Sabralia lives a lonely but luxurious life in Emperor Sirn’s Harem. Her only companion is her obedient servant, Qy, a cyborg. Her life has largely been controlled by others, but when Sirn demands his Harem pleasure his Commanding Officers at a victory celebration, Sabralia makes a daring plan to hide to avoid rape by Sirn's men.
The Palace is ambushed and her cyborg gets her off world. The impossible has happened−Qy the gentle cyborg becomes the man he once was, the warrior Kaistril. Pursued for valuable information, Sabralia is thrust into dangerous, unfamiliar situations where she must stand up to the challenges, or lose the man she loves.
Kaistril dreamed. A woman was in his arms…his Mistress Sabralia, with her dark hair, dark blue eyes and white soft skin. His cock roared into hardness. He tightened his arms around the woman, pulling her closer…she was so sweet, smelling of flowers, her soft bottom cradled his straining member…Something is wrong.
His eyes snapped open in a starless night and he sat up so fast he swayed, dizzy. They were on a cushioned pallet in thick woods. A body was pressed tight against him and he knew it was his mistress, Sabralia. They were hiding from…unrest.
Something is wrong.
My name is Kaistril. No! I am Qy, in service to my mistress.
He couldn’t remember…but Kaistril seemed right.
He shook his head to try and clear his confusion.
The air reeked of smoke. The fire, soldiers, danger, weapons…
His head ached, as did his stomach. He was thirsty. He reached into Sabralia’s food basket and got a fruit drink, which helped a little, but his mind was still clouded.
They were in the woods…a fire at the palace…
Something is wrong. Breathe deeply, calm yourself, a voice he recognized as being from his past, told him. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his mouth and out through his nose, concentrating.
There was a sound. It was important. He listened.
Far away, so far away he could only feel the vibrations through the earth—death! He slid off the pillows onto the forest floor and placed his palms on the ground—The Strafe, attacking his Tier, the entire contingent in their observation units, dying. Burning, blinding white flashes, men falling dead in an instant, dead bodies everywhere… He knew it well. It had killed his men. The Strafe was coming!
“Wake. Wake.” He hauled the sleeping woman into his arms. “We need to get down to the beach, to one of the caves.”
A timer went off in his brain, the timer he was to obey, for his nightly maintenance. He groaned with confusion. No− The caves! He threw the queen over his shoulder with her blankets over her, and loped toward the beach, ignoring her protests and squirms. She was round and soft, not strong, not a warrior woman and he was able to subdue her struggles easily without harming her. In the far distance the Strafe slashed through the air, lighting the way with its killing white light, and the woman screamed in shock, her whole body going tight.
“Underground. The Strafe,” he grunted. She probably had no idea what the Strafe was. But he knew. He remembered. Fierce triumph filled him. He remembered and they would not kill this warrior, or his queen.
“What’s wrong?” she cried.
The soft voice of his mistress sent a shiver down his spine. His body was still hard, clamoring for her touch, despite the raging light. The danger, the excitement flooding his body, his memories, the woman in his arms.
He paused for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed with confusion.
The Strafe moved closer, so its individual tines of killing light were visible.
“We need to get to one of the tidal caves. The Strafe will kill us.”
“The Strafe,” Comprehension colored her words. He sat her down, pulled the blanket from her face then grabbed her hand and they raced down the beach.
He found the section of beach with shallow caves. They’d explored them before, collecting shells… Once inside he shoved her against the back wall of the cave and covered her body with his own.
“The Strafe doesn’t go through soil. We might live if we …”
His words trailed off. She was staring at him, mouth agape, eyes huge and dark in the night.
“You are different.” His mistress sounded faint.
“Yes. There is no time. Close your eyes,” he said. “The light can damage your vision.” He pulled the blanket over them, holding it cupped to her eyes with one hand while he did the same to his own with his other hand.
Kaistril listened carefully but could hear nothing now except their breathing, heavy with fear. The Strafe was concentrating on populated areas, though it would eventually sweep outlying areas for strays.
Bright, deadly tines stroked the beach and suddenly clashed around them, lighting even their closed, blanket covered eyes. They sank to the ground as the light sizzled just feet from them, close enough they could feel its strange heat. It disappeared, though they could still hear it.
Qy ran out of their shelter. The Strafe had returned to the Palace area. “Come on. It has gone straight back to the city. This is our chance!”
He grabbed her by the hand and ran up the beach, dragging her along.
“Qy, where are we going?” she wailed.
He paused for a split second, then continued pulling her along.
“Staying alive is the plan,” was all he said. No need to tell her it’s a gamble. Soon the Harvesters will be here to kill those that remain alive…
Take a shy, chubby, Catholic school girl bookworm from Montana. Hand her a stack of her much older brother’s sci fi and fantasy novels, James Bond books and horror comics. Later, introduce Barbara Cartland and the world of romance fiction.
Get her a teaching job or two in authentic, one room Montana schools, ala Laura Ingels Wilder.
Marry her off to a great guy, move her to a big city in Tornado Alley, then pop three daughters out of her in twenty two months(one set of identical twins).
Then, make her a jinx–every great genre TV show she loves gets the ax– Beauty and the Beast, Dark Angel–and Buffy and Spike NEVER have a happy ending! She gets upset about no romance in the world, and fires up to write her own stories with happy endings.
Throw this all together into a small house in Wyoming, along with a small bouncy dog named Baxter and too many cats, shake constantly and pour it out onto a computer keyboard.
There! You have me, Melisse Aires.