My Cyborg Savior (Crimson Romance)

by Ravena, Honoria

  “Don’t jinx us. We aren’t out of danger yet. If we get into trouble we’re screwed. Torin is the superior pilot, and he’s out.”

  They waited in silence for the telltale rocking of the ship that would signal they were being fired upon. Nothing happened.

  He sat up, carefully taking his weight of Jamila’s legs.

  She slowly pulled the tape off her mouth. “Why the hell am I taped? Let me out.”

  Torin groaned and sat up clutching his head. “I hate those fucking stunners. I’m going to have a migraine for days.”

  “Yes, how terrible for you. At least you’re not tied up. Galen, come on, loosen my hands.”

  Torin grinned. “Nope, you get to stay like that until we’re back on a bigger ship, and one of our doctors can check you out.”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “Galen?”

  “Yep. That’s the deal. We don’t know if you’ve been brainwashed or not.”

  She glanced away. “They tried. They — ”

  He grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “You don’t have to talk about it now. We’ll talk about it later. In private.” He wasn’t sure he could hear what they’d done to her now. Not without turning their jumper around and going on a suicide mission to do as much damage as possible. Besides, he was sure she would regret telling those things in the company of Torin and her father. Not that they would mock her, or be bad listeners, but it was a very private matter.

  Her eyes welled with tears and she nodded before laying her head against his chest. He had to resist the urge to squeeze her against him.

  “I should have been straight with you that day in the shuttle. I had more than one reason to come back with you. I was going to take the fall for you. I suspected you would be wanted for supplying the Haven district. I love you, and I couldn’t let them execute you for that.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him and he wiped tears off her cheek with his thumb. “What did you say to me? Something about love?”

  He smiled and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I love you, Jamila.”

  “It’s about damned time you said it.”

  He snorted. “I’ve loved you since I found out you were giving food and medical supplies to people in need, even when the government said it was wrong.”

  Her father cleared his throat sharply. “I don’t like this. I cooperated with Galen to save you, not so you could run off and marry him. I don’t want you associating with them. They’re dangerous criminals.”

  Rage boiled in the pit of Galen’s stomach. He’d kill this man before he let him take back his daughter. “We are what you made us. We’re tired of doing horrible things to help subjugate others. Besides, you have no choice. She’s wanted now. And most importantly she’s mine. I won’t give her up because you have a problem with my people.”

  Her father crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe I won’t help you find your daughter if you don’t?”

  Torin snorted. “How about we hold you captive and torture you until you do.”

  Jamila pressed her fingers over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.

  Cyrus rolled his eyes. “That won’t work. Where the government wasn’t willing to commit its full resources to finding my daughter, it will come after you if you take me. I know too many secrets, and too many men are counting on me to vote their way on several issues. Several issues you would find very important, that I could help you with.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. “You think life is hard now? What if the government unleashes its full wrath on you? You might think they’ve been hunting for you, but they haven’t even been trying. And if you don’t do exactly as I ask, things could get very bad for you.”

  Jamila threw her bound hands up in there air. “Shut up! Really, you’re going to discuss this now? You can’t wait to threaten the man I love and try to take him away from me? I know you want your world to be exactly like you want it, but doesn’t my happiness mean anything to you?”

  Cyrus straightened, grimacing in pain. “I want what’s best for you.”

  “And that’s Galen. Even being captive on his ship I’ve felt more alive than I have in the past year. Maybe longer. Doesn’t that matter?”

  The old man’s eyes glistened with tears and he glanced away. Galen never suspected that the bastard had a heart, but he clearly felt something.

  “I love you, Jamila. I don’t think I can live without you. I’m already living without your mother. It was my fault that she killed herself. She felt ridiculed, and unloved, and let it consume her. I want to keep you close. To protect you.”

  “And by taking Galen from me, you’ll be making the same mistake twice. I’m wanted in the core planets now, as well as ridiculed.”

  “I can find a safe place where you’ll survive.”

  “I don’t want to survive. I want to live. I want freedom, and love, and most importantly I want to help those people on that ship. People that are injured. People that lost everything because the government you work for thinks they deserve to die. You’re going to help Galen find his daughter, and you’re going to vote favoring the genetically engineered and the cyborgs from now on. Please, Daddy.”

  He nodded. “I don’t know if I can bear not seeing you again.”

  She stood and stumbled to his side. She clasped one of his hands in hers. “If you can fix this war with the cyborgs, maybe someday you will.”

  “You come back to me if you’re ever unhappy.”

  Annoyance flared but Galen kept his trap shut. This was their moment. But he would make sure she was always happy from now on.

  Cyrus cleared his throat. “Torin, get up here and set this thing down on the third planet.”

  “Daddy, what about helping me escape? What will they do to you?”

  He snorted. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll lie and say I was coerced. No one will believe me and I’ll get death threats. Thus is the life of a politician. I’m hoping I won’t get assassinated helping these people.”

  He patted her hand when panic flashed across Jamila’s face. “I’m joking, pumpkin.”

  Everyone knew that was a lie, but she didn’t press him about it.

  • • •

  Jamila leaned on Galen as they walked back from the infirmary. She’d been thoroughly checked for every device they could conceive of. She’d also had some annoying little gnat of a psychiatrist analyzing her for brainwashing and secret orders, and whatever other worries they had. When they determined she had no weapons, no tracking or communication devices, and was not going to snap and kill someone, they’d released her. Though she’d been told she was still required to meet with the psychiatrist weekly, and she would be watched. It was creepy, but they had good reasons.

  “I’m so tired, Galen. I don’t think I’ve slept since I was taken into custody.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

  He’d been tense and silent since her father had disembarked from their shuttle. She could tell he was worried about her.

  She glanced at him. “Galen, I can’t talk about it. They didn’t have long, but they were … inventive.”

  She flinched as horrific images of the violence and death they’d showed her flashed through her mind. The remembered pain echoed through her limbs.

  She jumped when Galen pressed a finger over her lips. “Don’t think about it. Don’t worry about telling me. I remember. And one day, when you can talk about it, you’ll come to me, and I’ll always listen. You can tell me anything. And if you feel like you can’t, you are required to see that psychiatrist. Tell her.”

  She nodded as they stepped into Galen’s chamber. “I want to forget for a while.”

  He nibbled her neck. “I can think of an excellent way to forget a
bout it.”

  She giggled. “Really? Now? What happened to me getting some sleep?”

  “Well, we can make time for it. Can’t we always make time for this?” He slid his hands into her pants and cupped her mons.

  She snorted. “At that time, I was trying to distract you and get you to do what I wanted.”

  “Well, I want to get laid. We’re on the same wavelength here.”

  She turned in his arms and glared at him, but could quite manage it over the tenuous smile breaking across her face.

  “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

  He scooped her up and tossed her over her shoulder. “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, please do me.’ You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I never am.”

  About the Author

  Honoria Ravena lives in north Texas. With a cat for a pet who insists on helping her type her stories, she enjoys yoga, belly dancing, a growing addiction to cosmetics, and reading many types of fiction. You may find her on Facebook and Twitter, but do not be surprised if her cat answers you instead, as Honoria never sits still long enough to be found. Visit her at www.honoriaravena.com.

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  (From Fusion by Candace Sams)

  Reisen Four

  Behind enemy lines

  Earth year 5037

  To save what ammo she had, Lyra Markham jammed the butt of her photon rifle into the face of the charging Condorian. The resulting thud was exceedingly gratifying.

  Her foe fell into an awkward heap. His head lolled to one side and his eyes immediately assumed a deathly, hollowed glaze.

  It’d been a very good hit.

  She tossed her empty rifle aside. It was added weight she couldn’t afford.

  A quick search of her dead foe’s arsenal proved pointless. Though the fool was out of ammunition he’d still had the balls to charge, brandishing a horrific looking, ten-inch boot blade. Aside from that weapon, which she summarily shoved into the barrel of her tall desert boot, there was nothing else to be scavenged from his body. No ammo. No grenades. Nothing.

  Scrambling sounds made her glance backward.

  Unfortunately her dead enemy’s nasty-looking friends witnessed her attack from about a hundred yards away. They grouped for the chase.

  As they ran toward her, firing, she ducked and took off northward, as fast as her body armor allowed. She now counted seven Condorians breathing down her neck.

  Sweat poured down her face as she gazed ahead, hoping to get to the far, rocky hills where she’d have the advantage of being on higher ground.

  As Lyra ran, she was forced to jump over the bodies of Delloids, Capricans, Startsur warriors, and Freermen. All of them were Earth allies in the war against the Condorians. All were spilling blood just as freely.

  No matter how many allies came to the front, intending to beat back the enemy ravaging the entire galaxy, the Condorians kept bringing more. The only thing that kept her world and other allied planets from being overrun were these desperate stands in space — diversions meant to slow the enemy while allied commanders fell back and reassessed battle strategy.

  Annihilation was only a matter of time. She knew it; so had all the dead lying around her. But no one was giving up. The Condorians wouldn’t take hostages. Innocent inhabitants from hundreds of allied planets would die horrible deaths. It now came down to a matter of how one died. Her course was in battle.

  She rounded an outcrop of rock and stopped to lean against it, dragging air into her lungs while she could. Every detail of this stinking, blood-soaked battleground blended together.

  There were almost no colors on Reisen Four. Sepia-tones obscured some of the rocky escarpments in shadow. There was no grass, sparse plant life of a higher order, and precious little water. Whatever the cost, Lyra vowed not to be taken alive.

  Approaching boot steps signaled her brief respite was over. She gripped her sidearm and ran again. She’d have taken her helmet off for better maneuverability, but the only long-range transmitter she had was built inside. Even though she was sure her superiors had given her up for dead, she couldn’t relinquish the last communication device available. And some part of the helmet might deflect incoming fire.

  As one of thousands of Class M planets, Reisen Four’s air was breathable. Lyra and other allied fighters had been given orders to leave air packs behind. In this environment, the oxygen canisters would have weighed fighters down. That brilliant foresight helped her make good time now. But without filtered oxygen, the dirt in the air penetrated every part of her uniform, including the damned helmet. Still, she clung to the last hope that a signal might come from an allied vessel. With her own fighters scattered to the four winds, Earth Forces deployed in this battle were quite gone or dead.

  There’d originally been three other women in her platoon. She was the last and had seen the remains of her friends and what had been done to them. That image was burned into her brain and was the only thing keeping her from turning around and shooting into the pack chasing her. Her pursuers had picked up the pace. She was pretty damned sure they knew she was female.

  Hours went by. She dodged, hid, and ran but it made no difference. After only a few precious moments to rest in every few hundred yards of running, her foes kept up the pursuit. Their persistence had less to do with losing their friend to her rifle butt, and more to do with catching a woman and slaking their lusts before slowly slaughtering her.

  It was now late into what passed for a Reisen Four night. The sepia-tones were only a little darker to delineate the passage of time. She had no idea where she was and didn’t care. The Condorians were still running her to ground like hounds on a blood trail.

  With her body and wits taxed, she turned into a small, narrowing canyon. Without energy reserves, she suddenly realized she couldn’t climb up its side fast enough to keep from being hauled back down the rocky slope. It was there she turned to make what she assumed would be her last stand.

  I’ll take a few of you bastards with me.

  She squared her shoulders, determined to save one last round for her head. She’d be dead before they actually began tearing her apart.

  As she raised her sidearm fear gripped her soul. It was then she realized she really wasn’t ready to die. A noise from behind signaled she wasn’t alone.

  In an instant someone from behind clamped a large, strong hand on her shoulder. She was hauled off her feet and bodily thrown into a dark, cavernous space. Her weapon fell from her grasp and she scrambled to retrieve it.

  Her attacker pulled her backward. That was the last thing she remembered.

  • • •

  It might have been hours or minutes later when she opened her eyes. She felt her neck being massaged by huge, gentle hands. When her foggy wits cleared, she eventually pushed herself away from the enormous, crouching figure next to her. Since she’d be dead if he was a Condorian; the reasonable assumption was that this darkly uniformed fighter was an ally. He’d most likely saved her life.

  “Wh-what the hell happened?” she murmured through her helmet mouthpiece.

  Her helmeted savior stared at her.

  The huge megalithic creature before her tilted his black, armored head, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. She repeated her question and added more.

  “I’m Lyra Markham … Master Sergeant, Tenth Earth Regiment. Who are you and what happened?” she demanded again.

  When he kept staring down at her — his face as invisible as hers behind the anti-glare plexi-shielding — she kept trying. “Is your communicator working?” She tapped her head to indicate a communication device that should be located within his helmet.

  Since learning that other races occupied the outer reaches of space many centuries ago, universal communication technology had been developed for the benefit of all who wished to speak
freely. Unfortunately, better communication hadn’t worked with the Condorians. They had but one desire―to take everything and kill anyone who wasn’t one of them.

  Lyra’s comrade continued to stare at her without making a single sound. “Can … you … understand … me?” she asked one last time, enunciating every word quite clearly.

  He finally stood and backed away.

  From where she sat, she felt at a decided disadvantage. The figure towering over her had to be nearly seven feet tall, as wide as a hatch on a cargo frigate. His shoulders, even without the black, unmarked armor, spanned the distance of a full yard and then some. Unlike her headgear, his had a pronounced front-piece that appeared very avian in nature. It was as if the designer was trying to emulate the head of a very large predatory flying creature. She’d never seen its like before. Still, there was no doubt in her mind that he was an ally.

  Finally, she hauled her tired frame to a standing position then removed her helmet so he could see her more clearly.

  Sometimes these alien beings didn’t take to speaking without eye-to-eye contact. She couldn’t afford to piss this mountainous person off. He represented the only help available.

  Her companion simply tilted his head the other direction and kept staring down at her. She knew she wasn’t the most attractive human at the moment. Grime and sweat ran in rivulets over her face, neck, and body. She could feel it even if she couldn’t see it. Without oxygen canisters, the body armor was left unsealed so the user could breathe. That resulted in every bit of dirt getting in.

  He seemed to study her uniform markings carefully. Even from a great distance, anyone as familiar with allied patches could tell she was an Earther and was ranked Master Sergeant. She’d only announced that fact along with her name and unit designation as a matter of habit. Still, the painted emblem of Earth, surrounded by its telltale starry circle, was clearly emblazoned on her right shoulder and over the left breastplate of her armor. Her helmet had the same emblem plastered all over both sides. He couldn’t mistake her origin, but he just wasn’t communicating.