Skhye Moncrief - [Feral 01]
Page 1
FERAL FASCINATIONS
By
Skhye Moncrief
© copyright by Skhye Moncrief, August 2010
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, August 2010
ISBN 978-1-60394-452-6
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s
imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or
events is merely coincidence.
Dedication
May your muse help you escape a little each day into the world of creation and control writers seek so often when writing, Sheree.
Chapter One
The human male standing near the San Diego pier never ceased to amaze Kindrist Trekaar after seven hundred and twenty-one days of observation. Jake Straightarrow was not as tall as the tallest earth male selected for service. Nor as attractive in his informal clothing choices based on earth’s current magazine trends. But he was cloaked in a mystique she couldn’t peg. Something, some force in the universe, drew her to him. Her comrades felt otherwise. His actions even labeled him a wild card among his own people. The man was volatile, striking without warning or notice. Yet, he struck with a conscience. That conscience made him a candidate for were-assassin duty.
Okay, in my eyes alone.
For a Nulvitian who had no family, no inhabitable home planet, nothing but ancestry to claim, the power of a man like Jake offered certain aspects of revenge to a woman orphaned from her wasted homeland. His raw brute strength and intelligence could save him from the perils of psychic war--those dangers mercenary mates couldn’t control. But could he truly survive covert psychic operations? He was the only Violet Child she’d seen who she dared parade before the sacrificial altar bound to her in a metaphysical web of soul-mate marriage. Here stood hope, or The Cause would buckle, and all sentient beings would fall under the dark power of Voldon.
Yes. Bonding with this earthling would end the Blood Wars.
“Trekaar, do you have the subject in sight?” Operator Forty Three’s thoughts penetrated Kindrist’s head in mindspeak.
Jake was anything but a subject. She focused, pushing a reply wave back to the operator’s mind and completed the two-way telepathic communication channel. “He studies a middle-class woman with her male child. Both toss food to sea gulls.”
The gulls squawked and dove for food.
A dirty human male, his clothes worn, his beard long and silvered with perhaps age, sat near the woman and child. He seemed to ponder the sunlight glinting upon the almost-non-existent swells in the water instead of the woman’s back turned to him. She and her child ignored the man or didn’t notice him as they fed the whirling mass of birds.
“Why do you waste valuable time on this human?” Forty Three chided inside Kindrist’s mind. “The universe quakes as we speak. Forget him. Choose another subject for were-assassin duty. We must bring the neural network down. 2012 is upon us.”
“Do not patronize me. It is my right to choose my soul mate in my sacrifice to our cause. My freedom for the freedoms of a multitude in the universe, never forget.”
“How many more days will pass before young Red Kindrist Trekaar chooses her destiny?”
Jake stepped away from a food stand and carried a basket of food toward the woman.
How unusual for him to stop for sustenance before mid afternoon.
“What?” Forty Three demanded.
Why did operators have to listen to every thought when the communication channel was open? “I wasn’t talking to you. But Jake is giving the food to the man.”
“No fighting? What’s wrong with your subject today?”
“Go away, Forty Three.”
“There’s no time. You must choose today.”
“Get out of my head so I can think.”
“If I leave you to yourself, the universe will fall to Voldon. No more delays. Choose. Today.”
For the love of blessed Devros, holiest sun of all suns. “I choose subject Straightarrow.”
Absolute silence resonated in Kindrist’s mind.
“I predict your feral fascination shall lead to the end of any semblance of peace in the civil universe, Red Kindrist Lotyl Trekaar, daughter of martyr Purple Trekaar. You are a foolish warrior who knows we’ve spent too much time here at earth this leg of the journey.”
Doubt me? “Straightarrow is no animal. My father would approve of this decision to save free-thinkers. And if you buy into legends, you will send the ship.”
Silence echoed again.
“Send the ship, Forty Three.”
“How will you bring Straightarrow over?”
“I will seduce him.”
“Blessed daughters of Ilak! The Day of Promise is upon us. And you choose seduction with this unpredictable subject? Not the best beginning to a marriage. Nor does he strike me as a man who appreciates being toyed with.”
“Send the ship.”
* * * *
Jake left the dock after handing the steaming fried seafood to the grinning homeless Vietnam vet sitting near the snob and her brat kid. What were they thinking throwing food at gulls when a hungry man sat watching? What was the world coming to when good citizens ignored the plight of the less fortunate? He strode between two cars lined up beside parking meters.
The hum of an engine purred in the distance.
Lunch traffic. Folks just heading down to the bay for a bite to eat. Great idea. Buy food. Need money to buy food. Time for this guy to find real work and stop eating away at the emergency wad. He clipped across the street’s two lanes and onto the sidewalk.
A woman stepped onto the sidewalk before him.
Strange nocturnal number wearing what has to be plastic. Could she even afford leather? And who’d want to wear either in this early summer heat?
She walked toward him in the tightest black ensemble with a swing nobody could ignore.
The saunter could have been her body trying to shake off those suffocating pants.
Her clothing left nothing to the imagination. She was tall compared to the short women he grew up with on the reservation. But her hair was as straight and dark as any found among his People. A man would have to imagine what went on behind her pitch-black sunglasses. There was something else, something more to her that shouted outer space. Beyond the typical Goth-babe outfit. Maybe the hint was the knife’s hilt tucked into the shaft of her knee-high boot? What kind of idiot walked the streets of California with a weapon in plain view? One looking for trouble.
Too bad, Babe. I grew up and changed my middle name.
She sauntered up to him, smacked her lips, and stopped.
What was going down?
“I locked my keys in my car. You know where I can get a hanger?”
That type of plight could happen to anyone. But she seemed the type to scratch the hell out of her car, get nowhere, and break the window in a last-ditch resort to reaching the lock. “You can call a locksmith. Save damaging your vehicle.”
She twisted her head an inch left. “Don’t have the time.”
Probably going to melt in the heat.
His gut cringed.
Intuition was never wrong. Maybe she had a real problem. Something bigger than getting sleep to bar hop all night. “Why the rush?”
“My sister needs the car to go to an interview.” She sighed and scanned the street. “I shouldn’t be wasting time. She’s got three kids to feed.”
Well, a man could help or be shamed from letting the world fall into chaos. He shoved his hand into his pocket and grabbed the rolled-up bills he kept handy
for emergencies.
She focused on him counting out the twenty dollar bills. “No. I don’t want your money.”
The woman would take the cash and leave him to his peace. He shoved a hundred bucks at her. “Call her a cab. Send it over. The taxi will be there long before you with your problem.”
“No.” She wagged her head.
Hell. Was a man to do everything himself?
* * * *
Kindrist tried to act like she didn’t want the charity. Whatever Straightarrow was doing certainly entertained any other mercenaries and operators observing the scene. But his actions unknowingly kept proving him more and more the humanitarian as he turned to the street and tried to find a cab.
Out of nowhere, a blue-and-white taxi whisked to a stop in front of the restaurant. Three men exited the vehicle.
Jake waved the driver over and joined her at the curb. “Give him the address. I’ll pay.”
The thin Indian male squinted at Kindrist as he rolled down his window.
Better to lie than lose the opportunity to induct this noble human into The Cause. She rattled off an address used by another Nulvitian operative.
Jake thrust the money at the man. “Don’t let me hear you didn’t show. I’ve got friends in this town. You’ll never work again.”
“No problem, sir.” The man snatched the money and sped away.
Jake anchored a satisfied gaze upon her.
“Thank you.” Like I put up a fight.
“Now, why don’t you call a locksmith?” He inhaled like a scolding father.
“Maybe I will.” She took a step back the way she’d come down the sidewalk and shot him a glance over his shoulder. “Dinner, tonight?”
He thrust his fingers through his hair and nodded. “Why not?”
”Meet me at the Interstate 805 rest area past the 52 Exit going north. Nine o’clock.”
* * * *
Straightarrow hadn’t balked at the secluded location as Kindrist departed in triumph to meet her destiny. But now, hours later, the itchy sand and stinging cacti just might ruin her plans in the moonlit expanse of the southern Californian desert. If there were time, she could request the ship to hover and blow the place clean. That was too risky and utterly ridiculous a request given the large spacecraft would be spotted. And Devros knew how much earthlings lurked with cameras waiting to photograph extraterrestrial vehicles.
Insects buzzed and chirped in the rolling hills near the rest area where her Violet Child was to meet her.
The song held an enchanting sort of beauty. Perhaps it was more from the silver moonlight illuminating nature. Nature? Something wiped clean from her home planet’s surface during psychic warfare. She sighed and studied the full moon.
A sign in some earth mythology. Power? More like coercion. What she did to Jake in this initiation rite would activate his dormant genes. Legend claimed he would become an animal at times when they were separated too long, unable to unite in sacred union. Shift into a form that no person could love? No other but one’s mate could love an individual after inducted into psychic mercenary unions. And in a mate’s absence, in Jake’s absence, she would slowly die, incapable of functioning without the blood exchange necessary to maintain her bonding to a lesser-evolved being. So went the way of the universe and war. But she hadn’t chosen rashly. Jake wouldn’t fail her after his merciful act with the cab and the hungry man.
An engine hummed in the distance.
One headlight peered through the murky darkness of the distant horizon.
A motorcycle.
* * * *
Jake didn’t know what to make of the woman standing inside a cone of lamplight at the rest area at nine P.M. She didn’t even have a back-up vehicle waiting to help her escape if she decided he was dangerous. What kind of woman put herself in this kind of risky situation? One toting weapons. He braked and let the bike roll to a stop beside her.
“My sister dropped me off so she could use the car. I hope you don’t mind having to drive.” She blinked in the golden beam of light. “Maybe drop me off home later?”
A night with her ending with her home later? Most men would jump on that. But what if she wasn’t the kind of woman he slept beside? Was she trustworthy? Caution could save a man’s ass. Or spoil his recreation. “Sure.”
A beautiful grin set her face glowing. She grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”
“Where then?”
“Back to San Diego.”
Night life. Nice destination given the cool breeze with long lean thighs pressed against him when riding a bike. And his gut wasn’t noting danger.
She sank atop the seat behind him, pressing her firm curves against his body.
His blood surged.
Nothing from his intuition. Usually his gut ratted on people. Especially people wielding weapons.
She squeezed his thighs and ass with her strong legs. “Cut this baby loose.”
Hard to free something clamped inside her lean leg vise.
She squeezed his thighs with hers again. “I want to feel like I’m flying.”
No problem. He’d help her take off any time.
Her arms slid around his waist. Her fingers stopped dangerously close to his crotch.
Not a good thing. Better to ignore the presence than act the jerk before he detected the full breadth of her signal. But maybe she was just an adrenaline junkie. He kick started the bike into a vibrating rumble.
What he’d give for a vibrating bed at the moment. “Hang on.” He steered the wheels from soft gravel onto the smooth interstate.
Her fingers rubbed his thigh.
Beyond dangerous. Signal wide and clear. But that kind of hanging on wouldn’t help them get to town for dinner. Although, he didn’t mind a late-night picnic.
His hard-on lurched.
The touch of those fingers trailed away.
Or he couldn’t feel anything but the motorcycle’s vibrations and his tight-ass blue jeans.
Fingers toyed with the snap at his waistline.
She definitely didn’t have dinner in the city planned. More like a picnic in the moonlight. He scanned the long stretch of endless moonlit freeway’s dashed lines for any sign of an exit on the dark curved horizon.
Her fingers dug into his jeans, searching as her cool fingertips raked through his pubic hair.
Hell. She knew what she wanted. The shoulder was a great place to snack. He braked.
The bike slowed.
An excellent choice given he could really feel her hand milking him. If he wasn’t careful, he’d wreck. He cautiously rolled the bike to a stop and kicked the kickstand into duty.
“Want to see the stars?” she cooed, her body twisting, the rise of her breasts rubbing the soft touch of leather against his upper arm.
Receptive. Was it wrong to take something willingly offered? She seemed so much like him. A part of society but living in a parallel Goth-babe universe. And her pumping hand action would kill him. God, she knew all about astronomy. “Where are the stars?” He rasped.
The bike bounced, and her grip on him disappeared.
Not good.
She skirted his knee like a phantom traced in moonlight, staring back at him with eyes cloaked in shadow, reaching for his head.
To have those warm hands on his skin again.
Her fingers locked into his hair.
Their lips met in a frenzy to send stars flying.
She was all over him, straddling his thighs, her hot moist mouth eating his face.
Maybe it was time to wonder if you wanted something aside from fucking? This babe had a knife. But by the way her tongue sucked on his, she didn’t seem too worried about carving.
Her hands were everywhere.
He grabbed her small tight ass and pulled her against firm crotch against his stiff cock.
She groaned into his mouth.
The grip from one of her hands disappeared.
Carving time? But nothing bad registered on his intuitive radar. Go
od. Time to dirty dance beneath the stars.
She shoved back off him and peeled her shirt down to expose what had to be none other than two heavenly bodies.
Large. Round. There was nothing like two handfuls of breast. He slid his hands up to cup the hot silken curves.
She threw her head back and moaned.
He ran a fingertip across a nipple’s soft circle and onto the hard tips.
His cock lunged.
Hard and taut. She had to be wet. He clamped his teeth on one nipple’s hard point and barely nibbled.
She squirmed and grabbed his hair, shoving her breast into his face. “Yes.”
Right word. He hefted a leg over the bike while never releasing his hold on her.
* * * *
Kindrist couldn’t believe Straightarrow was leaving. Why? Gods, to lose the only man with whom she desired to bond. Destiny certainly toyed with her. She stared up into his shadow-cloaked face.
Only the moon glowed with enthusiasm beyond his shoulders.
He grabbed her hair, pulled her lips to a fraction of an inch from his. “Take off those pants,” he said. His voice deep and throaty.
Devros wins tonight. She wriggled the fingernail injector from her hip pocket and shoved her pants to her ankles where they clamped onto her damned boots.
Shackled by her own ignorance in seduction. Like she’d ever done this before.
He yanked her hips, swung her around to face the road, and leaned her over the vehicle’s soft leather seat where her breasts rubbed the warm seat leather.
His hands shifted her where he wanted her. And then he was there, pressing his firm silken shaft against her buttocks, between her legs.
Blessed Universe! For all that is sacred, I gift my soul to free thinkers.
His fingers found her, guided himself to claim entry. Prepared to take her soul.
She wanted to spread her legs. Yearned to trap him there locked inside them. Keep him there forever. To save what was left of hope. To give free-thinkers a future.
Pleasure burned then tickled her soul as he found his way inside her.