During the fever he was extremely dangerous but his warriors not only accepted the danger he posed to them but they protected him. They'd stood by him and had come on this journey with him knowing it would be his last. His death was only a cycle or two away and he'd already written a letter to his family with a special note to his little niece, Rose. She was the closest he'd ever come to having a child of his own and he wanted her to know that the privilege of naming her had been his greatest privilege. The sound of Rune hailing him interrupted his thoughts.
"Commander, my warriors are docked and I'm docking now," Rune said.
Soren shook off his melancholy and acknowledged Rune's communication as he fired on another pod. "Rolf, report."
"We have two more Prezon warships approaching," Rolf said.
Soren held his place at the end of the line. "Plot a course away from here that doesn't include going into the wormhole."
"I've already done so but we'll have to go to warp drive to do it," Rolf said.
"Begin preparations." Soren said. Directly in front of him was the unknown wormhole they'd discovered. He'd sent a probe into it but hadn't received any information back from it as the Prezon fighters had shown up and interrupted the process. He certainly didn't want to take the Venturer though it without knowing what was on the other side and if he had a way back. His starship's purpose was exploration. It was made for speed and evasion not battle. They could take on one Prezon warship, maybe even two, and win, but four was out of the question. He wouldn't risk his warriors' lives when he had a way to avoid the confrontation. Better for them to live and fight another cycle. "Rolf, alert Zarronia that the Prezons are gathering in this sector."
"I've already done so," Rolf said. "The Prezons have sent out four fighters."
Soren piloted his ship toward shuttle bay one but stopped outside the entrance while he waited for the last of beta squad and then Vandar to board. "Rolf, how far out are the warships?"
"They'll be within range in two micro-units."
"How close are the fighters?"
"Twenty nano-units," Rolf said.
Soren flew his starglider several kilometers out from the Venturer and held a position between it and the approaching ships. "Rolf, get the Venturer out of here."
"Soren—old friend—," Rolf said before his voice ground to a halt.
"Rolf, may you find your true mate and live long." Soren didn't look back. Instead he engaged the first two fighters, using every skill he had to evade their weapons. He took a very brief moment to glance at the Venturer. One split nano-unit she was there and the next she was gone. He smiled then flew a loop around one of the Prezons while focusing his weapons on another. His target exploded and he looped back in a counterclockwise pattern and took out the ship he'd just passed. With a victory cry he aimed his weapons at the third ship and fired at it. Before he could locate the fourth fighter his glider took a hit to the side and began tumbling in space.
The seat formed to his body and held him secure while he tried to regain control. Before he could his ship was hit again. The violence of the explosion threw him from his seat and tossed him around the cockpit as it continued to tumble. He landed hard against the control panel, hitting his head and cracking his helmet. Grunting with pain, he maneuvered his body back into the seat and looked up as he reached for the controls. His hand froze when he saw the enemy closing in for the kill.
He thought about his family. His parents, his twin brother Thorn and his bondmate Daria, and their children, Dane, Dev, and Rose. The vision of little Rose smiling at him forced his survival instincts to kick in. Without thinking he pulled the toggle that would release the escape pod from his ship even as he acknowledged it was too late. It separated just as the enemy fired again and his starglider disintegrated. The force of the explosion slammed into him and threw him toward the wormhole. He hit his head again and blood from a cut on his temple streamed into his eyes, blinding him. He fought to stay conscious but lost the battle when something crashed into him. The pod floated at the edge of the wormhole for a nano-unit then suddenly disappeared into it and reappeared in a new and unknown galaxy a unit later.
A large planet with patches of white and pink lay directly ahead of him. A smaller planet orbited near it along with two moons. The escape pod drifted toward the smaller planet, picking up speed as it entered its gravity. The pull on the hull triggered the automatic landing procedure and managed to slow its descent just before it hit the surface of a frozen lake.
Shards of ice flew into the air and sprayed out behind it as the pod skidded across the lake and finally came to rest against several large boulders.
****
Skye leaned against the cool wall of her habitat while she watched the familiar but dreary terrain of her sanctuary. Loneliness ate away at her soul while the need to find a mate burned through her veins increasing the beat of her heart and the rhythm of her breathes. With every cycle that passed she felt herself weakening and had to fight to keep from giving into the hopelessness that filled her. Like many Krystali enchantresses before her she would die young without a mate to love and sustain her. She'd never be the mother of a strong son, or a precious daughter who would carry on her line. Only her twin brother, Berit, would honor her memory but eventually she'd be forgotten. As was right, she thought, then said, "Screw that. I don't want to be forgotten. I want to live."
Catching her reflection in the krystal window she stared at the black tattoo that surrounded her left eye. The damn thing marked her as a krystal enchantress and was the reason she lived alone and isolated on Tundra. Seeing it brought back memories of a childhood spent trying to scrub it away until her skin was raw and bloody but when it healed the mark had remained. Her small sigh of resignation coated the krystal with a haze of fog and she cursed the male who kept trying to abduct her. After Merykh's third attempt her brother, Berit, had forced her to hide on this frozen planet while he searched for a mate for her.
"Merykh, you bastard," she muttered while she drew a crude gesture in the fog on the window. "It isn’t my fault my body rejected you."
As a child she'd believed it would be exciting to be pursued by handsome, strong warriors but the reality had been a nightmare. She hadn't known then about the deep feeling of repulsion she'd have to the wrong male trying to touch her. Just remembering those times made her shudder and wish she'd been born a krystal healer or even a krystal conjurer. They didn't have this much trouble finding a mate and they didn't die young the way she would.
On Krystali a healer could heal any kind of injury or illness except an injury made by white krystal. A krystal conjurer could create white krystal and manipulate it into any form as needed. They could also conjure it as a weapon for their mate to throw. She, though, was the rarest of the rare. She could do everything a healer or conjurer could do but she could also conjure dark krystal. The smallest shard of it would kill a person within micro-units of being struck by it unless she reached them in time to heal them.
If she'd been able to find a mate she would've given him the ability to cast dark krystal. A gift that would've made him one of the most invincible and powerful warriors in the galaxy, perhaps in the universe.
Skye drew a circle around the crude drawing then fed up with her pity party she stuck her tongue out at her reflection, and mumbled, "Stop being pathetic."
As she began to turn away her eyes were drawn to a silver object falling from the sky. It left a trail of dark smoke behind it as it fell at an angle and hit the middle of a frozen lake and skidded across the surface. A geyser of ice flew into the air but she didn't see it settle as she was already scrambling into her outdoor wear. Black leather pants, shirt and boots covered by a hooded cloak and gloves to protect her fingers from the freezing temperatures.
Excited, that something was happening to break the intolerable boredom, she leapt down the steps of her shelter to the lower level. With a sweep of her hand she conjured a door and hurried through it and ran
as fast as she could toward the crash site. As she followed the path she thanked the gods for providing some entertainment for her then searched the area around her. She wouldn’t be the only witness to the crashing object. When she spotted a line of figures moving down the side of the mountain, their dark furs a sharp contrast to the snow and ice of the path they followed, she was proven right.
"Farg," she mumbled as she identified a hunting party from the local tribe that she called Groaners because of the grunts and groans they made when they communicated. They were primitive and believed that by devouring their enemy they would be given his or her strength. Something that made her shudder with revulsion every time she thought about it.
She watched them and decided she'd reach the object and have about fifteen micro-units to examine it and leave before they arrived. The last time she'd been out she'd run into them and been forced to conjure a krystal shelter around herself.
They'd hung around for three cycles trapping her inside while they'd poked at the shelter with their spears and tried to figure out where'd she'd gone. Smiling, she remembered how each night she'd moved her shelter a few feet closer to their fire and puzzled them even more. After three cycles though she'd grown weary of the game and had managed to sneak away in the night although now they actively hunted her which meant she always had to be on guard.
Frowning at the memory of how everything always went wrong she ran around several large boulders then squeezed through a crevice in the rock and her boot slipped on a patch of ice. She screeched curses as she fell and tumbled down the path. An inconveniently placed rock at the edge of the lake stopped her fall when she crashed into it. Winded, she lay there for a moment, then forced herself to get up. She held her bruised side while she hobbled toward the object unaware that a dead weed was caught in her braid and stuck up like a waving flag. Finally she reached the object and sighed as she bent over, moaned with pain and caught her breath.
The object was about the size of a small glider but oval in shape. She made a circuit around it and the ice beneath her feet cracked with each step. Hesitating, she approached the ship, touched it and jumped back. When it wobbled then settled again she laughed at herself and touched it again then made a fist and tapped on it. It sounded hallow.
Heat rose from it filling the air with steam and forming a puddle of melting ice beneath it. Standing back, she chewed on the tip of a gloved finger and decided it must be laying on the door. She pushed against it and rocked it until it rolled over and revealed another rounded and dented surface but no door. Frustrated, knowing she was running out of time, she ran her hands over the scorched surface and found a small area that felt different. She tugged on it and with a hiss a section swung open revealing a cockpit filled with smoke and covered in blood. Wires hung from a smashed panel sending out a shower of sparks toward the body of the lone occupant.
She gasped and stepped back, expecting to be attacked by the occupant. When nothing happened she took a cautious step closer and looked at the occupant. She didn't know why tears filled her eyes when she saw his lifeless body.
She waited another moment then said, "Get a grip, Skye," and slowly reached out and touched him. He was huge, perhaps almost seven feet tall. Short black hair covered his head but the hair on the sides was cut shorter, revealing an intricate tattoo. She ran her finger down several of the lines then traced over the black swirls and other shapes between them before turning his head back toward her. Smears of blood covered his face and coated dark brows that curved above closed eyes outlined with thick, straight lashes. His mouth was beautiful with a full lower lip and a sharply sculpted upper lip. High cheekbones and a firm, stubborn looking chin led to a strong muscled neck.
He was dressed in an open black vest that left his massive, muscled arms and chest bare except for the blood that covered him. Wide gold and platinum armbands with bright red gems circled his upper arms. Black leather pants covered his legs and black boots protected his feet. A jeweled object stuck up behind his head and was probably the cause of some of his head trauma. She gently rolled his head to the side. It was beautiful, expensive and definitely the weapon of a warrior.
She'd just decided to lower the door and let his ship be his tomb when he shivered. A small cry of surprise left her lips before she could stop it. Eagerly she moved closer and examined him, identifying multiple broken bones and deep cuts over the parts of his body she could see. Dark red blood flowed from several long gashes on his chest and temple. She removed her gloves, laid her hands on his cheeks and felt his life force slipping away.
(Look for this in late August 2015)
Books by Mardi Maxwell
ZARRONIAN WARRIORS series:
Valan's Bondmate (Zarronian Warriors 1)
Thorn's Bondmate (Zarronian Warriors 2)
Soren's Bondmate (Zarronian Warriors 3)
(Zarronian Warriors 4) coming soon
THE DOMS OF CLUB MYSTIQUE series:
To Love and Obey
Jackson's Sub
Their Temporary Sub
Zane's Choice
Nate's Naughty Nymph
The Ramsey Doms
Find Mardi at:
www.MardiMaxwell.com
www.facebook.com/MardiMaxwellRomance
www.twitter.com/MardiMaxwellRom
http://www.mardismentionables.blogspot.com/
An Excerpt from Claiming His Cowgirl by Lori King
Crawley Creek 3
Chapter One
July 26 – Wedding Countdown T-minus 14 days
“Tornado on the ground in Mobile, Alabama.”
The words came out of Lauren’s mouth in a near monotone cadence. She’d been through this so many times that she no longer had an emotional reaction to emergency situations. She just accepted them and handled them. It made being an emergency management coordinator the perfect job for her.
“Contacting recovery out of Montgomery. We’ll have supplies readied and volunteers rolling by twenty-three hundred,” Jesse Kravitz responded just as calmly, his fingers flying over the keyboard in front of him.
“Verify with authorities where they’re positioning the command center before sending directions this time, Jesse,” she said gently, giving him a pointed look.
He flushed under the reprimand. “Yes ma’am.”
Just a week ago, their volunteers had been delayed in providing necessary help to the victims of a tornado emergency when Jesse sent them in the wrong direction. She’d quickly corrected the error, but the delay was a blight on the young man’s record. It was her job to ensure people got the help they needed, and the only way she could do that was if her employees were as efficient as she was. She liked Jesse as a person, and they’d become fast friends, but if he made another mistake like that she’d have no qualms about firing him.
In spite of their military-style manner, they weren’t owned or operated by the government. Fast-Aid was a private quick response team, fully funded by local corporations and philanthropic residents. She was the coordinator for the entire Southern region. Her base of operations was in Little Rock, Arkansas, but she managed volunteers in nine states.
When she wasn’t coordinating medical assistance and supplies, she was in her fully remodeled kitchen creating edible artwork for the handful of clients she regularly provided event catering to. Emergency management was her career, but cooking was her passion.
“Second tornado reported just outside of Montgomery. We may have to maintain the first team in stasis until we determine the extent of the need,” Jesse reported.
“Call in Birmingham unless the storms are continuing their trajectory. We’ll need Montgomery as home base most likely. I have to make a few calls to follow up on the Tulsa situation, but I’ll check in with you before I leave this evening,” she said, leaving Jesse to his work and securing herself behind her closed office door. She quickly pulled up her personal email to reread the invitation she’d received earlier in the day.
Drannon asked me to get your mailing address so that he could send you a written invitation for the wedding, but as usual, I forgot. Sorry. I promised him I’d give you the info personally since I screwed up. The wedding is on August 8 at seven. Your old room is ready and waiting for you. Let me know when you’re flying up, and one of us will meet you at the airport. Later-Hawke
Hawthorne “Hawke” Kapshaw was like a baby brother to her, but they shared no blood connections. They were both taken in by Abe and Sera Crawley as children, him as a foster son, and her as a stray. For whatever reason, they’d connected and become lifelong friends. She left North Dakota behind eighteen years ago as a young, naïve girl with a broken heart and a streak of stubborn determination a mile wide. She had no idea what path her life would take. She only knew that she had to escape the memories of her shitty mother’s fists, and put distance between her and the man who broke her heart.
An image of Vin filled her head, and she sucked in a deep breath, willing it away. She didn’t have time for reminiscing. Her fingers dashed across the keys, and she clicked send before she could reconsider. It was a big risk going back again, but she knew Drannon would be happy to see her. Perhaps, this time, she’d get the closure she needed.
Closing her email, she picked up the phone and called the Tulsa team, pushing all thoughts of Vincent Rhone and Crawley Creek Ranch out of her brain and focusing on her job.
Her Vigilant Seal Page 23
