Interra (Awakened Series Book 5)
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book Five of the Awakened Series,
see what others are saying about
Harley Austin’s
Interra
“Blockbuster action. Hot romance. Once you are into this story you cannot put it down!”
— K. Abrahams, Christchurch, New Zealand
"Austin makes you feel like you’re right there, living the lives of the people in the story."
— M. Santana, Montreal, Canada
“A romance written for men? I am totally sucked in. Why hasn’t anyone written books like these sooner?”
— N. McKenzie, Key West, FL
Harley Austin’s
Awakened Series
book one
Awakened
book two
Dominion
book three
Legacy
book four
Invictus
book five
Interra
book six
Paradisus
book seven
Deception
book eight
Meridian
book nine
Valor
book ten
Promethean
book eleven
Novus
book twelve
Ascension
Awakened Series
BOOK FIVE
INTERRA
HARLEY AUSTIN
Harley Austin Publishing
harleyaustin.com
INTERRA—Copyright © 2016 Harley Austin. All rights reserved.
Published by Harley Austin Publishing | HarleyAustin.com
ISBN Paperback: 978-1-5347-6093-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyright materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Version 1.0—RELEASE COPY. This work may be periodically updated by the author/publisher with various corrections, additions and/or deletions to the work without a change of ISBN and without notice, guarantee or warranty of any kind.
For my beautiful angel;
the love of my life and the very best friend
anyone could ever hope to have.
INTERRA
Prologue
S he tossed and turned beneath the sheets in a kind of uneasy slumber; her long, dark hair spilling over her pillow while deep dreams were filling her mind. It was him. Again. She drifted behind him, as if flying like a ghost above and all around him as sand and dust lifted from the pavement into a long trailing cloud behind the beefy street machine that sped like a bat out of hell over the empty desert highway.
The helmetless rider’s features were shielded by a full-face sun-mask; his thick wavy dark hair billowed and whipped in the fast hot wind that blew past him. Wrapped in dark leather, riding gloves, and boots, his thick muscular build all but lay over the top of the heavy bike’s saddle; his hands and feet instinctively moving clutch, throttle, and gear levers into an overdrive, kicking the powerful steel steed to well beyond one-fifty.
Rocketing past a checkpoint, two Lamborghini patrol cars gave chase, their lights and sirens a futile gesture to the rider now already a half-mile ahead of them and entering the glittering desert city.
Barely slowing to weave and lean the big bike in and out of the light freeway traffic, a posse of patrol cars now gave chase in the distance, all of them hopelessly outdistanced by the dark rider and his sleek machine.
Ahead, a barricade of patrol cars snarled traffic to a standstill, blocking every exit. With deft agility, the rider sped the bike even faster toward the stopped traffic. He lifted the front wheel from the pavement and with a kick of his heel on a lever, the big bike blasted from the pavement, jumping the concrete railing of the elevated freeway. Arab officers watched, stunned, as rider and cycle became wholly airborne, as if soaring above them on wings. Veering away from the elevated freeway, their mouths gaped in disbelief as the rider and machine then touched down onto the side road fifty feet below, and powered off into thicker city traffic.
Weaving quickly past cars and people, the rider approached the tallest of the buildings in the city. Dozens of military vehicles surrounded the Burj Khalifa, their mere presence an assumed deterrent to anyone who might try to approach the mammoth skyscraper unwelcomed. Thickly swarming the main entrances of the building, the soldiers had left the other sides of the structure all but unguarded. The rider ignored their fortifications and sped the bike to an unprotected side of the building.
Already standing in the saddle, he leapt from the metal machine, launching himself skyward. The heavy bike skidded rider-less by itself to a fine stop, its dual engines still purring. But the eyes of the soldiers were not on the bike, but rather on the rider now shooting skyward, mere feet from the sunlit glass, as if in flight, like some leather-clad Superman.
Security had barely been warned when the glass wall of the opulent residence suddenly burst into shards. A hot wind now rushed into the fine décor of the home accompanied by a levitating black leather-clad rider who blew quickly into the main living area, two heavy pistols already in his hands. Automatic gunfire from several well-dressed security officers rang out within the shattered residence, the still levitating rider and his leather taking scores of rounds of hot lead. The guards emptied their magazines into the darkly-dressed intruder who now dropped to the floor as he dodged, crouched, and returned fire with his own weapons. The muzzle of the rider’s heavy-barreled pistols flashed with an unworldly ‘thume’, ejecting visible balls of hot plasma that streaked toward their targets with inhuman and deadly accuracy knocking the men off their feet, over furniture and against marbled-tiled walls. The officers’ bullet-proof clothing offered no protection against the veritable rain of white-hot plasma rounds filling the air from the rider’s dual-fisted pistols.
Within seconds, thirty men lay dead and dying as the rider moved quickly past the carnage and deeper into the lavish residence.
More security appeared from floors both above and below. But they were no longer the typical human guards; and their weapons no longer conventional. Bright ionic plasma blasts erupted from pistols as halfblood security poured into the residence. The rider’s guns blazed again as well. But the demigods were only being slowed by the ride
r’s weapons, not killed. With a skilled gentle jerk of his pistols’ grips, the weapons seemed to shift and change, as if transforming into new, heavier configurations.
The rider took several of the ionic hits, struck squarely by the blasts of the new weapons wielded by demigods. His leather jacket was now frayed under the onslaught of ionic weaponry, but the black body-hugging armor beneath his pants and jacket all but ignored the hot plasma blasts.
Returning fire, new streaks of amber now shot from his transformed pistols, leaving nothing and no one to argue with. The halfblood targets unlucky enough to feel the heat of the new amber blaze suddenly burst into a brief shower of atomic light, and quickly disintegrated out of existence.
In another few moments, the room was emptied of more than a hundred of its once powerful demigod guards.
Approaching a smooth titanium door, the rider shed what remained of his smoldering leather jacket. His weapons holstered, his eyes suddenly blazed white with fire; his mind focused and taking hold of the massive door. Aided by unseen telekinetic energies, the massive door jolted away from its thick moorings, the titanium metal seals rending and shattering like pottery as the massive door tore away and floated from the opening as if it were a twenty-ton balloon. Suddenly released, the full weight of the vault door crashed through the unreinforced part of the building’s ornate floor and continued its calamitous descent down deeper into the building.
The rider stepped into the ultra-secured area of the residence. Its accommodations were just as opulent as the rest of the home. Inside the vault, another twenty demigods dressed in red guarded an older looking man. Their ionic weapons were drawn and readied, but no one fired.
The thickly muscled rider stood ominously just inside the wreckage of the doorway, his weapons now holstered, his arms folded, his gaze fixed on the older man standing just behind the guards. The rider spoke, finally, from behind his face’s sun shield.
“Mithras.” The rider seemed to glare from behind the mask.
“You’re too late, Dark!” the old man announced. “My armies are already on the move.”
“Do tell.”
“In another few weeks, the gods will be no more. We’ve already won.”
“That’s supposed to make me happy, how?”
The old man stepped forward, in-front of his elite red guard. “Join us, Dark!” The old god’s charisma was convincing. “The Sentinels are weak. With you by my side, leading the Dark Clan, we can crush the prophecies. They are already broken.”
“I’m not interested in the prophecies.”
“I know you’re not. Even more reason to join me.”
“I came for the vessel, Mithras. I’m putting an end to your plasma toys. Give me the location of the vessel and I’ll let you live.” He took a step forward.
The old god held out his hand. “Not so fast. I’m not living out the rest of my days in some Dominion prison cell. Let me go, and I’ll give you the location of the vessel.”
“No deal. I’ll find it myself. You’re under arrest.”
The guards behind the old god leveled their weapons.
“You’re making a huge mistake, Dark! We will crush the Dominion and the Dark Clan. You cannot escape the Wraith!”
“The Wraith? Get serious.”
“They are more than you know. You don’t know who you’re dealing with now!”
“Yea, and neither do you.” The rider removed his face shield.
“RION.” The old god’s eyes drew wide with surprise, but then narrowed. “I should have known. Only you would pull a stunt so brash—and so foolish.”
“The game’s over, Mithras. Tell me where the vessel is and you can go free.”
The old god fumed. There was no way out of this now. “You were right about one thing, Rion. The game is over. And you’ve lost.” He stepped forward. Suddenly a plasma blast hit the old god in the back, an then another, and another. It didn’t take Rion but a spit second to realize that the red guards were not loyal to Mithras, but to someone else—the Wraith. Rion’s mind quickly found the minds of the guards and with a psionic jolt, all of them sank into unconsciousness, their eyes stunned wide open.
Rion sank quickly to his knees where the old god had fallen, lifting his shoulders into his lap. “Mithras!”
The once royal god had never felt such pain before in his life. He was glad to know it would not last long. He coughed, blood spattering Rion’s armor.
“I can get you to—”
“Too—late. For me, Rion.” The god weakly gripped his arm. “Run! My boy—”
“Run? From who?”
“He’s mad. His armies—vast.” The old god sputtered from his wounds. “RUN! Hide. Before—”
“MITHRAS! The vessel, where is it?”
But the old god just stared blankly into Rion’s eyes, unmoving.
Rion grimaced, turning his head to look away. He had always heard so many things about the ancient warrior god. And now Mithras was gone. Although they were bitter enemies, right now, Rion felt sorry for the Seven and for the old god; a deep sadness.
She somehow felt the rider’s pain and grief for the old man as she hovered like a spirit over them. She watched him carefully lay the old man gently onto the polished stone floor, then watched him stand and look directly at her. His face was saddened but yet, filled with resolve. He walked up to her and then past her as if not seeing her at all.
Her eyes suddenly opened as she jerked wide awake within the darkened dorm room. She lifted her arm to her head in a deep sigh. She could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest, too rapidly for sleep. She looked at the clock. Only 3:39 AM. At least she didn’t have school tomorrow. How many of these dreams was she going to have? And who was the guy in black? Rion. She had seen him, over and over in these vivid dreams, but this was the first time she had heard his name; at least that she could remember. She wondered now who he was. The dreams felt so real. Could he be real? Or was he just a figment of her overly creative imagination?
Pressing her thighs together while rocking her hips under the sheets she didn’t have to wonder about the effect these dreams of him were having on her. The dreams always ended this way. She smoothed her hand over the top of her soft panties. The last dream, only a couple of days ago had left her panties not just damp, but wet with desire. Somehow, this figment of her imagination drew up real feelings within her.
She stretched under the covers, flattened her fingers over her panties to soothe her aroused feelings, and then dozed restlessly back to sleep.
1
S ea World. Alone or with friends, it was one of Serena’s favorite places to get away, get some exercise, gaze into the aquariums, and take in a few fast rides. For the past couple of years she had taken advantage of the student passes the university offered. Winter was also the perfect time of year; still very warm but not too hot, and the crowds were less than half of what they would be in the summer. Serena liked watching the people stroll through the park’s tree-covered paths on their way to wherever the next attraction would lead them.
Several friends were taking in a show Serena had seen so often she had grown bored of it. It was a perfect day to just sit on a shaded bench and watch the people as they passed by; and it was much more entertaining than watching animals jump through hoops in a darkened theater.
Serena wasn’t the only one in the park watching the people. While she scanned the other benches across the courtyard she could see others, young people and older couples, and singles like herself, doing the same. It was just as interesting watching the watchers.
She kept her gaze moving, here and there, but for the third time in a minute her eyes returned to a guy standing on the opposite side of the courtyard. Leaning against a shade tree he was obviously one of the many other people watchers.
Wow. She couldn’t help being a little captivated, at least with how he looked. He was taller than most, with a fit muscular build, dark hair in a nice cut, and dressed in a snug, almost black workout shi
rt that hugged every huge muscle he had. She usually didn’t go for the gym-rats; all of those she had dated in the past were only interested in one thing besides barbells. None of them had lasted beyond the first date.
Few guys actually appreciated Serena for her mind and her talents. She loved music. Since the age of five she had been a natural at playing the piano and a few other instruments as well. Now a semi-accomplished composer, her commercial jingles were running on radio and television. People really seemed to like her music, even other musicians appreciated her talents. But other musicians also generally turned out to be artsy narcissistic disasters when it came to relationships. She avoided dating other musicians like the plague.
She found herself gazing at the tall built guy again. This time her eyes moved along his legs. He had nicely defined, powerful-looking thighs, but not totally out of proportion like the oversized body builders she had seen on the cover of magazines. He wore the same color of dark loose running shorts that showed off his body and did a not so good job of immodestly hiding his indecently sized packaging beneath them.
Jeeze, Serena, take a picture, she mocked herself. But, it wasn’t a bad idea. The camera on her phone would work, she just needed to be casual about it. But just as she was lifting her phone into position, several Asian teens flocked around the object of her fascination and began offering to have him take their pictures.