Flyboy

by Nicole Austin

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Flyboy

  ISBN 9781419917165

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Flyboy Copyright © 2008 Nicole Austin

  Edited by Shannon Combs.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication July 2008

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  FLYBOY

  Nicole Austin

  Dedication

  To all the unsung heroes at work behind the scenes to make this world a better place.

  My editor, Shannon Combs, who puts up with my neurotic author tendencies. Here’s to many more wonderful years of working together.

  And to my Hussy sisters—Ci, Nat, Sahara and Sally—who never fail to inspire, motivate and amaze me with their talent and beautiful souls. Thanks for making me a member of the sisterhood.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Camaro: General Motors Corporation

  Dr. Who: British Broadcasting Corporation

  Dracula: Universal City Studios, Inc.

  Google: Google, Inc.

  Frankenstein: Universal City Studios, Inc.

  Happy Meal: McDonald’s Corporation

  Sig Sauer: Sig Sauer, Inc.

  Tardis: British Broadcasting Corporation

  Terminator 2: Canal + D.A. Corporation

  The Hussies: Painter, Sally Individual, Featherstone, Syneca C. Individual

  Tomb Raider: Core Design Limited

  Twilight Zone: CBS Broadcasting Inc.

  The Waltons: Lorimar Productions, Inc.

  Xena: Warrior Princess: Studios USA Television Distribution LLC LTD Nicole Austin

  Prologue

  Myth, magic or legend? There have been Hussies since before time was measured in days and minutes. Women who fought bravely alongside their mates with sword and axe, warriors whose courage changed the world around them. Led by the first Hussy, Danu, these fierce fighters discovered their inner strengths, summoned reserves they didn’t know they possessed and passed into the fabric of legend with their daring exploits.

  Since that time, myths have been spun around the Hussy Warriors—tales told by firelight, whispered from mother to daughter—eventually to take their place amongst the mystical fables that shape our souls.

  But the essence of a Hussy remains strong in the hearts of so many women. Heroines who don’t realize that within them lies the power to make a difference, to effect change, to use their passion every bit as skillfully as Danu wielded her sword so long ago. Warriors in different times and different places, who love as deeply and desire as desperately as any woman ever has, seldom knowing that their desire will impact not just one man, but so much more.

  Therein lies the magic of a Hussy. To right a wrong, turn a frown to a smile—to positively change those around her. To love a man with every fiber of her body, to learn from that love and to grow stronger because of it.

  Whether in the past, the future or the here-and-now, there are Hussies around each corner. They may not even be aware of their Hussy destiny. But one thing is certain—when passion knocks on their door, lives will change for the better. And when it comes to their one special hero? Well, he’s in for the ride of his life.

  Which leaves one unanswered question…are you a Hussy?

  Chapter One

  “Damn it. I knew that perky waitress slipped something in my drink. Bitch kept looking at me funny.”

  No other explanation justified how one moment Twyla MacAlister sat before her computers and the next she stood in a strange place. A spooky place that appeared ancient.

  What a total mind fuck!

  Twyla’s forehead crinkled as she gazed at the gothic castle perched high on a cliff above the turbulent roar of an unseen ocean. Dense gray fog rolled slow and sinuous over the land, tendrils shrouding everything it touched with a dreamlike quality. The scene gave her the impression of having stepped back in time.

  Hmm…maybe someone had figured out how to fix the chameleon circuit on the Tardis and she’d somehow boarded Dr. Who’s time machine. Or perhaps, on an international flight that she didn’t recall taking, the plane had traveled into some weird alternate reality. A freaky Bermuda Triangle kind of thing.

  “Yeah, or could be you’ve been playing too many virtual reality games again.” She snorted.

  The vivid fantasy of a Scottish warrior riding atop his trusty steed formed in her mind, taking her breath away. What a magnificent sight, horse and man moving as one, the warrior’s long dark hair streamed behind him, whipped by the wind. Steam billowed from the great beast’s flared nostrils and a thick sheen of sweat covered its splendid black hide.

  Tingling sensations started at her fingers and spread through her body to each erogenous zone, which swelled in reaction to the intense carnal hungers radiating from the man and straight into her. His eyes, dark and intense, remained locked on hers. Silver cuffs banded the tanned skin of his wrists and thick biceps. Sinew flexed and contracted across broad shoulders and a wide chest that was bare of any covering. He possessed a massive body, honed by battle into a precision weapon to wield against his enemies.

  Before the horse came to a complete stop, hooves dislodging clumps of earth as they dug into the ground, the rider vaulted from its back in one fluid motion. He strode toward her, each step proud and confident—a victorious hero returning to the castle after defeating a fire-breathing dragon. The sword sheathed at his hip still bore evidence of the creature’s blood.

  Tremors shook Twyla. Her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. In stunned fascination, she observed the power rippling across his bared chest and abdomen, sparking a sensual heat in her blood. From his hard expression, she knew the warrior would be interested in only one thing after a successful kill.

  He’d want to rut.

  Since she was the only woman to be found for miles, he’d take her. Hard and fast. Without mercy or reprieve.

  Yeah, baby!

  Aroused beyond belief, her panties grew damp and hot juices coated her thighs, prepared to welcome the conquering hero with her body. A plaid kilt swirled around powerful legs, further enticing and exciting her lust. Underneath, his naked cock would jut proud and strong above heavy balls. He would approach from behind, never uttering a single word, flip her skirt over her back and fill her in one solid thrust.

  Perhaps she’d steal a glance beneath his kilt first and answer the age-old question of whether they wore anything under the garment.

  Doubling over, Twyla wrapped her arms around her abdomen as tears streamed down her cheeks and riotous laughter echoed across the countryside. When h
er hysterics subsided, she straightened and scrubbed away the tears with fisted hands.

  “Fantasize much,” she chided. Whew, that was a good one! She grasped the top of her blouse and fanned the material over her breasts in an attempt to alleviate a bit of the telltale heated flush coloring her pale skin.

  “All right, time to be serious.” She had to determine what the hell was happening before someone saw the crazy woman and locked her up after figuring she was a few french fries short of a Happy Meal. After a failed attempt to smooth the wrinkles from her clothes, Twyla took a deep breath, put on a brave face and headed for the recessed entryway.

  A gargantuan door-knocker thingy sat at eye-level on a massive wood and metal door. “Holy sheep shit!” She tilted her head all the way back between her shoulders to get a glimpse of the top that reached at least ten feet high. “What kind of place needs such a big, solid door? And why?” Did they put the impenetrable barrier there to keep something out, or a far worse possibility, to keep something in? Twyla didn’t know if she really wanted to find out.

  “Oh just knock already, pansy-ass!” She lifted a trembling hand, for the first time noticing a security camera set high on the stone wall and pointed straight at her. Great, whoever sat behind the monitor had witnessed her conversation with herself.

  Just as her fingers grazed the cold cast-iron hoop clutched in the mouth of the gargoyle knocker, the door started to open and she came face-to-face with a wall of flesh. With her hand frozen in mid-air, Twyla’s head once again fell back as she looked up…up…way up. All she managed to do was stare, jaw on the floor, mouth agape. The mountain of a man bore a striking resemblance to Lurch, the creepy butler from the Addams Family TV show. Hey, she would know. It had been one of her favorite shows.

  Lurch encouraged her to come inside with an inarticulate moan and sweeping hand gesture. He didn’t wait to see if she’d follow, merely turned his ponderous bulk and lumbered deeper into the gloomy interior.

  Stay? Go? Run? Follow? Blast it all, this uncharacteristic indecision was driving her bonkers. The whole situation made her jumpy, even if she were only dreaming. She had to be dreaming, right?

  Her inquisitive mind required that Twyla solve the mystery. “Only way you’re going to figure this out is to go inside and talk to these people.” Yeah, she’d do that as soon as she found her missing backbone, courage and sense of adventure. When she finished berating herself a hundred times over for being such a fool, she stepped over the threshold.

  “Lord,” she gasped. The castle evoked memories of all the scary horror movies she’d ever watched from between her fingers or from behind the meager protection of a pillow. The fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end and chills raced along her spine. Talk about disturbing. Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Anne Rice—they’d all have a field day in this place. Too bad it wasn’t one of them standing here instead of her.

  She stepped into the foyer and shot a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no vampires, werewolves or other scary creatures were sneaking up from behind. Only then did Twyla let out a breath and place a tentative hand against the gray stone wall, surprised to find the surface neither damp nor cold as it appeared. Ornate gas lamps cast an eerie glow around the cavernous vestibule, drawing attention to numerous tapestries decorating the walls.

  One in particular captured her interest. Moving closer, she drank in the details of the beautiful wall hanging that featured a handsome man standing on the cliffs before the castle, gazing out to sea. The artistry was so compelling she’d swear the same breeze that caused the subject’s dark hair to flutter around his shoulders glided over her skin. His rigid posture and hard expression revealed a great depth of misery, along with the knowledge of unspeakable anguish.

  She traced the square angle of his jaw with her fingertips, trailing the soft caress over broad shoulders to the glorious arch of white feathered wings, which sprouted from his upper back and trailed to the ground for several feet behind. She longed to comfort him, offer solace. Pull him into her embrace and take on the heavy burden weighing him down, if only for a short while.

  Powerful emotions washed over her. Not pity—instinct told her he’d hate that. Unfamiliar feelings that hit her on a soul-deep level—respect, devotion, passion. She cherished him. Depended on him. Loved him.

  Twyla whipped her hand back as if she’d been burned. Lord! She had no idea what the hell had just happened, but it had felt so real. For a moment, she’d been an active part of the scene. A part of the man.

  An exasperated grunt from the eloquent butler snapped her back to reality. “Lead on, Lurch.” Difficult as it may be, she turned away from the tapestry to follow the intimidating manservant.

  She had not come here to perform an in-depth study of the castle’s artwork, no matter how impressive. She didn’t know why she’d been called to this foreign land, but had every intention of finding out.

  Lurch’s slow gait allowed plenty of time to take in her surroundings. She sensed a very surreal property about the structure, a fluid instability that her imagination grabbed hold of and ran with. She began to wonder what would happen if she were to turn around. Would the structure have shifted, morphing into a new form? Would the wall hanging still be there? Although she didn’t want to act the part of every horror movie heroine who’d been too stupid to turn around and look, Twyla resisted the impulse, not wanting to know if the hallway had changed and a crazed axe murderer shadowed her every step.

  Nope, don’t go there, Twyla May. Ignorance is bliss. If you can’t see Freddy Krueger or Dracula then they are not there. Seeing them is what makes them real.

  The itch to take a look overpowered her internal soundtrack and she spun around, a sharp breath of relief hissed between her clenched teeth. Her head swam and her lungs burned from oxygen deprivation. No wonder her mind had taken a fantastical trip, she’d been holding her breath for quite a long time.

  Reassured, she turned back to find Lurch giving her some serious stink eye. “What? Why are you glaring at me? Doesn’t this place ever make you feel like you’ve stumbled onto the set of a Wes Craven production?” She glared right back at him. “Oh wait…how could I forget? You’re the fucked-up reincarnation of Frankenstein monster so you probably feel right at home in this freaky medieval fortress.”

  With a sad shake of his head, Lurch grunted. Twyla rested her fisted hands on ample hips. “Well, excuse me while I have a meltdown, but no sane person could spend more than five minutes in this joint without feeling like they’d entered the freakin’ Twilight Zone.”

  Yup, no doubt about it—her mental facilities were headed for a total collapse. A flying leap off the damn cliff outside was another possible scenario worthy of consideration.

  Lurch sighed and continued down the hallway.

  Good job, Twyla congratulated herself. Way to join the freak show. The butler would now tell his Richie-Rich employer she was certifiable. She’d be out of here before even learning why they’d hijacked her to begin with.

  She glanced around, only realizing after a brief delay that she now stood alone in the fun house, and raced down the hall. “Hey, Lurch. Wait up, man. I was only kidding. Don’t leave me.” A supernatural soundtrack played in her mind and her footsteps echoed on the cobbled stones, upping her anxiety. Not willing to be the brainless horror show bimbo, Twyla risked a quick backward glance to be sure nothing chased her and she plowed right into Lurch’s back. He seemed to not even notice the sudden impact.

  Peering around the too-big man, she gave a stunned whistle. “Holy cow! Looks like someone set Martha Stewart loose in this room.” The rabbit hole she’d fallen into kept getting more bizarre by the minute. The room she’d been taken to was decorated to the nines with all manner of fancy little touches. Someone put a great deal of thought and time into making it beautiful, but Twyla knew she’d never be comfortable in such a space. Heck, she was afraid to even sit on the perfect couch.

  An ornate gilded mirror hung abo
ve a marble hearth with a fire burning behind the grate to take the chill from the air. The vaulted ceiling had to be at least forty feet high, but estimating was made difficult in the muted lighting since the heavy green drapes were drawn. Dark wood furniture upholstered with lush earth-tone fabrics sat atop a large woven rug. As alternate realities go, this one was pretty damn spectacular.

  “So what now—”

  Twyla turned toward the empty doorway and staggered, the words died on her lips. Damn it. Lurch had left her…well, in a lurch. The way she saw things, she had two options. Sit and wait like a good little abductee or seize the opportunity to go exploring. She held out her hands, palms up, weighing the two choices, her right hand rising higher than the left.

  “Hmm…looks like it’s time to reconnoiter the joint.” Twyla moved around the room, drinking in the smallest details. From the ornamental rosewood carvings on the ceiling high above her head to a Renaissance painting of knights decked out in full armor lined up on horses, several of the men holding flags. In an alcove, she found a beautiful statue depicting a female warrior. The woman, both striking and rugged, was a cross between the sensual goddess Aphrodite and the kick-ass heroine from the historical fantasy TV show Xena: Warrior Princess.

  An intense sense of inadequacy filled Twyla as she stared at the inanimate piece of art. And how fucked up was that? Years of intensive physical training in martial arts had made her strong, but instead of becoming toned and thin, her muscles had thickened. At six feet tall she would never appear delicate and feminine. Still she’d hoped to at least attain an hourglass figure. Nope, wasn’t in the cards. Twyla had gained comparable physical strength and stature of a man, and while she could be termed as pretty, no one would ever consider her to be beautiful.

  She shook off the odd mood, refusing to be envious of a statue. With the intention of resuming her exploration, Twyla turned on her heel, coming face-to-face with a live and in-color version of the woman depicted in stone resting on the pedestal behind her.