It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare, it is because we do not dare that they are difficult. - Seneca

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Excerpt from Feral Fascinations by Skhye Moncrief...* WARNING ADULT CONTENT*

Bright light bore through Jake’s eyelids. Asphalt ground into the back of his head. Dammit. Some bastard got the better of him and left him unconscious on the street.

No pain.

I probably just got knocked out.

Mugged. What was that sterile smell? Not the standard stench of beer, puke, and piss on the hidden street. He tried to lift a hand to rub his skull.

Hard biting metal held his wrist.

Was he minus a kidney? Shit. Time to wake up. He shook his head.

Whatever he laid upon was smooth and flat. Not asphalt. Not concrete. And the steady hum wasn’t what one would expect from an alley.

Why won’t my eyes open?

At least, he didn’t feel like he was packed in ice. Two kidneys were key to a long life. Time to see a way out of this mess. Open eyes.

Open.

The damned things wouldn’t budge.

How long had he lain there asleep, strapped to something smooth?

Sweat cooled his brow.

Just get out of here. But without vision, an ex-mercenary was beyond blind. Dead.

Sweat trickled beneath his armpits.

More like baked. Where in the hell was he? The roasting sun could flay a man.

His eyelids popped open.

Light flooded the space from overhead.

Artificial light. Where in the hell was this place? He tried to crane his neck to look around.

His hard miserable skull wouldn’t lift.

Fine. He scanned the area.

Gray walls lurked barely visible beyond the intense curtain of light.

His wrists were bound in metal cuffs.

His chest was bare.

A silver blanket draped his groin.

What interrogator worried about decency? Crap, they should be hovering, waiting to rip his balls off.

Something about the scenery conjured memories of alien-abduction movies.

A sound whispered.

The hairs on his neck prickled to chilly attention. An aching, a longing, need pinned him down.

What? Need? While in shackles?

He went uncontrollably rock hard.

Naked on the table with a boner wasn’t good. Why sex when a man was about to lose his balls of steel that were really quite soft and sensitive?

Off the table. Now. How to get down? How to get my hands on a woman? One like the nocturnal number back on the street. No. No. His medical or specimen-tied-to-carving-table situation was all her fault.
#

Kindrist stood inside the spaceship’s sliding silver door, above Jake’s head where he couldn’t detect her presence. Would he forgive her? Or hate her? He was the kind of man The Cause couldn’t rely on. A hot head. A loner abandoned by society because he didn’t fit in. Alas, Violet Children rarely fit in with their evolved psychic abilities. But she had witnessed the good in his thoughts through all those self-less actions. And now they were bound to each other beyond the restrictions of standard mental telepathy—that being he was lesser-evolved and higher-evolved psychics couldn’t mindspeak with him. He had to be convinced to help them defeat Voldon. Or all peoples would be enslaved, including Jake’s own.

“Is someone here?” Jake snarled.

The anger in his voice reflected his imprisonment. But releasing him before his debriefing would certainly result in a battle. This was not the time to fight or lie. Better to stand here and answer.

“I am. Welcome aboard The Seeker.”

Jake’s chin snapped upward, and he shot a defiant stare at the shadows her direction.

He couldn’t see her if his vision were anything lesser-evolved. But he knew she was there by the glare in his eyes.

The tranquilizer was wearing off. Time for a little persuasion. “My name is Red Kindrist Lotyl Trekaar. I will release you when you prove to me you can behave civilly.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Me? I’m the one shackled to a table. You need some etiquette lessons.”

“You feel like a caged animal. As anyone would. But I must know you can behave before I can release you.”

“If you want me to believe you, step on into to the light.”

A man who wanted to assess his captor. Typical mercenary reaction. Bending to his needs might gain her some power over him. Some control. Yet, no mercenary could refuse such a request from her mate.

His chest was incredible. He lay relaxed without a hint of duress. Oddly enough. One would expect him to fight for freedom.

The bulging muscles in his limbs called to her fingers. And his apparent interest in her beyond talking, an interest apparent in the bulge in his blanket, was a promise to force him to keep.

To release his bindings… To unite again. Only a fool would let him off the table. She stepped into his view.

“You! What am I doing here?” He sneered.

So he remembered their encounter. At least, he had that to connect with before the sedative stole his memories.

“What do you want with me?”

At least, he seemed to control himself. “I’m free to tell you everything. But I want your promise that you will remain calm and listen.”

Her husband lay quietly.

Or the animal inside all beings took over.

What would he say?

“All right.” He jerked one of his arms against its restraint.

Then it begins. Sexual union or not. It was time to show this man she could be trusted. A soul mate had to be trusted. The Cause believed in him. He had to realize this singular point. She reached for the buttons on the bed’s small control panel and pushed the coded sequence.

His restraints popped open and dangled in the air.

He rose, grabbing his wrists, rubbing them.

Not all his body waited relaxed. His was willing for more unification.

Yet, he just stared at her with patience every father begged a child show.

Good.

Heat of desire ebbed through her core.

To have another round of mating...

Her mouth watered.

For sweet salty blood to melt across her tongue. To shove him against the examination table and take more of him. To weave their essences into one basic seed. The seed to grow into the promise of legend—a child who will bring free thinking to the universe.

Such strange raw need.

Yearning.

Animalistic lust.

A sensation beyond description.

Genetic mating proved stronger than she expected.

He stood there like he’d pounce any moment.

Waiting.

Why wouldn’t he just come to her? Set her inner beast free? She wanted to jump on him. Throw her legs across his iron body. Extinguish the indescribable craving buried deep inside her core.

If only she could read his lesser-evolved earthling thoughts.

To know he craved her.

To hear what he wanted to do to her.

How bizarre this detachment was. But that’s what the binding was for—to prevent any psychic being from detecting his presence during an attack. His lesser-evolved brain was the key to covert operations.

For the love of Devros, what brilliance in the act of marriage to these psychic earthlings.

Jake lunged across the room and grabbed her, shoving her into the shadows beyond the examination light’s illumination, against the spaceship’s cold hard metal wall.

The wall bit into her shoulder blades.

What was he doing?

His hot breath turned to a faint steam in the chilly corners of the shadowy sick bay.

Breathing seemed impossible with his twisted mask in her face.

“Who are you?” he growled.

Was that the sound of hunger or anger? Dare she admit everything now? If he wouldn’t accept his destiny, if he wouldn’t take her blood, she would turn into a raving beast after forty-eight hours and rampage through the ship on a blood hunt. Seducing him had been stupid. Only honesty would set things right between them. “I am your mate.”

He snarled. “Not the answer I wanted.”


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4 comments:

booklover0226 said...

Great excerpt; I look forwardin in reading more.

Thanks,
Tracey D
booklover0226 at gmail dot com

Brandlwyne aka Brandy B said...

Thanks for sharing the exerpt!!!

-Brandy
brandyzbooks@yahoo.com

Celtic Chick said...

Hi Skhye,

Awesome excerpt. I had to keep reading because I wanted to know where he was. It reminded me of a darker kind of sci-fi like Firefly, which I really like.

Skhye said...

Thanks, Tracy, Brandy, and Celtic Chick.

Celtic Chick, my publisher has been back and forth on categorizing this book. I just call it a werewolf space opera. They classify it is paranormal, futurisitic, and dark fantasy. So,I agree with you! Part of the problem with my stories are that they are extremely cross genre. ;)

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