by Lea Kirk
SALVATION
A blessing and a curse…
Seven years ago, a single moment changed the course of Nicholaus Bock’s life forever—the moment his preternatural Gift to heal awakened in him. A gift that made him an invaluable commodity to the known galaxy. Now his mentor’s intriguing and secretive new student goes out of her way to challenge his loyalty to everything he values.
A dark secret…
After facing death and destruction during the Anferthian invasion, Sakura Yamata revels in her new-found Gift to heal. Helping Earth’s survivors keeps her mind off the loss of her family, and the memory of the terrible choices she made. Nick could penetrate her defenses and discover what she’s hiding. She must not let the handsome healer close enough for that to happen.
A race facing annihilation…
When a mysterious disease strikes the hidden sanctuary of the Anferthian dissenters, Nick and Sakura are called in to help. But someone is going to great lengths to ensure the dissenters don’t survive. Nick and Sakura must set aside their differences and work together to save them before the fragile peace between three worlds is shattered.
Salvation
Book Two of the Prophecy Series
by Lea Kirk
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental
Copyright © 2016 Heather Jarecki
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author.
Cover Design by Danielle Fine
Developmental Edits by Sue Brown-Moore
Copy Edits by Laurel C. Kriegler
Formatting by Seaside Publications
First Edition October 2016
California, USA
Dedication
For my parents
Because without them I would not be
I love you both
Contents
About Salvation * Dedication * Acknowledgments
Chapter One * Chapter Two * Chapter Three * Chapter Four * Chapter Five * Chapter Six * Chapter Seven * Chapter Eight * Chapter Nine * Chapter Ten * Chapter Eleven * Chapter Twelve * Chapter Thirteen * Chapter Fourteen * Chapter Fifteen * Chapter Sixteen * Chapter Seventeen * Chapter Eighteen* Chapter Nineteen * Chapter Twenty * Chapter Twenty-one * Chapter Twenty-two * Epilogue
Glossary of Words * Excerpt from Collision (Book 3 in the Prophecy Series* Letter from the Author * About Lea Kirk * Other Books by Lea Kirk * Copyright
Chapter One
Anferthia
Seven years post- invasion of Terr
Haesi Velo watched the large Anferthian male asleep on his back on the equally magnificent bed. At rest, his long, sinewy, well-muscled limbs sprawled to occupy as much of the mattress as possible—a testament to the man who would occupy the galaxy in much the same manner, if he could. The ochre light from Anferthia’s major moon—the biggest of the five satellites orbiting the planet—bathed his green skin. His sacred reliquary, the eerie, mercurial pendant he always wore, rested in the hollow of his throat. Sleeping in the nude was a common habit of his race, and not one she would ever complain about. Her fingers itched to sweep away the pale silky sheet covering his more impressive parts. Parts she had been intimately familiar with seven years ago, and planned to be again this night.
If he was aware of how much she truly knew about him, he would certainly kill her. He might even try tonight, after all, she was no doubt one of the last people he would expect to see in his bedroom. Then again, he might just bury his shaft inside her instead of his short-bladed knife. And that was just fine by her. The more amenable he believed her to be, the less of a threat she would seem. Funny how she had doubted their compatibility the first time she had laid eyes on his manhood. It had been intimidating, but if nothing else, he was a competent and conscientious lover. More so than any of the others had been, and far more powerful. Physical beauty was not what she craved in a partner, although it was a nice bonus when it happened. It was power she prized above all else. Powerful bedmates turned sex into a cataclysmic event.
And Isel T’orr, the Divine Warden of the ruling Arruch political party for Anferthia, was a powerful man. Never had she walked away from his bed unsatisfied. Even now, her muscles between her legs clenched at the thought of him thrusting into her hard and fast. Mother, she would not need his skilled foreplay to prepare her to receive him tonight, even after all the years apart.
But before the fun, stealth was required. She had yet to take him unawares, and this was the closest she had ever been. One silent step at a time. Her knee sank into the mattress and still he slept. One day she would be good enough to assassinate him before he even sensed her presence, but not this day. There was no hurry either, not when he could still serve her larger agenda. Her palms slid toward him over the cool luxury of the undersheet. For now his existence was only to please her, though he might believe otherwise. Pity for him he did not know he was her ultimate target.
So close now. She brought her other knee up. A muscular green-skinned arm snaked around her waist with astonishing speed. The weight of her quarry’s body carried her backward until she was pinned under him. Cold steel pressed against her throat. Ska. Not quite good enough to be the assassin—yet.
She undulated her body under him in a wordless suggestion. “Put away your labu-ba, Isel.”
“How did you get passed my guards?” The warmth of his breath fanned across her cheek.
“You forget, I studied under one of the best soldiers in the Matiran fleets.”
“Graig Roble,” he hissed. “And why do you come to my room after all these years, Haesi? To teach me the bed tricks he taught you?”
A derisive laugh bubbled up. “If anything, I taught him. It was a fair exchange.” Graig’s Terrian wife should be groveling at her feet with gratitude.
“Was it now?” Wry amusement touched his words. The short-knife disappeared and his hips push against her, his full erection rubbing the length of her thigh through the silken sheet. “You have not answered my question, my dear.”
She snapped her teeth together. “Nulk me, good and hard first, Isel, because no one else brings me to my stride the way you do.” Not Graig, not Vyn Kotas, not any of her lovers. Mother, she was flowing and wet. “We will talk after.”
Isel snarled and sat back between her legs. Within seconds her pants had been disposed of and cool air caressed her burning core.
“Lambich,” Isel said and the globe on the wall above the bed glowed with a golden light. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Your scent is of lust. It has been a long time for you, my dear. My work will be easy this time.”
He pushed her legs apart with his hands and dipped his finger into her. She clenched and cried out, coming around his digit with a delicious shudder. She had waited so long for this and with such anticipation, it was no wonder she responded so hard and fast. He pressed and rubbed her sex spot, prolonging the intense pleasure. May the Mother have mercy. She sank back against the soft mattress panting. Two more fingers joined the first, filling her as he moved them in and out until she bucked her hips up and cried out her wordless joy again.
“Enough.” He withdrew his hand and fumbled with the sheet around his hips until his engorged erection sprung free. The ridges along its underside pulsed, just as the ridges pressed against his belly would be, ready to bring added friction to sexual intercourse. Nature had engineered Anferthian males to bring
maximum pleasure to their partners.
Strong hands spanned her hips and lifting her he plunged in, stretching her to the point of pain. But she welcomed the pain. It was one of things that made sex with him exciting, satisfying.
Isel withdrew and pushed back in deeper than he ever had before until his tip hit her cervix. He had always been so careful, never sinking into her too far but still able to give and take satisfaction. The intimate touch of him so deep intensified her excitement.
“Deeper.” Her voice sounded raw and rough, husky with need in the heated air. He obeyed, pumping into her over and over until her entire body quaked and her muscles milked him as wave after wave of sweet heat sizzled through her.
Above her Isel growled his release, then rolled onto his side, taking her with him. They lay panting in the wake of their exertion, until he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. “You are too small to take all of me, yet you are the best nulk I have ever had. How can this be?”
She ran one hand over his well-defined abs. There was no answer to that, but it was good she affected him so. It would make it easier to take him unawares when the time came. “The feeling is mutual.” A small sigh of satisfaction slipped between her lips. She brushed her fingertips over her lower belly. “Tinan.” She allowed her Gift to flow with the command to prevent pregnancy, then she rolled away and retrieved her pants. “Now that pleasure has been served, it is time for business.”
A shrewd look came to his Isel’s eyes. “And what might that be, my devious little Matiran?”
He thought her devious? She would need to watch him carefully in the future lest he suspect the truth of her intentions. “I have discovered the secret sanctuary where the Anferthian dissenters are hidden, and I have devised a way to eliminate them.”
He seemed to ponder this news. “The annihilation of those traitors would give me greater pleasure than executing Supreme Warden T’lik did, may a thousand supernovas incinerate his soul for botching the invasion of Terr. But, how does this benefit me?”
Must she explain everything? How had such a tediously unimaginative man managed the successful coup against the former ruling leader of Anferthia, Ymero Zular B’aq? “First, of course, revenge for their betrayal. Second, the dissenters are beloved by the Profetae.”
Isel’s upper lip curled. “Admiral Helyg and his Terrian woman, Alex Bock.”
Yes. Them. If not for the two would-be-saviors of Terr and Matir routing the Anferthian occupation of Terr—once known as Earth—she would have completed her quest to become a Nightshade assassin. “Factoress K’rona Zurkku, one of those who led the dissenters against you, is purported to have a close friendship with Alex Bock.”
“The Profeta,” he murmured.
“Yes.” If only she had killed that woman seven years ago, the day of the Terrian uprising. Damn Graig to all the hells for his interference. She picked up a huge crystal decanter from the nightstand and splashed a measure of ruby-color liquor into an oversized glass. “Most Terrians love the dissenters for their role in reclaiming their planet from you.”
Isel’s mouth visibly tightened. Good, he was primed to approve of this plan. Not that she needed his approval. The necessary people were in place and she would move forward with or without his blessing. The only reason she included him now was to keep him under her control without him realizing.
She lifted the glass and sniffed, the smoky aroma of its potent contents curled through her. “If something were to happen to the dissenters while under the care of the Matiran government, it would drive a wedge between the Terrians and the Matirans.” Finally, the flame of interest sparked in his eyes. “The deterioration of relations would eventually leave Terr vulnerable and ripe for a second invasion.”
After a moment, his wide mouth stretched into a conspiratorial smile. He removed the glass from her grasp and tipped it in a salute. “You are good at a great many things, my dear, but you excel in starting wars.”
Chapter Two
The fine hairs on the back of Nick’s neck prickled. Someone was following him. Like gossamer-fine threads, the dark certainty wrapped around him the moment he stepped out of the recording studio into the driving February rain of New Los Angeles. A sharp gust of wind plastered his rain duster against his body and whipped the hood from his head. Pulling it back up was pointless if he wanted to listen for his stalker. His fingers tightened around the handle of his guitar case. Who the hell would be following him, and why? Especially in this weather.
It’d be understandable if he were a threat to intergalactic security. But the last time he’d checked, he wasn’t. In the two years since he’d walked out of the New Damon Beach Infirmary and satellite campus of the Collegium of Healers, his days had been filled with quiet research as he and a handful of others recovered the lost musical history of his home-world. Even the days spent recording those songs and musical pieces were low-key. Not the glamour job it once was before the Anferthian invasion, but it was a way to help Terrians regain some semblance of cultural identity.
It also had the added bonus of making flying under the proverbial radar a cinch. His preternatural healing Gift, a talent bestowed upon him by a long-forgotten Matiran ancestor, had laid dormant, buried deep within him. No one in New L.A. had any reason to suspect he was anything other than a normal guy. An average Joe. A starving musician.
But now that Gift stirred, warning him something was not right. Had his sister sent someone to strong-arm him back home? He slowed his pace. She wouldn’t dare, would she? She had been pretty pissed when he’d left. Sure they still spoke, on occasion, but their conversations had been stilted and brief as if the topic of his leaving were a deadly disease.
Nah. Pissed or not, Alex would never do something like that.
He rounded the corner, the rain now pelleting the back of his rain duster. Lengthening his stride again, he headed along the empty street toward his residence. The shadowy presence that had dogged him for six blocks seemed to vanish. Very weird. It couldn’t have been his imagination, not if his Spidey sense picked up on it. He stifled a chuckle as he approached the door of his cube. Yep, he lived in a building block. The Matiran answer to affordable housing. A square, house-size block with windows and a door. No need to call a contractor to build an addition; if he wanted to expand, he could easily have another block connected to it. Voilá.
Pressing his free hand to the ID reader, Nick cast a glance over his shoulder, blinking against the rivulets of water trickling from the ends of his dark hair and into his eyes. Not a soul in sight, which wasn’t unusual for a town of only a thousand permanent residents. The crime rate was lower than it had been since the 1840s. Practically non-existent.
He stepped over the threshold and the door closed behind him, shutting out the cold, damp air. Whew. Home and safe.
“Light.” The ceiling glowed to life at his command, the soft, natural light illuminating the puddle forming at his feet. Making a damn mess, Bock. He was going to need more towels than he owned to dry off. Good thing he'd had the guitar case sealed to protect the precious cargo inside.
The case first, then he’d dry himself.
A hulking, dark form detached itself from the shadowy entryway to the kitchen. “Hello, Nick.”
Nick’s guitar case slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thump as he dropped into a defensive position.
The imposing Matiran man glided into the living room, a towel gripped in each square hand, raised one reddish eyebrow in apparent amusement. “Good to know you haven’t forgotten everything.”
An exasperated sigh escaped Nick and he straightened. “Jesus, Graig, what the hell?” Not to mention why the hell? Last he’d checked the former Matiran commander of security had been happily married and living a quiet life farming, helping his botanist wife resolve the food shortage problem on Earth—or Terr as the rest of the galaxy called this little blue-green marble they knew as home.
Graig shrugged and tossed h
im one of the towels. The other he dropped on the side table before making himself at home on Nick’s small sofa. More of a love seat, really, and it seemed even smaller with Graig’s musclebound bulk sitting on it.
Nick rubbed the towel over his hair as he squinted a glare at his old friend. “Were you following me? No, wait, you couldn’t have been. You’re dry.”
Another nonchalant shrug. Nick dropped the towel atop the guitar case, unsealed his drenched and dripping duster, and hung it on a hook by the door. “So, who is following me?”
“Someone’s following you?”
Damn the man’s evasiveness. “You know they are.”
Graig gave him an “I do?” look. So that’s how it was. Fine. He bent and swept the towel over his guitar case. A treasured gift from Bodie Jones, his one-time music idol who’d become his friend during the Anferthian occupation. Damn, he still missed the man. During the uprising Bodie had bought time for Ora and the rest of their team to infiltrate the Anferthian slave ship; the price had been his life.
Silence dominated the room until Nick finished drying the guitar case and set it next to the bookshelf. Like it or not, there was a reason Graig was here. The sooner this convo was over, the better. Nick lowered his six foot one frame into a ridiculously comfortable leather Matiran recliner adjacent to the love seat. “Gonna tell me why you’re here, Graig?”
The other man’s ice-grey gaze didn’t waver. It never did. His mouth didn’t do much moving either. Classic Graig Roble; Mr. Strong and Silent. This was definitely not a good sign of what was to come.
“I’m here to bring you home, Nick.”
“I knew it!” He slapped his hands against his thighs, then leaned forward. “You can tell Alex I said, ‘oh, hell, no’. I’m perfectly happy here. I’d planned to visit for Christmas, but now I’m not so sure.” The last statement wasn’t exactly true. Given the awkwardness between him and his sister, she’d probably be relieved if he didn’t show up for the holidays this year.
