Sci-fi Nights: Alpha bad boys & wild girls of futuristic romance Read online

  “Works for me, Darkrunner.”

  Epilogue

  Scala looked up as Tal walked into her dressing room. He’d had the empty room next to his huge bedroom remodeled for her. It was a luxe, warm space with a thick carpet on the floor, a huge closet and cupboards attached, and floating mirrors that could be dropped from ceiling to floor, and tilted just so when he wanted to watch himself undressing her.

  Since they’d been together for a lunar month now, he’d had occasion to do it several times. And then fuck her every way possible. For all that Darry and Trix often joined them in bed and helped both of them get off, he still only allowed Darry to penetrate her when Tal was already in her somewhere else.

  It turned out Tal Darkrunner was a jealous man—and that was fine with her. She couldn’t bear to think of him with anyone but her, Trix or Darry either.

  Tonight she was nearly ready to join him for dinner out at a trendy new skyscraper top restaurant. If she knew her man, he would’ve spoken to the owner and ensured that the other diners would only be those who were allies of his—of theirs, now.

  She smiled at him as she finished the last fastener on her scarlet leather corset, worn over her fitted gold lame´ pants. On her feet were chocolate leather boots with stiletto heels. Smoky cosmetics rimmed her eyes and glistened on her lips, and a pair of huge, hammered gold bangles hung from her ears.

  She had just dabbed a little of her new perfume at her pulse points.

  Tal stopped, one hand behind his back, and then walked to her, turning her to survey her from all sides. Scala watched him admire the way the bustier pushed up her breasts into two golden mounds above the red leather, her nipples just barely contained, then skimmed down to highlight her small waist, a bare strip of skin between the bottom edge and the top of her pants. Her hair hugged her head in short, gleaming waves.

  A heavy red cashmere wrap waited on a hanger, because New Seattle was never what a Serpentian would call warm, especially at night.

  “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Tal said. His eyes met hers in the mirror, and her heart swelled at the heat in his pale eyes.

  Then he brought his hand from behind his back. He held a flat, velvet box. “Luckily, I have just the thing to adorn you.”

  She watched as he opened the box, and then gasped. A huge, tear-drop ruby glittered on a bed of white satin. He lifted it out, and set the fine gold chain around her neck. She watched, mesmerized as he bent his head to fasten the chain. Then he leaned forward, his hands on her bare shoulders, and admired the blood red gem lying on her bare skin, just in the hollow of her throat.

  “Tal,” she managed. “It’s … so beautiful. Thank you. But what’s it for?”

  He drew her back against him, his black leather soft and warm against her bare back, his body hard underneath.

  “When I saw it,” he told her. “It reminded me of a drop of blood. You gave me your blood, Snake Eyes. You saved me, in more ways than one. Every time you look at this—” he touched the gem with his fingertip, and his gaze burned into hers, full of pale crystalline heat. “Remember that you flow through my veins … and you fill my heart.”

  Scala gazed into his eyes, her heart too full to speak.

  Tal held her for a long moment. Then, being Tal, he smiled wickedly his white teeth gleaming, and bent his head to nip her earlobe.

  “Now, don’t ever say I never give you poetry and shit.”

  She laughed, turning her head to press her cheek to his. “That was a lifetime of poetry condensed, my love. More than enough to get me by.”

  “Good. Then let’s go to dinner and feed you. You’ll need your strength for what I have planned for later.”

  She could hardly wait.

  The End

  More from Cathryn Cade

  Tal, Scala and the other LodeStar players will be back!

  Here’s a peek at Stark Surrender; the Space Magnate’s Bride …

  “Mr. Stark, are you ready to sign off on the AquaTerraCon deal now?”

  Logan Stark looked up from the four holovid displays open before him. Intergalactic news, Frontieran news, and two different financial reports. All of which he’d been watching for the last hour in his large, elegant office. No, even longer, he saw with a glance at the clock scrolling at the bottom of the holovid viewing area.

  He’d been here all morning, making his way through the various reports awaiting him. None of which made any sense.

  He hadn’t slept well, but this inability to focus was bizarre. Wait. Perhaps that was it--he’d ingested some sort of sleep gesic that refused to let go of him. Yes, that must be it.

  It would explain why he’d awakened that morning from a nightmare, sweating hard as if he’d been working out and staggered into his showerdry in a fugue state which still clung to him, its remnants swirling in the back of his mind like fuzzy black tentacles.

  His Pangaean houseman had startled him by appearing silently at his elbow the moment he left his bedroom, concern clear in his pale green features and the weave of his cornsilk hair about his skinny throat. Stark had followed the man to breakfast in solitary state at an elegant dining table. He’d eaten what was put before him with a lack of interest or connection that extended to the view outside the floor to ceiling windows of the house.

  A pristine countryside, rolling away from the green lawns toward a blue sea, and a town on the plain below. As soon as the houseman had left the dining room, Logan had keyed into his comlink and scrolled thru the newsfeed on the holovid he brought up.

  Frontiera City, Frontiera read the signature in one corner.

  Of course. He was on a new planet, on business. That’s why the view was not the wet, foggy, soaring cityscape he’d somehow expected to see. He was fine, just in unfamiliar territory.

  Now he rubbed his temple irritably, pushing at the headache that lurked there. Perhaps he’d forgotten to drink his morning coffee. No, his usual carafe of Pangaean dark sat on the cerametal tray hovering nearby, along with a nearly empty pitcher of creamer and the remains of a whole grain scone, his midmorning snack.

  Could a fugue state this strong stem from a sleep gesic, or was there something more going on? He was fairly certain he’d had several drinks last night as well, in some bar along the beach, and then later at the unfamiliar house, alone. But not enough to still be under the influence, surely. Unless he’d then combined the alcohol with some other drug and set off a reaction in his system that still lingered.

  Did he indulge in substances stronger than alcohol? Why couldn’t he even remember such a basic fact about himself? His hands shook and sweat sprang out on his upper lip as panic roiled harder in his chest, seeking to overpower him.

  “Mr. Stark?” The attractive, middle-aged blonde woman in the door of his office was eyeing him with concern. She was as polished as the office, from her pale gray business suit to her subtle cosmetics.

  She worked for him. Ver..Vler...no, Vlu, that was it.

  Blinking back the darkness as the slithering tentacles in his mind reached, greedy to devour more of his consciousness, Stark rolled his neck, grasping at normality with strength of will.

  “Yes, Vlu, come in,” he said.

  She smiled and glided into the room to place a slim device before him on his desk, a series of documents waiting in the virtual file display. “Yes, sir. May I freshen your coffee, sir?”

  “Thank you.” He stared at the virtual files, their titles gleaming at him--no, taunting him. What the hells was it he was supposed to do with them?

  “So, just signatures?” he murmured as if thinking aloud.

  “Yes, sir.” She set the carafe down and reached to flick her finger over the first title. “Ready for your print.”

  Ah, an oval at the bottom of the first page, just the right shape and size for a fingerprint. That he knew. Relief washed over him, a wave so strong it nearly swamped him. He braced his left arm on the desk, holding himself steady as he pressed his right index finger to the spot.

  His as
sistant flicked to the next page, and he repeated the motion. Twice more, and she straightened with a smile. “Thank you, sir. I’ll get these back to AquaTerraCon right away. How exciting.”

  With a look at his expression, she flushed, backing away. “Sorry sir. It’s just that we’re all very excited about the promise of this project.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m glad you’re interested. Er, what is it you like about the deal?”

  She blinked. “The exploration, sir. With the new aqua-terra crawlers, we can learn so much about the planet--go places we couldn’t otherwise. I can’t wait to see all the creatures that live in the seas here.” She shivered, hunching her shoulders like an excited girl.

  Logan nodded. “Of course. May it be everything you imagined.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m sure it will be.”

  She took the device from his desk, and tipped her head to regard him with renewed concern. “Are you all right, Mr. Stark? You look...well, rather drawn.”

  He realized he was rubbing his temple, behind which pain had begun to throb, harder this time. He lowered his hand. Never let them see any sign of weakness.

  “I’m fine,” he said brusquely. “What’s next on my agenda?” There, that sounded all right, just a busy man checking with his assistant.

  “Mr. Berenson is here to speak with you, if you have time.”

  He nodded, holding his body straight to hide the cold sweat that sprang out in his armpits and down his spine. Berenson? Who the hells was that?

  “Send him in.”

  “Yes, sir.” She glided from the room.

  Logan took another swig of coffee, burnt his mouth on the hot, powerful brew and swallowed as quickly as he could. “Fucking hells!”

  Then he looked up as a huge man moved into the room, the door sliding shut soundlessly behind him. Logan relaxed a fraction. He knew that broad, stoic face, brown hair so short the color blended with his tanned skin, and keen hazel eyes. Knew the erect carriage of an ex-soldier, the centered stance of a fighter. Bronc Berenson, his...what? He frowned, scanning the man’s attire and stance.

  He wore, not a business suit like Logan’s own, but olive khaki shirt and pants tucked into leather boots, with a vest that Logan knew instantly hid more than one weapon. But his body language said he was friendly, so Logan quelled his first instinct, which was to reach into the top drawer of his desk for one of the weapons he knew would be there. The man was in security of some kind, that was it.

  “Bronc,” he said, leaning back in his chair. His hand lifted to massage his temple again, but he laid it back on the arm of his chair, gripping the soft leather.

  The other man’s gaze sharpened, but he merely nodded before walking to one of the chairs placed at an angle before the desk. He turned it so it faced the desk and the office door equally and sat, hands on his thighs, feet planted.

  “Well?” Logan said, playing for time. Let the other person lead with information.

  “Sir. As you requested, kept an eye on Kai te Nawa last night. He did as I suspected he might, went out for a prowl of the area.” He smiled slightly. “He’s a wary one--caught me following him.”

  ‘Te Nawa’...the name vibrated deep inside Logan’s consciousness, like a small light flickering in the darkness. Kiri, that was it. Kiri te Nawa.

  Kiri. His mind locked on her name with a visceral certainty like his print sealing those business deals. She was his. So this Kai was his by association also, because he took care of his own.

  “What happened?” he asked, fishing.

  The man shrugged his massive shoulders. Great God, he was built like a cruiser, and not a sleek commuter but a blunt, Solar Wars surplus fighter, created for battle. Good man to have on his side.

  “Nothing much. We talked, I introduced myself. Told him I’d be around, that he could trust me.” A faint color stained his harshly angled cheeks. “Don’t know that he does, but I’ll keep working on it. He’s as your brother said--half-feral. Traumatic stress, and a bad case. May be a long flight back to assimilation in society for him.”

  Ah, the man was attracted to this Kai, whom Logan had asked him to watch over. This meant Berenson was either homo or bi-sexual. Neither of which Logan cared about in the least, except that he always knew everything possible about the people with whom he dealt. Information was power, and he dealt in power. He held this knowledge close with satisfaction. Yes, he might have the hangover to end all hangovers, but he knew himself. Who he was, and what he could do.

  “Well, keep it up,” he said. “Anything else? Cup of coffee?”

  This time the hazel eyes sharpened like blades, and the other man studied him with an intensity that raised the hair on the back of Logan’s neck.

  “Don’t drink it, sir,” Berenson said, in a tone that meant Stark knew this. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sir…are you all right? What the hells is going on?”

  www.cathryncade.com

  Cathryn Cade writes red hot romance in the lake country of North Idaho. When not putting alpha heroes and feisty heroines in very tight spots, she loves to bicycle, walk Copper the golden retriever and hang out with her handsome husband on their boat.

  Subscribe to Cathryn’s Newsletter for upcoming releases, giveaways, swag and more!

  You can also find her @ Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  The Orion Series

  Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bryght

  Her Commander

  Prince of Dragons

  Deep Indigo

  Heart of Stone – a FREE sci fi romance

  The Lodestar Series

  Stark Pleasure; the Space Magnate’s Mistress

  Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner’s Concubine

  Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate’s Woman

  Stark Surrender; the Space Magnate’s Bride – coming soon

  Hawaiian Heroes - contemp paranormal

  Walking in Fire

  Rolling in the Deep

  Blooming in the Wild

  Burning up the Rain

  Club 3 – contemp erotic

  She’s All In

  She’s All Tied Up

  She’s All That

  She’s Worth It All – coming soon

  Assassin’s Hunger

  Jessa Slade

  Stripped of her identity by a cybernetic mercenary corporation, Shaxi was a mindless killer until the corporation was destroyed and set her free. Now lost and alone, she desperately needs to master her unlinked programming before she succumbs to the rogue madness. But the electromagnetic storm that might save her also blows in the Asphodel, a sheership with more mysteries and menaces than Shaxi has ever faced…including the enigmatic Eril Morav, a heartless assassin on a quest to save the sheerways, even at the cost of his own soul. Eril thinks he’ll use Shaxi to do his dirty work, but she might be the one being in the universe who can light his black-hole heart.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  More from Jessa Slade

  Chapter 1

  The shriving storm was so close now. In its electromagnetic chaos, she would find new purpose.

  Or she would die, with her flesh and biotics stripped away by the alien wind.

  Through her ocular implant, on’Taj Shaxi tracked real-time data on the approaching tempest while her naked eye focused on the cantina’s simulated window.

  What was the point of a sim that showed reality? It could have displayed a seren
e ocean, or a lush field, or at least one of the desert oases allegedly hidden out in the sands of Khamaseen. But no, the screen with a crack running through one corner featured an unapologetically desolate and utterly true view of squat pre-fab buildings, their plyscrete roofs rounded like shoulders hunched against the rising wind. Levare was the only city on the half-terraformed moon with a functioning spaceport, but any distinction that might have implied had long ago faded to jaundiced yellow under the double suns.

  Just as whatever value she’d once had was lost.

  The wistful thought had her reaching instinctively for her link to Hermitaj…

  Not even static. The doomed silence left her hollowed, and she took a long swig of the fermented beverage the locals favored, grimacing at the sour tang. If she didn’t find a way to amend her programming to reflect her new reality, the silence would overtake her.

  Sometimes she felt it already had. It’d been days since she’d spoken to anyone. Her one clumsy attempt at communication with the bartender had been rebuffed with a grunt and a leery stare.

  She should’ve been used to that by now. A Hermitaj commando was nothing without her programming. Worse than nothing, she was a menace. Left without a mission, she was like a plasma charge, safety off, timing ticking, lying abandoned in the street.

  So when the cantina’s double doors slammed open—no smoothly irising portals on Khamaseen, thanks to all the grinding dust—she refocused her gaze with a flash of interest, squinting against the desiccating heat that rolled through. For all its borderworld roughness and fabled destructive storms, she’d found Khamaseen to be depressingly quiet. She hadn’t had an excuse to stretch her muscles or draw a weapon to soothe her tension since her credits had run out and stranded her in Levare.

  But the two slender figures in matching sand-robes poised between the wide-open doors undermined the violence of their entrance. Shaxi never underestimated the potential ferocity of a smaller opponent, but these girls—she knew they were female by their center of balance and the fact their sand-robes were bright pink—moved like little kitlings, bristling with unfocused energy.