upcoming change in employment. After a stern warning not to allow Gerald Scumbag to enter their apartment, or their vages, she joined her fellow Millions and Billions in the street as they plodded to the widget factories or other jobs, not that there were many opportunities for people such as herself.

But today, she was bound in another direction. Not to EvilCorp but to the vast metroplex of the SXC, located on the other side of the North American district. Since it was way too far to walk, she grimly input some of her last credits into a waiting taxicraft and allowed the automated vehicle to transport her to the one place she'd sworn she'd never go.

Well, to one of the places she'd sworn she'd never go, as Mari Shu had, at various times, sworn she'd never go to the moon, the Cosmetology Commission, the goo tube distributer over on Fourth street because of its deceptive practices regarding flavoring additives, the Antarctica District, and the eighty-second floor of any apartment building.

She hadn't broken any of those vows, ever. It churned at her like the debris and frothy scum in the Pacific Ocean to break this one.

The taxicraft deposited her at the door of the Sexxoring Metroplex much more quickly than she liked. Straightening her grey coverall, she took a deep breath and plunged into the brightly-clothed pedestrians strutting in and out of the large, neon-decorated entryway. She felt like a generic goo tube amongst gourmet fizzy pods in her dull grey coveralls—felt like everyone was staring at her and snickering.

As unfashionably tall, blond, large-bosomed and lush haired as she was, since she had never reported to the Cosmetology Commission to receive true beauty, what was she thinking, attempting to become a sexxorer? Nobody would want to sexxor with her. Except that widgeter guy from LabiCorp. And probably Gerald Scumbag. And the convicts on Venus, because she'd heard they'd sexxor anything that moved, but as she thought of various things that moved, like hoverwalks and taxicrafts, she wondered how in the universe that could be possible. Perhaps there would be a class on that at the SXC. But still.

Mari Shu wandered around the huge outer ring of the metroplex in a daze. The colors, voices, acrobaticism and smells of thousands of industrious sexxorers nearly overwhelmed her senses. Many citizens came here to hire sexxorers if they couldn't find one elsewhere.

She stared, her heart racing. She could never... Were they really... Was this his...

Mari Shu gulped. Hard. A talent that might come in handy in the near future, she reflected, if any of her clients expected her to do what that woman had been doing.

Oddly throbby in the vag area, Mari Shu finally located a queue of grey jumpsuited citizens waiting before a portal marked Admissions and joined the female's line. They all looked like they had just stepped out of the front door of the Cosmetology Commission. The opposite of her in every way, the other aspiring sexxorer females were short and orange skinned, sturdy of leg and cushy of ass. Their flower bud mouths, so unlike her wide lips too generous for beauty, whispered sexxoring secrets to one another as they waited.

The hair on the back of Mari Shu's neck prickled in a way I've never felt in real life but that you read all the time in books, so what the hey? It works when you want readers to know your protagonist is being observed without having them actually notice their observer or without switching into omniscient POV.

Were the other citizens staring at her? Mocking her? Her slim suppleness and limpid cerulean eyes were as out of place as her bobbing breasts and long blond hair. Not to mention her lack of expertise.

Her nerves jangled. The line inched forward. She couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched.

That was when she saw him. Taller than her, clad in somber black, and perfectly handsome in a way no Cosmetology Commission could create. His brooding, sardonic gaze swept her from head to toe. His kissable lips quirked in a brooding, sardonic smile. And his cleft chin was cleft.

Suddenly her hoohah began to tingle in the unmistakable signal that at last, at last, she had met her love interest.

Mari didn't know quite what to do. The one for whom she had saved all her holes had appeared, but she was about to make her holes available for rent.

Yet he was enigmatically standing in the bustle of the SXC building, indicating he was a sexxorer himself or looking to hire a sexxorer or an SXC inspector or a tourist from Mars or somebody lost, though he didn't look the type to ever, ever be lost.

"Next!" The Admissions door opened, and a woman in a glitter jumpsuit practically dragged Mari inside. The door shut behind her, blocking her view of the tall drink of tingle. Her mind still in shock at the momentous gaze locking, she found herself escorted to a tiny, private cubicle with the glittery woman, a glittery man and an exam table of some sort.

Another door shut behind her, sealing her inside the cube with slick, white walls that seemed strangely opalescent, like the backs of viewscreens, though Mari had never seen the back of a viewscreen since there was a huge financial penalty for anyone who took apart a viewscreen in an attempt to repair it. That was work reserved for authorized vendors, who deserved the opportunity to make a living as much as any widgeter.

The glittery Admissions people eyed Mari up and up and up, owing to her height, and finally down, with skepticism in their gazes. This close, Mari realized they were actually clad in glitter and not jumpsuits. The glitter molded to their every body part with loving and detailed shininess.

"Are you here to become a sexxorer?" the glitter man asked. His sparkling male organ hung flaccid and shiny between his legs, though Mari didn't look, so the description is being provided for the reader's prurience and not because Mari is the type to stare at people's privates. Unless her own privates were tingling, which they had ceased doing as soon as the Admissions door had prevented her view of tall, dark and sardonic.

Mari bit her soft, generous lip at the glitter man's blunt question, even though it wasn't blunt so much as the guy's job as an SXC Admissions clerk to ask such questions. Tears threatened to fill her blue eyes and turn them into limpid pools of unfashionable aqua. "I...I...I..."

"Oh dear, I think we have a vow-maker." The man placed a glittery finger under her chin and tilted her face from side to side as if reading her thoughts. "Let me guess. You vowed to your sainted mother you would never..."

"Grandmother," Mari automatically corrected.

"It actually doesn't matter. You're here now. Press your hand against this identification plate." He indicated a space on the oddly opalescent wall next to her. She obliged. It beeped as it identified everything about her, from her ancestry to her favorite flavor of goo to her recently reduced salary at the LexiCorp widget factory.

"Ah, financial constraints," the woman observed with sympathy. "Honey, you can kiss those goodbye after today. Well, maybe. You are a bit...unfashionable."

"Oh, I...I...I..." Mari stuttered.

"None of that, Miss Priss," the woman said. "Placing your hand against the identification plate has finalized your sexxoring contract. Didn't you know, honey? Now that you've become a sexxorer, it is all you'll ever be allowed to do."

"What? I didn't know that. I want to leave!"

"It's in the fine print," the woman said. "You know, the part we didn't let you read or warn you about, the part you were supposed to research before you got here? You've sealed your fate."

Mari could tell by the twist of the woman's glittery, sexxoring lips that the Admissions clerk was resisting the urge to laugh maniacally. Since she was only an unnamed secondary character and maniacal laughter would imply a greater importance to the plot, she continued to resist.

"Speaking of seals, we're going to need to check your vag." The glitter man palmed Mari's ass thoughtfully, the first of many invasions of Mari's privacy—and likely her privates—that were about to happen. "Take off your clothes and spread 'em."

He indicated the white table that was approximately the length of her body from head to butt with no room for her long, gazelle-like legs except possibly in the metal arms with ankle-sized cuffs at the end. Not that she'd seen gazelles even in the education vids, since they'd been extinct before the rovers relocated to Mars. But she'd heard things.

When Mari felt herself freeze the frozenness of the undecided, the glitter woman and man invaded her personal space again and began disrobing her. They touched her large yet perky breasts, her flat, empty stomach, the creamy globes of her ass, as if assessing a product they intended to purchase.

It was so...impersonal. As if they did this all day long or something.

Would this be what a career of sexxoring was like? Impersonal and leaving smudges of glitter that wasn't hers on her skin?

She held back more tears as they touched her places no one but she had ever touched herself before, like the back of her knee where she was really ticklish. Once she was completely nude and humiliated, she took her jumpsuit from them and sadly spread it on the table.

Already she missed its uncomfortable grey confines. And her sisters. Even though their naughtiness and sexxoring with Gerald Scumbag had forced Mari into this humiliation, she thought about saving her sisters and girded her loins. Except there were no literal girders because she was stark naked.

"Wow, she's clueless," the man said to the woman, as if Mari weren't in the room. Which was ridiculous since the room was barely big enough for the three of them plus the table. "We don't care about your ugly clothes. Get your bootang on the table and spread your legs that are so unfashionably long few citizens will ever want them wrapped around them."

As she climbed onto the table and the glittering man and woman placed her ankles in the restraints, Mari's tears began to flow freely. They parted her legs until her vag was revealed for all to see. And by "all", I mean all the people in the room and whoever was on the other side of those strangely opalescent walls which I've attempted to imply are secret viewing windows for fappers, but just in case you missed it, I've stated it more clearly here.

Right before the glittering man touched Mari's most private of privates to check the seal, the door to the Admissions cubicle burst open.

Tall, dark, and sardonic stood in the doorway, glowering at everyone in the room.

Including Mari.

When his glower fell to her hoohah, it sprang to tingling life.

She gasped. Glitter sucked into her mouth and she began to cough. Over her hacking, she barely heard the rest of the conversation.

"Leave us," the man commanded the glittering Admissions clerks. "This one is special. I can tell. I will authenticate the new sexxorer myself. And you know what that means, don't you?"

"Yes, Master," the glittering man said. The woman bowed her way out of the room and the man quickly followed, but not without exchanging a significant glance with the tall mystery man who'd taken over her pre-sexxoring exam.

Why was he called Master? This wasn't the penile colony, where constant depravedness occurred, such as class inequality, the flesh trade, indenturing, reality holo programs, and debt slavery.

Once they were alone, Mari didn't know how to behave. She was splayed on a table, naked, in front of a man she didn't know. And little did she know—but you do, dear reader, because of the two-way window thing—she was actually splayed in front of all sorts of watchers.

"How am I special, Master?" she asked.

"You truly do not know?" he asked, raising his sardonic eyebrows.

"I'm ugly," she confessed, shame-faced. Embarrassment burned her whole body. Because she was naked. Her feet propped in stirrups. Her vag exposed. And tingling. Did we mention the tingling?

A prickly silence fell as Mari stared at Master and Master stared at her vag. And then her face. Unlike everyone else in this story when she needed to know what they were thinking or feeling, she couldn't read that dark gaze.

He stared at her crotch again. "I see that your vag seal is completely intact, Mari Shu Three Million Even."

"It is," she managed in a trembling voice. The tingling in her hoohah extended to whatever part of her body his gaze touched, like her left pinky, her ankle, and her nipples.

Her nipples? Mari Shu had never felt such tingling in her nipples and her hoohah. Was this...a disease? A chemical? The outlandish effect of this man on her body? She felt stressed. She felt yearning. She felt itchy. She really needed to scratch. Or be scratched.

Right here. Right now.

You can get _Earthbound Passion_for FREE at these online stores.

Anybody out there besides me love choose your own adventure books when you were young? Anybody out there besides me have a horrible, twisted sense of humor as well as a mad love for both romance and science fiction in literature and film?

This book was written, as well as the volumes that come after it (MARTIAN CONQUEST, FAR GALAXIES), in an attempt to find people like me. I guess you could call it kind of a cry for help. It will satisfy needs you won't even realize you had until after you read the book. That may be a need to read the next book. And it may be a need to email me with some choice verbiage about what the heck I was thinking.

I don't even know. But I do know that this was a helluva lot of fun to write, and I hope you enjoy the excerpt and forge onward into Mari Shu's wacky world of sex, aliens, mockery, and space ships with me.

Cheers!

Jody Wallace grew up in the South in a very rural area. She went to school a long time and ended up with a Master's Degree in Creative Writing. Her resume includes college English instructor, technical documents editor, market analyst, web designer, and general all around pain in the butt. She currently lives in Tennessee with her family: 1 husband, 1 grandma, 2 kids, 2 cats. One of her many alter egos is "The Grammar Wench," which should give you an indication of her character as well as why she currently offers freelance editing. She is a terrible packrat and likes to amass vintage clothing, books, Asian-inspired kitchenware, gnomes, yarn, and other items that threaten to force her family out of the house. She also likes cats. A lot.

You can also find Jody here:

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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 (Coming soon: Five Six Seven)

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:

  *     @sfrbrigade

www.sfrcontests.blogspot.com/
