“How ugly?” He stopped and pulled her around to face him. His gaze searched for any discoloration, scrape or cut. “Were you harmed?”
“No, but Chandar was pretty upset.” She eased out from under his hands and started walking again. “They seemed relatively rational at first, so I tried to talk to them. But the medic, his name was Dorrin or Dorsit, he was a serious rebel rouser. Got the others all fired up.”
“How fired up?”
She placed her hand on his forearm and squeezed. “I’m fine. Chandar blocked the archway with a burst of energy and Raylon got the situation under control. But he told everyone I’d chosen you to take the wind out of their sails. If any of them see me again and they don’t sense your claim, Raylon is worried that hostilities will flare again.”
“Thank the gods for Raylon.” Zilor grinned. “That’s one order I’m thrilled to carry out.”
“It’s not yet an order. It’s a recommendation. The order has to come from Garin.”
Zilor sighed as the hope building inside him rapidly deflated. “I’m not sure where Garin’s head is on this. He told me he wasn’t interested in a mate. But he found out you’re a Tandori and suddenly he wants to meet you.”
“We met. I smarted off and made him laugh.” She looked up at him in confusion. “Why are you worried about this?”
“Because I will fight to the death if any other male tries to claim you. But Garin is my older brother. Honor demands that I—”
As if hearing his name, Garin pinged Zilor’s mind.
“Hold on,” he told Indigo. Go ahead.
I agree with Raylon. We can’t risk a full-scale riot. Claim Indigo.
Copy that. And thank you.
I understand the appeal, but I meant what I said. I don’t have time for a female.
Without explaining his exuberance, Zilor swept Indigo into his arms and kissed her. He refused to release her mouth, so he pushed his thoughts across their link. Garin just gave his permission. I can claim you now.
They kissed for a long time, oblivious to the world around them. Finally, Indigo eased away and smiled broadly. “There’s only one question left. Do you want to hold out for transformation or do this now? If we hold out, we’re stuck with condoms until the medical team has cleared Raina. That could take days, even weeks.”
He raised his hands to her face, looking deep into her eyes. “Knowing you’re mine will be reward enough. If you don’t want to—”
“I want to,” she assured him. “You’re making it possible for me to understand my magic. I want to give you access to yours.”
Joy surged through his being, intoxicating and pure. Not wanting to startle her, he filtered the intensity before allowing it to flow across their link. “Putting up with condoms is no sacrifice if I can wake up each morning with you in my arms.”
He bent to kiss her again when someone called out with a laugh, “Get a room.”
Unable to halt the rebellious impulse, Indigo pushed to her toes and resumed the kiss. “You’re my mate,” she whispered. “I’ll kiss you wherever and whenever I please.”
“Say it again.” His lips moved against hers as he whispered the words.
“I’ll kiss you whenever I please.” He reached down and pinched her behind. She laughed then responded, “You’re my mate. I love you with all that I am. And I will love you forever.”
After another searing kiss, he lifted his head and proclaimed to anyone willing to listen, “Indigo is my mate. I love her with all that I am. And I will love her forever!”
Coming Winter 2016
Battle Born, Book Four: Two years of unimaginable abuse have left Chandar emotionally damaged yet determined to move beyond the pain. In a final act of treachery, her captor wiped her memory clean in an effort to conceal his evil. Now she’s free and working to rebuild her life, but what use is a harbinger who no longer trusts her prophetic abilities? And Chandar was once the most powerful harbinger her star system had ever seen.
Raylon, the battle born rebellion’s fiercest warrior, has known nothing but hardship and violence. Rescuing Chandar awakened feelings he thought long dead within his soul. Now she sees him as her champion, a protector to drive back her fear. He, on the other hand, is tormented by inappropriate thoughts and desires that would horrify her. He has never wanted a female as much as he wants Chandar, but he knows it’s impossible. She’s much too fragile, too broken, to want him as anything but her defender.
Find out how it all began.
Battle Born: Book One
Crusader
Cyndi Friberg
Ashley comes home after a long day and finds a spaceman searching her apartment. Before she can call for help, or run like hell, the intruder stabs her and leaves her for dead.
Desperate for freedom, Bandar, a battle born soldier, travels to Earth. His mission: find Daniel Kane, brilliant geneticist. It’s believed that Daniel can unleash the magic locked inside the battle born. Bandar’s search leads to Daniel’s daughter, Ashley, just in time to save her life. Bandar is so captivated by the fragile human that his need to protect and possess her threatens his mission.
Ashley awakens miraculously healed and filled with questions. Bandar is gorgeous and heroic, but she doesn’t believe a word he says. This isn’t the first time she’s run across aliens and now she knows it won’t be the last. She agrees to help him unravel the secrets surrounding her father’s work. Ashley has always believed her father was murdered and now she has a chance to learn the truth. But it’s hard to trust Bandar when the brush of his fingers makes her entire body tingle. Their volatile attraction could fulfill her wildest fantasies or open the door for planetary invasion.
Crusader
Copyright © 2015 Cyndi Friberg
Chapter One
Shifting her satchel higher onto her shoulder, Ashley Kane hurried along the uneven sidewalk lining one of Tribeca’s narrow streets. Her last appointment had gone well. She was relatively sure it would result in a new account. Still, she was tired and the five blocks from the subway station to her apartment building had never seemed so long. Her phone vibrated in the front pocket of her purse and she grumbled under her breath, praying one of her high-maintenance customers wasn’t in need of attention. Who was she kidding? She provided private consultations for pets with emotional challenges. All of her customers were high maintenance. Only high-maintenance people could afford her services.
Her best friend’s image smiled at her from the phone’s screen, so she accepted the call. “Raina. You’re a welcome surprise. What’s up?”
“I’ve been funded through next year.” Pride and enthusiasm shone through in Raina’s tone and Ashley found herself smiling despite her aching feet.
“That’s wonderful.” The strained economy in recent years had made grant money harder and harder to secure. But Raina was persistent and her work in experimental agriculture was important. “Does this secure both projects or are they making you choose between your two babies?”
“This will give me a greenhouse for the super grains, but I still need supporters if I’m going to continue the hydroponics project.”
Ashley held her phone in place with her shoulder as she dug out her keycard. “Is that a concern? Isn’t this year five for the hydroponics project? You haven’t had a problem yet.”
“That in itself is the problem. I can’t keep tapping the same sources indefinitely, especially without quantifiable results.”
“You’ll think of something. You always do.” She punched in the security code that unlocked the lobby door then summoned the private elevator with her keycard. Like most of the residential units in Tribeca, this building had once been a warehouse. Then a developer separated the space into four modest apartments and her luxurious, multi-level loft. “My phone cuts out in the elevator. Give me a minute and I’ll call you back.”
“I’m on my way out the door. Call me tomorrow and I’ll give you the details. I just had to tell someone tonight.”
“
Will do and congratulations. I know how hard you work for every dollar.” As expected, her phone lost signal as soon as she stepped into the elevator. She slipped the phone back into her purse as the elevator door slid closed. She’d met Raina at Georgetown University and they’d been close ever since. Raina still lived near DC while Ashley had moved back to Manhattan, but they visited as often as their busy schedules allowed.
It was only two stories up to the main floor of her loft, but the elevator was ancient. She usually took the stairs. Today, however, her aching feet wouldn’t submit to the climb. Thursdays were always busy because she tried to leave Fridays open for last-minute complications and emergency appointments. Emergencies. The thought made her smile. None of her appointments were true emergencies. Her clients just expected immediate attention regardless of how insignificant the snag.
The elevator door slid open and she walked out into the entryway, which was basically one corner of her living room. She kicked off her shoes as she reached the carpeting and let the heavy satchel slip from her shoulder. The first chair she passed caught her purse. Generally she was a neat freak. Everything had a place and everything needed to be in its place. Today the only place she wanted to be was sprawled across her couch until she could summon enough energy to undress and go to bed.
She turned toward the waiting comfort of her plush sofa and a long, strong arm wrapped around her waist. Fear burst through her rambling thoughts and jolted her composure. She inhaled a massive breath, meaning to scream, but a hand clamped down across her nose and mouth. The meaty paw blocked most of her airflow as well as trapping the half-formed sound. Her assailant was either male or the biggest woman she’d ever encountered. She stomped down on his instep, but her shoeless foot did no real damage. Slamming her elbow into his ribs only made him tighten the arm already crushing her ribs.
Forcing herself to think through the roaring in her ears, she stilled. If his purpose was robbery, cooperation was a much better strategy. He could take whatever he wanted if he got the hell out and left her unharmed. His hand eased enough to let her breathe and she instinctively started to scream. His hand tightened again, the message clear. Don’t make a sound.
He pushed her deeper into the room, guiding her with his big body. She caught an occasional glimpse of dark clothing, but nothing of the man himself. Until they reached the sofa. Without conscious thought, she looked into the mirror hanging above the couch and a fresh wave of terror crashed over her.
He was even bigger than he felt. Her head tucked neatly under his chin and his brawny arms made her look petite, a novel perspective for a woman who topped five foot nine. Every inch of his body was covered by a matte-black uniform, but his head was bare. His dark hair was short yet wavy, and aggression revealed itself in each of his sharp features. As if sensing her stare, he turned his head and their gazes locked in the mirror.
Reality narrowed until all Ashley could see was his blue-ringed eyes. This couldn’t be happening. She’d spent years in therapy convincing herself that eyes like his didn’t exist, that they were the tormented imaginings of a betrayed adolescent. Her body tensed, hindering their progress. The rings ignited, making his dark eyes glow and communicating his displeasure.
After muttering something she didn’t understand, he shoved her sideways and pulled a weapon from his belt. She stumbled, arms flailing as the true scope of her peril came into terrifying focus. She’d seen his face. Any hope she’d had of surviving this situation died with that unfortunate glance.
She caught her balance and charged past him, trying to stay out of reach. Light glinted off the blade clasped securely in his hand. He lunged, the knife slicing into her forearm. Pain shot all the way to her shoulder and she cried out, but didn’t pause. Blood surged through her ears and her only thought was escape. His other hand fisted the back of her shirt, halting her frantic retreat. She screamed, twisting and tugging at the material biting into her neck.
He stabbed three times with a sharp upward motion. Agony sank deeper with each stroke of his blade. She tried to inhale, but her side exploded with searing pain. Her vision blurred and the roaring in her ears grew louder. She couldn’t scream, could barely breathe much less move. Her knees buckled and tears streamed from her eyes. She clasped her side, vaguely registering the warmth of blood flowing over her fingers. She wasn’t even thirty. Was this really how she died?
The question echoed through her fear-muddled brain as a shimmer drew her attention away from her attacker. A second figure, nearly as large as the first, flashed into view. This one was dressed in a uniform similar to her attacker’s except his head was covered by a black helmet with a smoked visor.
Her attacker literally growled as he turned to face the newcomer. Through a haze of fear and pain, she watched the blade in his hand lengthen and curve. One moment he held a compact dagger and the next an ornate scimitar. She was hallucinating, likely from loss of blood. She pressed both hands against her side and fought back the encroaching darkness.
Her attacker swung his sword at the newcomer’s head, but the newcomer easily dodged the blow. Then the newcomer reached for the knife at his side, but as he pulled it free from its sheath, the blade grew longer and wider until he held a mighty claymore. More hallucinations.
She dismissed the impossible image and looked past the combatants at the entryway and elevator. The men were focused on each other as their swords clashed and swung. She cringed each time metal struck metal, but this was likely her last chance. Pressing her side tightly with one hand, she crawled across the floor. Pain flared with each movement and blood trailing in her wake. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let it matter. She had to escape.
Light flashed in her peripheral vision and she instinctively looked back. The newcomer stood in the middle of her living room alone, blood smeared along the blade of his sword. He wiped the blood on his pant leg then returned the weapon to its sheath. The transformation instantaneously reversed, allowing him to more easily secure the weapon at his side.
“How badly are you hurt?” His deep, oddly accented voice was muffled by the visor. He motioned to the red smears on the carpet. “Is all of that your blood?”
She stared up at him in terror, trembling uncontrollably. “Just leave.” Her voice sounded weak and pathetic rather than commanding as she’d intended. He stalked toward her and she scrambled backward until a wall pressed against her spine. “Please, just go!”
Ignoring her protests, he leaned down and lifted her shirt, looked at the wounds in her side. “If I leave you here, you’ll die within minutes. Is that really what you want?”
Her hands were numb and each breath filled her chest with fire. He was right. Even if she found her phone and stayed conscious long enough to summon help, she would be dead before the authorities arrived. Raising her bloody hand toward the stranger, she whispered, “Help me,” and then surrendered to oblivion.
About the Author
Anything-but-Ordinary is Cyndi’s creed and her writing reflects her dedication to the concept. She writes in a variety of genres, but seems happiest in outer space. Her books have appeared on a variety of Best Seller lists and have won numerous awards. Taken by Storm was named Best Fantasy/Science Fiction Romance of the year by Romance Reviews Today.
She lives in Colorado with her high school sweetheart turned husband of many years. With a pampered cat curled on the corner of her desk, she dreams of fascinating words and larger than life adventures—and wouldn't have it any other way!
Website / Blog: http://www.cyndifriberg.com
Other Titles by
Cyndi Friberg
Beyond Ontariese:
Taken by Storm
Operation Hydra
City of Tears
Mystic Flame
Fire Pearl
Consort
Shadow Assassins:
Royal Obsession
Mystic Militia
Alpha Hunter
Fallen Star
Unique Ink
&nb
sp; Rebel Heat
Battle Born:
Crusader
Forsaken
Rebel Angels:
Rage and Redemption
Echoes and Embers
Splendor and Darkness
Non-series:
Tears of the Dragon
Tainted Hearts
Zealot Page 29
