Friday, October 11, 2013

ARAMUS by Eve Langlais



Wiping out humanity is his number one objective—until he meets her.

Aramus has no patience or sympathy for the excuses humanity uses to hunt cyborgs down and eradicate them. He’s put up with too much at their hands to ever forgive and forget.

But all that changes when he rescues a fragile human doctor who sees him as more than a machine.

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He didn’t immediately look up when the door to his private chamber slid open, occupied with glancing over the last radar reports that showed no activity in the area. Then again, as they well knew, their technology wasn’t always reliable when it came to seeing what was truly out there.

“Um, hello?” Her hesitant query brought his gaze up and the sharp retort to quiet until he was ready, died on his lips as he beheld her.

What had happened to the dirty waif he’d rescued? The woman he’d saved stood before him, and he couldn’t help but stare. Her shoulder-length hair brown hair shone in the fluorescent lights, the ends uneven and curling slightly with dampness. Scrubbed clean, her skin exhibited an even creamy tone, except for her cheeks, which pinked as he continued to eyeball her. He couldn’t help himself, especially when he noted how the jumpsuit they’d given her hugged voluptuous curves not meant for the slim outfit, making the cleavage that strained at the front enclosure more pronounced. A lick of her full lips caused the most surprising chain reaction because, during that momentary peek of the tip of her tongue, he couldn’t help imagining sliding his mouth along those plump lips, sucking on them, and this vivid visualization caused him to harden in a most unforeseen manner.

Stand down. He ordered his cock to behave. And it did, mostly. Drumming his fingertips on his desk, he glared at her. Undaunted, she stared right back, her gaze flicking to the top of his head.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You are a cyborg.”

For some reason her observation stung. “Of course I am. What else did you think I was?”

The coloration in her cheeks deepened. “I wasn’t sure. When you rescued me you had on a space suit so I couldn’t see your face, and it’s not as if you introduced yourself.”

Her well-reasoned answer still didn’t ease the sting at the way she’d reacted to the discovery of what he was. Then again, what did he care what one human thought? “I did not realize that introductions were necessary. Perhaps the next time I save your ass I should wear a sign saying, I am a cyborg.”

“There’s no reason to be rude.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I didn’t know cyborgs could do that.”

“Do what? Wield the English language?”

“No, make jests.”

Sarcasm wasn’t making fun. It was a way of expressing himself. “I do not joke.”

“If you say so. What happened to your head?”

Blunt, but as a male who didn’t like to pussyfoot, he couldn’t disparage her directness. He could however fuck with her. “It’s partially metal.”

“I can see that, but why? I’ve seen cyborgs before, not in person of course, but on the newsfeeds, and while some have sported mechanical legs and arms, I’ve never seen one with a—”

“Metal skull? It was a present from a woman.” His first meeting with a female cyborg did not go well. She’d shot him, obeying a buried command given to her by the military. Lucky for him, she had bad aim—or as Seth claimed, he’d used up the horseshoe stored in his ass—and he’d survived. Half of his head didn’t. He rather preferred his new bald pate and metallic crown. He felt it enhanced his cyborg appearance. And gave him better reception.

The female’s eyes widened. “Someone shot you in the head?”

She seemed genuinely appalled. As if a mere human cared. He didn’t believe her act for a moment.
“Among other places. I’ve also been shot in the torso, back, arms, legs. Most didn’t leave lasting scars, as my nanos healed the damage.”

“You sound so nonchalant about it.”

“Because it’s a fact of life for cyborgs. It’s why we were created. To take as much damage as possible and still keep fighting.” Him, bitter? Always.

“Did they hurt?” Again, her concern and curiosity seemed authentic.

“Only the first few times. Then you learn to shut off the pain and move faster.” Not to mention improve your aim so that the bastards shooting died before they did something irreparable. Cyborgs could sustain a lot of damage, but nanotechnology could only heal so much. And why exactly was he answering her questions anyway? He was the one in charge here, not her. He was the one who needed answers—not pity. “As if you give a shit. You can stop pretending.”

“Who says I’m pretending? You were shot. Numerous times by your account. I’d have to be inhuman not to feel something.”

“Or cyborg.”

“So it’s true what they say? You don’t feel emotions?”

“Oh, we feel. Right now, I feel annoyed, violent, and a tad bit hungry. Military rations really aren’t fit for anyone.”


Eve Langlais at IRC in Lebanon, TN
About the Author

Hello, my name is Eve. I'm a crazy Canadian mom who works full time as an author. In between juggling my three kids, hubby, and housework, I write steamy romance--usually with werewolves, cyborgs or aliens lol.

I love to write, and while I don't always know what my mind is going to come up with next, I can promise it will be fun, probably humorous and most of all romantic, because I love a HEA.

Thanks so much for coming by and checking me out. If you'd like to know more, read some excerpts or find out what's coming next, then please visit me at

Happy reading!

Eve Langlais