by Amanda Boone
Hermo’our stood in the shadows near Jane’s hiding place. His hand clutched the hilt of his sword, ready to pull the weapon from its sheath in a moment’s notice.
Still unable to believe that these people were so backward in many of their methods, she stared at Hermo’our’s hand. His knuckles were nearly white they gripped the sword so tightly. Hand-to-hand combat seemed antiquated and dangerous to Jane. She had no intention of getting involved in that, but she would stay hidden in case Hermo’our needed her.
The door to the throne room opened, and in stormed Fenrir and Tyr. Odin bolted from hiding and took his place on the throne before Fenrir could react.
“Greetings, Fenrir,” Odin said as he stared down at the man with the fuchsia skin and wearing a bronze material jumpsuit. “May I help you?”
“You will get off the throne,” Fenrir said in a firm tone, “and you will turn it over to me.”
“That will not happen. Now leave.”
With a metal scraping on metal sound, Fenrir drew his silver weapon and pointed it at Odin. “Do not make me use this. I would rather settle this peacefully.”
“You brought your sword, cousin, so peacefully is not the way you wanted to do this. You hoped to have a confrontation with me to settle this forever.” Odin reached down beside him and pulled out his golden sword. “I will happily match with you if that is your goal.”
“You do not belong on the throne. If not for my grandfather abdicating, my father would have been king. Now it is my turn. I am not weak like my father. I will fight for my rightful place.”
“You know that your father did not want to rule Cartonia, nor did he think you would be a good ruler.”
“He was wrong. I would make a very good king. You are merely a prince.”
“I am only a prince because my grandfather honored yours and vowed never to call himself king. If I wanted the title of king, I could take it. I am honoring my father and my grandfather before him by not doing so. You do not want to fight me, cousin.”
“Actually, I do.”
“Do not do this,” Odin said. “You will regret it if you do.”
“I will never regret fighting for the throne on which I belong.”
Odin rose and brandished his sword at shoulder height. His golden blade glinted in the sunlight coming through the open window. Stepping down from the platform on which the thrones sat, Odin stood straight and tall.
Without another word, he strode over to Fenrir. Odin stood several inches higher than Fenrir and was many pounds heavier, and Jane had no doubt that he could easily overwhelm his cousin. Finally, they stood face to face, their swords raised, each waiting for the other to begin the fight.
This would not end well, Jane decided. One or the other would be dead, and the survivor would sit on the throne to gloat. Tyr stood near Fenrir, and many other soldiers waited nearby for their orders.
“Why would you do this after I gave you a castle and all of its furnishings and servants?” Odin asked.
“I do not need a consolation prize.”
Fenrir raised his sword and jabbed it at Odin, who skillfully dodged the sharply honed blade. Fenrir had acted the aggressor, but Odin did nothing to retaliate.
“I do not want to hurt you, cousin,” Odin said.
“Then give up the throne.”
“Never. Put down your weapon.”
“Never,” Fenrir said mockingly.
Odin took a backhanded swipe at Fenrir and cut his jumpsuit just above the abdomen. Blood seeped onto the bronze material. Fenrir lunged at Odin again, and Tyr drew his weapon, as well.
His sword already drawn, Hermo’our bolted from hiding and rushed Tyr.
“You will not take the throne from my father!” he cried as he lashed out at his friend.
Their swords clanked together as Tyr blocked a blow by Hermo’our. The weapons gnashed together as Tyr tried to twist the sword from Hermo’our’s hand. But Hermo’our held fast to his weapon.
Five soldiers rushed into the room from the hallway, but ten soldiers entered from behind the thrones. The melee began in earnest as the men fought for the monarchy.
Chapter 9
Jane could scarcely believe her eyes. It was like being in a Medieval movie set in the future. Swords clanged, and men cried out if they were injured or just angry.
Then a male scream pierced the air. She stepped out of hiding for a better view of what had happened. Holding his profusely bleeding right arm, Odin knelt on the floor. On the ground before him lay his hand and part of his arm as well as his sword. Looming over Odin, Fenrir raised his sword and pointed it down at Odin’s back.
“You will die!” Hermo’our shouted.
“No!” Jane screamed as she ran from her concealment.
Hermo’our drove his sword into Fenrir, who screamed in pain and dropped to the floor. A pool of blood grew around him. Tyr caught Jane as she passed and spun her into his grasp so quickly that she didn’t even realize what had happened at first. Cold, sharp metal pressed against her neck.
“Enough!” Tyr shouted next to her ear.
Everyone stopped and stared at him in shock.
“Go!” he ordered.
All of his soldiers who were alive left the room in an instant.
“Free her, Tyr,” Hermo’our insisted. “Take your uncle and leave, and we will let you go.”
“Odin has not said as much.”
“We will,” Odin agreed.
“If Hermo’our wants this female, he must take her from me,” Tyr said. “I offered her to him once, but she said she did not want him. I will not offer again. Now he must fight me and earn her.”
“Don’t do this,” Hermo’our pleaded. “I need her. Please, Tyr. We’ve been friends for a long time. Please, let her go.”
“Our friendship ended when you deceived me. You told me that you do not want her, just like she told me that she did not want you. But I know that was a lie. I saw you mating in the sitting room. You cannot deny it.”
Now Jane knew what the noise was that she heard. It was Tyr closing the door.
“I won’t deny it. Just let her go.”
“You may have her if you can stop me before I slit her throat. This is a long, sharp sword. It might cut through her neck and sever her head.”
Jane gasped at the thought. He wanted to behead her!
Then Hermo’our dropped his sword. It clattered to the floor. What was he doing? He was giving up when she needed him most. Hermo’our took a step toward Tyr—then another and another, slowly until he reached them.
“I will not fight you,” Hermo’our said. He grabbed Tyr’s arm and jerked it toward himself. “Jane, drop!”
Jane dropped to her stomach a moment before the sword moved again. She looked up and saw that now Hermo’our had the weapon, and he thrust it into Tyr’s abdomen with an upward motion. Tyr fell to the floor before her, his own sword piercing his body, his eyes glazed in death.
Scrambling to her feet, Jane flew into Hermo’our’s arms and hugged him tightly.
“Oh, God, Hermie,” she said, still panicked, “thank you. You saved my life. You’re my hero.”
“I love you, Jane,” he said. “I’m just glad that Mom told me what love is, or I wouldn’t have known. We need to mate again without it being in secret.”
“I love you, too, Hermie. But before we can be together, we need to help your father. I believe that you have effectively ruined any possible coup today. Tyr is probably dead, and Fenrir is likely headed the same direction.”
Hermo’our draped his arm around her neck and led her to his father, who lay unconscious on the floor.
***
Jane stood on the balcony with Hermo’our, Odin and Melanie and gazed down at the crowd beneath them. Then Odin spoke words that Jane never thought she would hear.
“People of Cartonia,” Odin said, “since I am no longer able to do everything a reigning prince must do, I wish to abdicate the throne. Forevermore my son, my hero, the rightful heir
to the throne will be King Hermo’our and his mate will be Queen Jane. No longer will we bow to Fenrir and his ascendants. We and our descendents claim the throne for all eternity.”
THE END
Taken by the Alien Lord
Kahara Lords
Book 1
(Can be read as a standalone book)
By: Lindsay Blanc
Taken by the Alien Lord
Preface.
I know a lot about life. No, I am not 47 years old with thinning hair and an estranged daughter. No, I do not have a degree in Philosophy and Psychology. I’m a 28-year-old woman with little to no marketable experience and a café on Venice Beach I inherited from my mother.
But I know a lot about life.
I’ve spent years on the outside looking in. I have felt alone in my experiences, but always aware of that presence, that thing bigger than me.
I was the rebel child with no direction and no plan, the girl who never knew how to say, “I love you.” Probably because she had never really felt the sentiment. I can’t really blame my barely functioning hippie mother or my emotionally stunted military father. I can’t blame my lavender eyes or strangely tanned skin. I can’t blame my peers for wondering what I am because I don’t fit their Eurocentric standards… or their ethnic ones.
I can only blame myself.
I know a lot about life.
I feel a presence beyond earth.
I can only blame myself.
Chapter One
Xerxes emerged into vision, its boiling atmosphere rocking the spaceship as it eased its way closer and closer. Pilot clutch the joystick with his right hand and the wheel with his left.
A ship of this size, built in this moon, could have easily flown itself, but he liked to take control. He liked the feel of it all: the resistance coming from Xerxes, its fiery gases battering the ship. He liked the way his ship fought against her, thrusting through the thick ring. It was much easier now.
Impact had damaged her protective layer such that it could be safely penetrated by no more than an inexperienced pilot. Then, there was the point of acceptance. Pilot knew that if he fought hard enough, Xerxes would give in and then she would pull. The ship would plummet towards her surface and Pilot would have to fight her gravitational pull and somehow, manage to land the space craft in a specific location without damaging it.
The whole process took less than ninety seconds.
Daed, one of the only cities on Xerxes’ surface still standing, had been converted to a port after Impact. The place, which once was a bustling epicenter for culture and commerce, was no more than a rest stop for stragglers looking to found a new village and a refuge for those who had lost their families.
As Pilot powered the entire ship down and stepped away from the control panel, people had already begun to flood the ship. Their excited voices bounced off the walls as they helped his crew unload the supplies they had stolen off of earth’s surface in the four years he had been stationed there. He had managed to gather enough to last the survivors through another two years… at best.
Pilot’s lips folded into a tight smile as he made his way into Centre, heading right for Darys. However, by the time he reached the leader’s chambers, he wasn’t there. Pilot glanced around his neat office for a second or two before he realized when Darys was. He groaned, then turned and left the emperor’s office.
Darys stood in front of the crater that marked Ground Zero. From his place on its edge, he could hardly see to the other side of it. The scientists had murmured things about radiation and poisoning, but Darys never listened. He liked getting that close to it, looking the killer right in its devastating face.
“Darys.”
He turned to find Pilot jogging towards him, his protective boots kicking up the dried, reddening sand.
“You have returned,” He said, taking note of Pilot’s plump skin. “You must have enjoyed your trip.”
Pilot nodded. He glanced at the crater and the meteor that sat in it. How could he not? “It was lucrative.”
“You collected what I asked?”
Pilot lowered his gaze. “Enough for two years.”
Darys’s heart skipped a beat. A flash of anger crossed his heart, but he struggled to contain it. “That isn’t enough.”
“It will never be enough.”
Darys flexed his jaw. “I know what you will say,” He said, gazing back at the meteor. It had begun to decay in the years since Impact. Gusts of wind stripped layers of packed debris off of its surface, carrying it away. “But I cannot indulge your advice. My people have struggled long enough. I cannot invade another planet. They would wither at the strain.”
“You should have more faith in your kind.” Pilot said, taking a step towards him in his confidence.
Darys clenched his hands into fists. He didn’t like being told what to do by one who could hardly understand. “This is not about faith. I have a duty to protect my people.”
“Then ask yourself. What other choice do you have?”
After Darys sent Pilot off on some miniscule task, he continued to ponder. Enough food for two years? Then what? Another voyage to earth. What coward was he, that he would suck the blood of a weaker race in secret? How could he inspire pride in a people he couldn’t hope to sustain?
Pilot was right. There were no other choices.
Darys reached out to the meteor. Touching it was strongly advised against by the one surviving doctor…and the three scientists he still had at his disposal. But then again, so was breathing.
He pressed his gloved hand against the hard rock, wincing at the puff of sandy matter that flew away. Then he stepped back, allowing the cloud to swirl around him. As the dust cleared, he stared at Impact for the last time.
Seven months later. Darys sat in the makeshift office his assistant had arranged for him in the space ship. What was left of his nation, a population of three thousand male Xeis, had been packed into the ship. When he had been summoned to the control room, he had to fight his way through this perpetual throng of males.
“My Lord.” Pilot stood when he entered and nodded.
Darys nodded back but then his eyes looked past him, widening at the sight. He had heard tales of the planet, had seen pictures taken by his exploration team, but they couldn’t have prepared him for this. Darys, in his attempt to keep his composure, said nothing. He tread the floor of the control room until his hands were wrapped around the rail in front of the viewing glass.
“This is Earth,” Pilot said, a trace of bravado in his voice.
Darys lifted his chin, his chest rising as he took in a breath. For the first time since Impact, he knew he had chosen correctly.
Chapter Two
Numbers soared through Jenna’s head as she bent over her desk and scanned the books. She could hear heavy chatter, three espresso machines running and orders being yelled out to the masses. It was right in the middle of rush hour at her little Café on Venice, but she knew Marge had it under control.
She glanced up from her large binder for the first time in almost thirty minutes to peer through the window on her door. The line was so long, it extended out of her front door. Every seat was occupied and some of the younger, stoner types even took to sitting on the tables. Jenna didn’t mind. Her café had always been “that kind of place.”
She pressed the volume button on the side of the small flat screen she had placed right next to her laptop on her desk.
Alex Trevek’s voice of Jeopardy cut through the dense air in her office.
$4, 097…
$845….
$38, 905….
“Who is David Beckham,” She muttered. She couldn’t recall hearing the question. The answer had just occurred to her, seemingly of its own accorded. Nevertheless, she knew it was the right one.
“Who is David Beckham?” A nervous contestant uttered.
“Correct!”
Jenna smiled. “Am I good? Or am I good?” she said, just as Marge knocked hastily on her d
oor.
“Yo. We need help.” She said, panting.
Jenna raised an eyebrow and peered around Marge’s thin body to the crowded shop behind her. She dropped her pen, slipped on her apron and pulled her long, platinum blond hair up into a messy bun. “I’m there.” She said as she shut the office door behind her.
Once in the main part of the café, the sounds overwhelmed Jenna. She blinked twice, then hopped right behind the counter.
“Double shot of espresso, please?”
“Uh… Cappuccino…?”
“You grab orders. I’ll make drinks.” Jenna ordered.
Marge stepped behind the register while Jenna worked with Lex, a sixteen year old she had just hired to make the drinks.
“Americano… But not too hot!”
With deft fingers, Jenna worked the espresso and cappuccino machines, doing her best to catch every order before Marge had a chance to yell it out to her. She grabbed everything from the frown on Americano’s face, to the excited chatter between Frappuccino and Chai Tea Latte about what bars they would pencil in to their bar hopping schedule.
“Jen?”
Jenna glanced up to find Lex gazing at her with glazed eyes and a film of sweat covering her face. “I really have to pee.”
Jenna blinked at this mild annoyance, but nodded towards the bathrooms anyway. “Go. But be quick.”
As Lex scurried away, Jenna turned her attention to Marge. “Hey, grab this machine with me. I’ll take the orders.”
Jenna stepped behind the register, grabbing order after order as well as helping Marge craft the drinks. Somewhere in all of the madness, in the strong scent of coffee, in the caramel syrup, in the steam and the heat, she saw something out of the corner of her eye.
She glanced up to get a better look.
A man had just walked into the shop. The door shut behind him, a bell dinging with the movement. He was tall, taller than any human Jenna had ever seen. His high cheekbones, heavy set eyes, bushy eyes brows and nearly glistening, brown skin made him look like he had just stepped off of a runway.