Captive (42 page)
She felt incredible, dizzy, and almost drunk, yet aware and alert of every sensation. Exposed to the night and to her lover yet secluded in the dark wood, concealed beneath the water and Max’s body, she felt tame yet feral.
Reciprocating with slow caresses of fingers, lips, and tongue, his mouth moved down her neck to her breasts, to her nipples, and back again. He caressed her back, her butt, and between her legs, teasing, pleasing, touching her in a way she had never experienced. Frustration she couldn’t explain heightened in her core, and she ached for him to be inside her.
Addy pushed him onto a ledge and straddled him. Then she reached between them and stroked his hard body.
“Hell, woman.” His words sounded as though they came from deep in the back of his throat. “How am I supposed to control myself when you do that?”
“Maybe I don’t want you to control yourself.”
“Then tell me what you want. I need to hear you say it.”
“I want you to make love to me, Max.”
“Sorry. You’re the alpha, remember?” He covered her mouth with his hungry kiss, his tongue darting inside her mouth. His fingers ran down the sides of her breasts, her ribs, her hips, and underneath her where they worked gentle magic.
Her breath came fast at his touch and she held on to his penis, forgetting her part in pleasuring him.
How could she think with this exquisite torture? Her core ached with need. She would die from the pleasure. “Please, I want you inside me.”
“Me too,” he said, but only continued teasing her.
Unable to withstand any more, she repositioned herself and guided him inside her, fulfilling her desire. Above them, the Southern Lights swayed, rocked, and intertwined as if they too were making passionate love.
Every sensation mounted inside her. Every emotion surged until she closed her eyes and cried out, arching her back as she climaxed.
One more thrust, and Max held her tight as he shuddered against her.
Drained and on the verge of melting into the hot spring, she snuggled against his good shoulder.
“Addy? Are you crying?”
She sniffled. “No.”
“Look at me.” He lifted her chin. “Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?” The terrified look in his eyes broke her heart.
“No. You were perfect.
This
was perfect.”
“Then why the tears?”
Addy glanced back at their baby sleeping on his moss bed. Silver moonslight shone softly on Noah’s peaceful face. She found Max’s eyes again. “Because this is the first time since I’ve come to this planet that I’ve been happy. Because I love you, Max. And because I know you love me, too.”
Relief reached the green in his eyes. He wrapped strong arms tight around her and kissed her tears.
In the tranquil night, serenaded by the refuge’s nocturnal songs, Addy was safe. Free. And home in the loving arms of her naked gladiator.
So many people have helped me in the making of this book I hope I can remember them all. If I’ve forgotten anyone, I’m truly sorry.
The first thank you goes to my awesome critique group, the Gems, especially authors Cathy Tully and Chris Redding for your insight, wisdom, and friendship. I wouldn’t be here without you two.
I thank the awesome and generous people of Liberty States Fiction Writers, RWA, and FF&P who have encouraged me and taught me so much about the craft and business of writing. There are too many of you to name.
Thank you Erik Heller, Jeffrey Brown, and Max Carr for answering my law enforcement questions; Terri Prizzi for naming my aliens; Doug Moran for brainstorming some sci-fi/world-building elements; knife maker Jim Hammond for granting me permission to use the Flesheater name; and Sensei AJ Advincula for graciously answering my questions about sword fighting, knife fighting, and the Flesheater combat knife you designed. Any errors in this book are my own.
Thank you to all my beta readers, especially those who have read the entire manuscript (some more than once): Joan Moran, Gretchen Moran, Melinda Leigh, Karen Buys, Margaret Smith, and especially Craig Smith for assisting me with the male POV as well as some brainstorming.
Thank you to my amazing agent Michelle Grajkowski, and my brilliant editor Lauren Plude for loving this story and believing in it as much as I do. Thank you to the entire team at Forever Yours and Grand Central Publishing for all the wonderful work you’ve done on this book.
Thank you Mom and Dad for your love, support, and encouragement, and for teaching me to work hard to achieve my dreams. Thank you Bill for your high school words of wisdom that you probably don’t remember giving me: “If you want to be a writer, you have to read a lot.” You were so right. Thank you Aunt Sharon for being my champion. Thank you Gregory and Julie for giving Mom her much-needed writing time. Sorry for losing track of time during revisions and forgetting to feed you dinner. And the biggest thanks goes to my husband and real-life hero, Scott, for all you’ve done to support my dream of becoming a published author. I love you!
K. M. Fawcett was born a romantic. At six years old, she would beg her parents to take her to restaurants with “soft music and candles” where she could drink Shirley Temples and twirl on the dance floor. When she received
A Knight in Shining Armor
by Jude Deveraux for her eighteenth birthday, she fell in love…with the romance genre. Currently, K.M. writes sci-fi/ paranormal romances, and enjoys stories filled with adventure and kick-butt heroes and heroines. She is a member of the Liberty Sates Fiction Writers, RWA, and FF&P. K.M. holds the ranks of third-degree black belt in Isshinryu karate and second-degree black belt in Ryu Kon Kai (Okinawan weapons). She and her husband own Tenchi Isshinryu Karate Dojo in New Jersey, where they teach karate, weapons, and self-defense. When not writing, blogging about martial arts and writing, or working out at the dojo, K.M. is home with her two children and two cats. Visit her at
www.kmfawcett.com
.
See the next page for a preview of
Fearless
, the next book in K.M. Fawcett’s The Survival Race series!
Chapter One
G
uided by the light from Hyborea’s two crescent moons, Kedric crept through the dark jungle evading tangled vegetation with gladiator stealth. When the targeted village came into view, he crouched behind a tree trunk and motioned for his troops to surround it. A hundred men would be in position before dawn broke in fifteen minutes.
Advancing this deep into the savage’s territory had been easy. Too easy. After their last raid, the tribe’s leader should have built defenses. That’s what Kedric would have done. But Kedric was an alpha gladiator, and the highland warlord. These people knew nothing about fighting. There wasn’t a trap or a sentry anywhere, not even atop their newly constructed bell tower. Its thatch-roofed platform appeared unmanned. What good was a warning bell if no one was there to ring it?
Ignorant fools.
What had he expected from primitives who lived in grass huts, hunted with bows and arrows, and prayed to the aurora tropicos? Those lights weren’t Protecting Spirits. They were electromagnetic forces.
That
was what protected their island from Hyboreans.
His skin crawled and jaw clenched. If it weren’t for those giant humanoid Hyboreans, he wouldn’t have to capture these savages in the first place.
But he had a plan that would end human suffering.
A warbling birdcall signaled the first troop was in position. It wouldn’t be long before he heard the others’ signals.
Kedric almost felt sorry for his enemies.
They’d no idea war was imminent.
* * *
Myia couldn’t sleep. She should have been able to conquer her emotions by now, yet here she was on her eighteenth birthday—the most important day of her life—and she couldn’t calm her nerves enough to sleep through the night.
The rope frame creaked beneath her as she got out of bed. She padded barefoot across the dirt floor to the hut’s only window.
A crack of orange sunlight separated the forest from the still-starry heavens, where the Spirits danced in a display of red and green lights. But today, they weren’t weaving and swaying with their usual harmonious grace. The lights clashed and crashed into each other as if doing battle.
They appeared as restless as she was. Surely they weren’t reflecting her anxiety over today’s vision quest.
What had upset the Spirits?
If she could relax, she could alter her state of consciousness and ask them. But that was her whole problem, wasn’t it?
A shaman must maintain inner serenity,
her father had instructed time and time again.
She closed her eyes and inhaled sticky humidity, and the sweet, dusty scent of dried herbs, thatch, and soil. She tried concentrating on her breathing like she’d done so many times in the past, but it was no use. Excitement and apprehension had hijacked her tranquility.
How would she ever become a full-fledged shaman if she couldn’t quiet herself?
She was doomed to fail her vision quest.
And disappoint her father.
Her body grew heavy with the thought. Although she’d never be as wise and knowledgeable a healer as he, she wanted nothing more than to follow in his footsteps. She’d do her best to try.
As if summoned, her father rushed into her hut. Something was wrong. He never rushed. “Myia,” his voice remained calm, “sound the bell. The Highlanders are coming again.”
Not wasting the precious seconds it would take to slip on her moccasins, she raced out the door, weaved between huts, fire pits, and water barrels toward the village center. After the last attack, the remaining men began constructing the bell tower and only finished it yesterday. No one had been assigned to stand watch yet.
It was up to her alone to sound the alarm.
Heart pounding, she scrambled up the twenty rungs of the ladder praying the structure wouldn’t collapse. The wooden platform seemed to sway, or perhaps the height made her dizzy. She gripped the half wall to steady herself and her eye caught movement through the jungle below. The Highlanders had the village surrounded and were quickly advancing.
She gripped the mallet’s thick handle and swung hard, striking the bell with all her force. A deep metallic ring reverberated inside her body and ears, nearly deafening them from a warrior’s shriek below.
The vegetation emitted menacing screams that grew louder as more and more warriors joined in the war cry. Despite the summer heat, icy chills slid down her spine.
She repeatedly struck the bell as the village came alive. Men and women fled their homes with small children and babies in their arms. The older children ran close behind their mothers.
From her vantage point, she could see what they couldn’t; the surrounding invaders moving swiftly through the vegetation toward them.
Tears blurred her vision. If she hadn’t been so self-absorbed, so wrapped up in her own concerns, she could’ve received the Spirits’ warning before her father had. She could’ve sounded the alarm sooner. Her friends and neighbors might have been able to escape into the jungle.
Instead, they were ambushed.
The bell clanking and ringing in her ears couldn’t drown out their frightened screams as the Highlanders captured them. There wasn’t much of a fight. Hers were a peaceful people. They didn’t train for battle as the Highlanders did.
The warriors who didn’t lay in wait surged into the village and raced to specific huts as if they had been targeted before the attack. One raced toward her tower.
Tamping down her fear, she took a deep, cleansing breath, preparing herself for the confrontation. Once the Highlander touched her, her spirit would enter his and she’d heal his angry heart.
Assuming she could remain calm and at peace with the world.
This would be so much easier if she weren’t whacking the heck out of an upside-down metal bowl, and the tower wasn’t shaking from the warrior climbing the ladder.
“Spirits fill my heart with peace and tranquility to help my people.” She closed her eyes and struck the bell with an even tempo. The rhythm of it wasn’t relaxing her. No power surged through her body.
A fist encircled her biceps, stopping her arm midswing. Her eyes opened, and a young man’s aura she hadn’t seen since he’d been taken last month glowed in front of her.
“Myia.” He released her arm, and embraced her. The gesture lowered his defenses and his emotional brew of aggression, anger, and eagerness flowed into her.
The last time their souls had intertwined she’d helped him grieve the loss of his mother. “Lem. I’m so relieved you’re alive. Everyone sent to negotiate our people’s return had been captured.”
Though he spoke no words, his spirit admitted that was exactly his purpose here as well. Her soul grew heavy with that knowledge. “Are the Highlanders forcing you to capture your own people?”
He glanced over the half wall before pulling her to the floor as he crouched. “Stay down. It’s best if no one sees us talking.”
“But the warning bell.”
“It’s too late.”
He was right, of course. The Highlanders had already invaded, and by the sounds of the chaos below, the villagers were defending themselves as best as a peace-loving people could against warmonger aggression.
“They aren’t forcing me. I volunteered. My objective is to take you.”
“Me?”
“Not
you
exactly, but the bell ringer.”
“Lem. Take my hand. I can heal the hostility in your heart.”
“It’s not hostility. It’s determination. I must bring our tribesmen to the Highlands.”
“Why? Why would you capture your own people?”
“Life is so much better there. The Highlanders are so advanced and smart. They have technology. And the food! Myia, there’s so much to eat all the time.” Lem certainly didn’t appear to be starving. In fact, in the few weeks he’d been gone, he looked to have been well nourished and filled out his nearly six-foot frame. “Our people fear the unknown. By bringing them to the Highlands, we help them see the light. After a few days, they don’t want to leave.”
