Passion Awakened
Passion Awakened
In the far future, humans are
forced to take government-issued drugs to control their sexual urges. Creed
Donovan, drug enforcer for the Federation of Americas, is on the trail of a
fugitive. The chase through time has landed him in the year 2012, six hundred
years into the past and in the mountains of North Carolina.
Shayla Murphy is on hiatus, working
on her latest novel when her peaceful retreat turns into a hostage scene
straight out of a sci-fi flick—one complete with a knife at her throat and men
zapping into thin air. But when the sexy man who saves her needs a little
rescue of his own, Shayla can’t kick him out. Especially after he reveals he’s
from the future, his ride home stolen, and his own supply of Sustain, the drug
he enforces, gone with it.
Without Sustain, Creed’s suppressed
lust will soon awaken, and he’s never experienced his libido untethered.
Trapped with a beautiful new roommate and on the verge of detox, he struggles
to suppress the raging desire in his blood. Only God can help him survive with
his mind and heart intact.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Passion Awakened
ISBN 9781419940279
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Passion Awakened Copyright © 2012 Jessica Lee
Edited by Grace Bradley
Photo and Cover design by Syneca
Models: Elina and Christian
Electronic book publication May 2012
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Passion Awakened
Jessica Lee
Dedication
As always, this is for
you
, because nothing would be
possible without you, my love.
Acknowledgment
A big shout-out to the best critique partner in the
world—Naima. Love you, girl. You always make me smile through the tough stuff.
Chapter One
Crackle.
Zap.
Creed dropped into a crouch and dug his fingers into the
soft earth. The buzz in his ears combined with the sudden blinding sunlight
tilted the world off-kilter. His stomach roiled.
He breathed deep through his nostrils and shook his head.
After ten years as an enforcer, jumping into a time warp still wasn’t the best
part of his day. The hunt that followed… Worth every gut-clenching,
molecule-stretching moment inside that field. Creed clutched the small ornate
device hanging around his neck and checked the narrow display on its reverse side.
Year 2012.
Over six hundred years into the past.
He tapped the field.
Laurel Pass, North Carolina, USA.
Creed surveyed the area. Smack dab in the middle of damn
nowhere.
For the last two weeks, he’d warped, chasing his
target—Thomas Guerry. The crazy scientist had plopped them in the heart of the
Amazon Sector, circa 2513. Post-war New York, circa 2210, and now this isolated
chunk of territory with nothing but grass, hills, trees and more trees and
hills for miles.
Shit.
Thomas should consider his ass kicked before Creed hauled
the rebel’s lovesick, overemotional hide back to the future where he belonged.
The target wasn’t the first to refuse the hormonal
suppressant, Sustain, nor would he be the last. In a world where control and
order are coveted by the Federation, and as a result, had driven the mortality
and crime rates down to a negligible percentage for the society as a whole, any
rebellion was immediately snuffed. But there would always remain those who
would risk it all to satisfy their animalistic libidos.
Stupid and a federal crime.
And that’s where Creed came in.
His job was to bring Guerry back—alive—and see that he was
successfully reintegrated into society with a fresh perspective for his way of
life. One that didn’t threaten the rest of the population.
Before straightening, Creed reached into the pocket of his
black vest and pulled his particle field visor free. He slid it over the bridge
of his nose, the thin metal wrapping around his temples and over his ears like
a natural extension of his body. The lenses were jet black, but the view
through the enhanced fields was crystal clear. Specially made to detect the
blue aura a Sustain user projected, they were also perfect for tracking a time
traveler. When a person warped, they left a trail of tiny shimmering particles
behind in their wake called Scatter. The image always reminded him of the
bedtime story
Peter Pan
they used to read in the brood homes, the
colorful pages depicting Tinkerbell’s fairy dust as she would zoom off into the
night.
Creed adjusted his small backpack and made his way toward
the sound of rushing water. He cleared the pines and exited onto the banks of a
wide river. His target would no doubt follow the water until he reached a
populated area. The Scatter in his line of sight did just that, hug the edge of
the bank. He crouched, surveying the imprint of a boot in the soft soil. Based
on the strength of the residual warp signature and the dampness of the
impression, it appeared fresh. Thomas was close.
For the next couple of miles, Creed followed the water and
the lingering trail. At a narrow bend in the river, the path suddenly stopped,
but on the other side, the particles continued and led up a hillside.
Creed pounded through the narrow strip of rushing water and
then up the grassy slope. The roar of his pulse competed with the rapids for
dominance in his ears.
At the top and several hundred feet away, a cabin sat in a
clearing. So isolated and rustic compared to the clean, sterile edges of his
home and the dense population of the Federation in the twenty-seventh century.
Very rare for anyone of his time to possess a home secluded from the watchful
eye of the government.
Thomas’ path continued along the tree line, but near the
dwelling, the trail died.
Creed lowered onto his haunches, watching…waiting for any
sign of movement. He curled the gloved fist of his right hand in tight. The
rapid flutter of the carotids along his neck was the only external sign he was
like a coiled spring ready to explode. He breathed deep, suppressing the
adrenaline-laced response that screamed for him to launch into action.
Do something.
But that would only defeat any chance of recovering his
target.
Patience.
Patience made him the Federation of Americas’ top enforcer.
If he acted in haste, Creed risked Thomas warping to yet
another time period. But if he timed it right, allowed the fugitive to gain
confidence, show himself, it would only take one well-placed touch or shot, and
they’d both be going home.
A rustle of leaves snagged his attention.
Thomas.
The rebel eased from the cover of a hedge of rhododendrons.
He glanced left, then right, his headful of straight blond hair lifting in the
breeze. Thomas shifted the backpack on his shoulder, then started toward the
cabin, still wearing the royal-blue bodysuit required by his career and defined
his status in their society—an elite scientist. His gait spoke of confidence,
as if he belonged on the property. But Creed knew differently. At thirty years
old, the tall, thin man was one of the government’s brightest, most
accomplished biomedical engineers. Hence for more reasons than one, the
Federation wanted him back. Yesterday.
Watching, Creed kept to the shadows of the tree line while
making his way closer, seeking an opening for the neural silencer. The device
was similar in some ways to the current century’s Taser, but several
generations of evolution had morphed the weapon into the form of a glove. He
flexed the gloved fingers of his hand once more. The fibers of the weapon were
laced deep within the fabric, but in his head, he could swear he felt every
charged filament. One touch took the target down, but if still several feet
away, the weapon contained the ability to be discharged into a concentrated
stream of energy, not shocking the whole body, but disrupting the brain’s
neural pathways.
Thomas moved near the steps and started his climb, his back
to the enforcer. This was Creed’s moment.
Creed dropped the pack from his shoulders and tore from the
cover of the trees, bearing down on his target. Arms pumping, he raced across
the few feet of grass and rock surface.
Thomas stepped onto the wooden porch landing.
Creed hit the bottom step and reached out with his palm.
His target whirled, facing him.
The door swung wide.
Oh shit!
A dark-haired woman, hair long and loose, stepped through
the doorway, then ground to a halt. “Oh!” she said, brown eyes wide and arms
clutching in a death grip what looked like an electronic device to her chest.
Thomas glanced over his shoulder, his gaze darting between the startled homeowner
and Creed. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” she added, but based on the tension in
her body, she was ready to bolt.
“No,” Creed bit out. “We were just leaving. Correct,
Thomas?” Creed shot him a look that said,
That was a command. Not a
question.
But of course, the Federation’s leading scientist wasn’t
going to make this easy. In a move Creed thought impossible of the once quiet
and calm bioengineer, Thomas lunged for the female. One second he stood on the
edge of the porch, the next, he had the homeowner in his clutches, a blade
beneath her chin. The brunette released a squeak of alarm and dropped her white
device to the wooden planks at her feet.
“You don’t want to do this, Thomas.” Creed took a hesitant
step forward. “This isn’t you.”
The knife trembled at her throat. “Maybe not. But I can’t go
back.” He shook his head. “You have no idea what you demand, Creed. I can’t
live like that anymore.”
“You don’t belong here.” Creed joined them on the wide
porch. “It’s the law, and it’s my job.” He lowered his voice, making sure no
waver of negotiation lay between the words. “You will go back.”
Thomas’ Adam’s apple bobbed. His jaw tightened. Creed knew
exactly what was coming, and he braced for it.
“Never!” the other man cried out right before he lunged, the
hilt of his blade tight in his fist, held high, the sharp point aimed for
Creed. The woman screamed, the sound echoing off the hills.
Creed blocked the strike, but the impact of his attacker
sent them both tumbling down the steps. The full weight of his target landed on
his chest, punching the air from his lungs. A hot slice of pain seared deep
into his biceps. Creed bit down, grinding his molars, then arched and knocked
his assailant to the side. A
snick
sounded in his ears and Thomas
rolled, but quickly rebounded onto his feet. Creed mirrored the same maneuver.
He glanced down at his arm and the stream of crimson heading south over his
jacket’s black leather surface. Within the flow, a thin, milky-white liquid
hitched a ride. Sustain.
Son of a bitch.
Thomas had gone for Creed’s implant with his blade. And
succeeded.
Nicely done.
He’d have to give the other man credit. He possessed better
reflexes than Creed would have expected of a male who spent most of his waking
hours in a lab. His gaze moved back to Thomas, who stood a few feet away with a
very satisfied gleam in his eyes. That’s when he noticed the item dangling from
the other man’s grip. Creed reached for his throat and the familiar feel of the
metal amulet. The
snick
he’d heard… Thomas popped the chain when Creed
had kicked him off.
“That’s right, enforcer.” Thomas clutched the time device at
his throat and held up Creed’s in his other fist. “Time for you to get a feel
for what you demand others to renounce.”
On a low growl, Creed dove for the Sustain rebel. “Thomas!”
“Enjoy your stay, enforcer.”
Creed sliced through thin air, tucked and somersaulted where
Thomas had once stood. “Dammit!” He spun, on automatic, clenching and
unclenching his fingers. How had he allowed this to happen? His pulse raced. He
was a pro. The FOA’s best.
And he was trapped.
