What's better than the girl gets 2 hot guys? It's a mid-length sci-fi erotic romance ON SALE for 99 cents for a limited time! Read the reviews and blurb below to learn more...

Currently on sale for Kindle version. B&N is dragging their feet in adjusting the price for NOOK. But that should change shortly.

Blurb: 

Where duty proves one hell of a four-letter word...

Congratulations, Dr. Charlotte Barley! You won a one-way ticket to Diablo’s Shithole!

Yes, Dr. Barley, you saved earth from humanity’s extinction brought on by overpopulation, discovered wormholes, and gave humanity a new lease on life. But, you’re being hunted by someone using a wormhole device you can’t fathom, plagued by a type of sleepwalking that involves reliving your alien sexual experiences gleaned from wormhole journeys, and, yes, we see that you can’t deal with your murdered bodyguards—mercenary Space Marines forced to anchor your body to a bed at night by acting out the sex memories haunting your REM cycle. Get over it already because there’s nowhere left to hide except Diablo’s Shithole…And the shit is about to hit Diablo’s fan more than you could ever imagine…Because, deep down inside, you know you’re into all that kinky sex.

So, who will the next victim be? Is tall, long, and corded astrophysicist Major Fitzroy capable of dancing with death to save your ass, or are you willing to sacrifice hotter-than-sin muscle-bound explosives fanatic Corporal Laurel? Just don’t let their nuts rub together. And you know your alien-infested sexual dreams are a huge turn on for you. Just face the music, honey. Can your bodyguards fulfill the sexual fantasy of the king of all alien kings and his troop of humping brothers until the truth is exposed to save your ass?

So, Dr. Barley, you slut, ready for another slide down a slippery wormhole to Diablo’s Shithole? It looks like a lot of fun. And more than those feet are going to get wet in the SLIPSTREAM.

Warning: Reader should be prepared for a heroine who curses like a sailor and knows she's a slut, Space Marines with sex on the brain, a Corporal with a clit fetish, aliens who bite and harvest things best left hush hush, as well as a little human m/f/m, even more alien m/f/m/m/m/m, and a plenty m/f in a plot heavily laden with reproduction and sexual gratification. Finally, this story proves one universal constant: it never hurts to drop the soap. 

Read 1st Chapter

REVIEWS:

Before I remind everyone of my latest release's book tour and prize--still up for grabs, I wanted to announce a 50% price cut in WERESCAPES! Links and info follow the latest reviews for my futuristic romantica SLIPSTREAM. 

The verdict is on on Cyber Ops #1: SLIPSTREAM...

Available on Kindle & Nook

Yes, Dr. Barley, you saved earth from humanity’s extinction brought on by overpopulation, discovered wormholes, and gave humanity a new lease on life. But, you’re being hunted by someone using a wormhole device you can’t fathom, plagued by a type of sleepwalking that involves reliving your alien sexual experiences gleaned from wormhole journeys, and, yes, we see that you can’t deal with your murdered bodyguards—mercenary Space Marines forced to anchor your body to a bed at night by acting out the sex memories haunting your REM cycle. Get over it already because there’s nowhere left to hide except Diablo’s Shithole…And the shit is about to hit Diablo’s fan more than you could ever imagine…Because, deep down inside, you know you’re into all that kinky sex.

So, who will the next victim be? Is tall, long, and corded astrophysicist Major Fitzroy capable of dancing with death to save your ass, or are you willing to sacrifice hotter-than-sin muscle-bound explosives fanatic Corporal Laurel? Just don’t let their nuts rub together. And you know your alien-infested sexual dreams are a huge turn on for you. Just face the music, honey. Can your bodyguards fulfill the sexual fantasy of the king of all alien kings and his troop of humping brothers until the truth is exposed to save your ass?

So, Dr. Barley, you slut, ready for another slide down a slippery wormhole to Diablo’s Shithole? It looks like a lot of fun. And more than those feet are going to get wet in the SLIPSTREAM.

Warning: Reader should be prepared for a heroine who curses like a sailor and knows she's a slut, Space Marines with sex on the brain, a Corporal with a clit fetish, aliens who bite and harvest things best left hush hush, as well as a little human m/f/m, even more alien m/f/m/m/m/m, and a plenty m/f in a plot heavily laden with reproduction and sexual gratification. Finally, this story proves one universal constant: it never hurts to drop the soap. 

*wink*

Blurb:

Congratulations, Dr. Charlotte Barley! You won a one-way ticket to Diablo’s Shithole!

Yes, Dr. Barley, you saved earth from humanity’s extinction brought on by overpopulation, discovered wormholes, and gave humanity a new lease on life. But, you’re being hunted by someone using a wormhole device you can’t fathom, plagued by a type of sleepwalking that involves reliving your alien sexual experiences gleaned from wormhole journeys, and, yes, we see that you can’t deal with your murdered bodyguards—mercenary Space Marines forced to anchor your body to a bed at night by acting out the sex memories haunting your REM cycle. Get over it already because there’s nowhere left to hide except Diablo’s Shithole…And the shit is about to hit Diablo’s fan more than you could ever imagine…Because, deep down inside, you know you’re into all that kinky sex.

So, who will the next victim be? Is tall, long, and corded astrophysicist Major Fitzroy capable of dancing with death to save your ass, or are you willing to sacrifice hotter-than-sin muscle-bound explosives fanatic Corporal Laurel? Just don’t let their nuts rub together. And you know your alien-infested sexual dreams are a huge turn on for you. Just face the music, honey. Can your bodyguards fulfill the sexual fantasy of the king of all alien kings and his troop of humping brothers until the truth is exposed to save your ass?

So, Dr. Barley, you slut, ready for another slide down a slippery wormhole to Diablo’s Shithole? It looks like a lot of fun. And more than those feet are going to get wet in the SLIPSTREAM.

Warning: Reader should be prepared for a heroine who curses like a sailor and knows she's a slut, Space Marines with sex on the brain, a Corporal with a clit fetish, aliens who bite and harvest things best left hush hush, as well as a little human m/f/m, even more alien m/f/m/m/m/m, and a plenty m/f in a plot heavily laden with reproduction and sexual gratification. Finally, this story proves one universal constant: it never hurts to drop the soap. 

I've got some heroes that can break your heart! The swoop in for the kill during a story and leave you in shock after THE END. Yes, that's the heart breaker of a romance! But you can relive that moment over and over with a book. So, welcome to the Heartbreaker Blog Hop where you can enter to win lots of hunks to leave you wanting more...

Yep. Every location on the hop that you enter to win that blog's prize puts you in the running once for these grand prizes!

SKHYE'S PRIZE:

Do you think the hunk on SLIPSTREAM's cover is a heart breaker? Well, there's a surprise in that story. The story started as a traditional m/f romance but turned out to be a menage because I just don't like any main characters having a broken heart at the end! Yes, I write romance. But this novel is erotic romance because there are multiple heroes. Read the blurb to see why...

Blurb:

Yes, Dr. Barley, you saved earth from humanity’s extinction brought on by overpopulation, discovered wormholes, and gave humanity a new lease on life. But, you’re being hunted by someone using a wormhole device you can’t fathom, plagued by a type of sleepwalking that involves reliving your alien sexual experiences gleaned from wormhole journeys, and, yes, we see that you can’t deal with your murdered bodyguards—mercenary Space Marines forced to anchor your body to a bed at night by acting out the sex memories haunting your REM cycle. Get over it already because there’s nowhere left to hide except Diablo’s Shithole…And the shit is about to hit Diablo’s fan more than you could ever imagine…Because, deep down inside, you know you’re into all that kinky sex.

So, who will the next victim be? Is tall, long, and corded astrophysicist Major Fitzroy capable of dancing with death to save your ass, or are you willing to sacrifice hotter-than-sin muscle-bound explosives fanatic Corporal Laurel? Just don’t let their nuts rub together. And you know your alien-infested sexual dreams are a huge turn on for you. Just face the music, honey. Can your bodyguards fulfill the sexual fantasy of the king of all alien kings and his troop of humping brothers until the truth is exposed to save your ass?

So, Dr. Barley, you slut, ready for another slide down a slippery wormhole to Diablo’s Shithole? It looks like a lot of fun. And more than those feet are going to get wet in the SLIPSTREAM.

Warning: Reader should be prepared for a heroine who curses like a sailor and knows she's a slut, Space Marines with sex on the brain, a Corporal with a clit fetish, aliens who bite and harvest things best left hush hush, as well as a little human m/f/m, even more alien m/f/m/m/m/m, and a plenty m/f in a plot heavily laden with reproduction and sexual gratification. Finally, this story proves one universal constant: it never hurts to drop the soap. 

You can pop over to read Chapter 1 too!

One person will be randomly selected to win a Kindle or Nook version of Cyber Ops SLIPSTREAM. Please do the following 2 things to enter:

1. Just enter by telling me what you think of Chapter 1 here as a comment on the blog post (contest). Enter by midnight CST, February 11th, 2013. 

2. Subscribe to this blog long enough to hear the winner's name announced as the last comment to this blog post. I have chronic health problems and have a difficult time finding winners if their spam filter eats my email. So, please subscribe long enough to learn if you win. I only choose winners who are listed among my subscribers (private list inside my blog's dashboard). You can unsubscribe after the contest closes.

Buy a BUNDLE and save!!!

Blurb:

Yes, Dr. Barley, you saved earth from humanity’s extinction brought on by overpopulation, discovered wormholes, and gave humanity a new lease on life. But, you’re being hunted by someone using a wormhole device you can’t fathom, plagued by a type of sleepwalking that involves reliving your alien sexual experiences gleaned from wormhole journeys, and, yes, we see that you can’t deal with your murdered bodyguards—mercenary Space Marines forced to anchor your body to a bed at night by acting out the sex memories haunting your REM cycle. Get over it already because there’s nowhere left to hide except Diablo’s Shithole…And the shit is about to hit Diablo’s fan more than you could ever imagine…Because, deep down inside, you know you’re into all that kinky sex.

So, who will the next victim be? Is tall, long, and corded astrophysicist Major Fitzroy capable of dancing with death to save your ass, or are you willing to sacrifice hotter-than-sin muscle-bound explosives fanatic Corporal Laurel? Just don’t let their nuts rub together. And you know your alien-infested sexual dreams are a huge turn on for you. Just face the music, honey. Can your bodyguards fulfill the sexual fantasy of the king of all alien kings and his troop of humping brothers until the truth is exposed to save your ass?

So, Dr. Barley, you slut, ready for another slide down a slippery wormhole to Diablo’s Shithole? It looks like a lot of fun. And more than those feet are going to get wet in the SLIPSTREAM.

Warning: Reader should be prepared for a heroine who curses like a sailor and knows she's a slut, Space Marines with sex on the brain, a Corporal with a clit fetish, aliens who bite and harvest things best left hush hush, as well as a little human m/f/m, even more alien m/f/m/m/m/m, and a plenty m/f in a plot heavily laden with reproduction and sexual gratification. Finally, this story proves one universal constant: it never hurts to drop the soap. 

Diablo's Shithole, Earth year 2193 A.D. 

"John, I need you to do this for me," my senior officer, General Barley, pleaded where he leaned upon both elbows planted in the shiny dark wood of the only piece of non-metal furniture on this God-forsaken planet.

Oh, he hit me with one of those gut-punching stares that could have left me on the floor like all those men serving time beneath us out here on this quasi-penitentiary of a marine outpost. And I'm sure the point of this discussion about his niece is to knock me on my ass. But the breadth of his latest insanity is still a lingering whirlwind of confusion. And I'm falling. Falling to the floor. So close. I'll be there like all others I've watched Axton Barley work while he managed his war.

"Please, John. Just this once." His voice fell to a soft murmur. "You're the only one I trust to match with her."

Where's the damn floor? Gravity's still jacking with me.

That unwavering stare of his could rip a heart from a guy's chest and brutally squeeze the last drop of blood from a dripping mass of flesh.

He's lost his mind. I'm supposed to save his niece, The Creator of subspace transport, by fucking her? "You're crazy, Axe." What kind of man asks you to screw the closest thing he has to a daughter? His Cybernetics implant must be jacking with his brain. I knew we shouldn't have volunteered to test the damned gadgets. Now I'm trapped here with a man living up to his nickname, Mad Axe. I raked one handful of fingers through the almost non-existent soft stubble peppering the top of my obviously screwed skull.

The general chuckled, leaning back in his creaking office chair like a calm man decked in all sorts of equally calm muted beige and browns. "I bet I am. I came out here and became some ant on this hell-hole planet of gargantuan flying monsters." He snaked his thick iron arms across his chest, chuckling even louder.

Like he'd planned to act invincible by rolling up his camo shirt's sleeves.

"Hell, you must be just as nuts too," Mad Axe continued. "We both let them use those fucking probes on us. Let them shaft us with their little magic fuses." His chuckles began to die into his standard wheeze that graded into a profound statement. "But you and I, Major, aren't about to let them get the best of us. Are we?"

A challenge.

He's not going to back down from his grand plan.

It's me and his niece. If only his fuses would blow. I guess you can't bitch about screwing something as powerful as The Creator. Not when retirement is sixteen years away and you need a man like Axe Barley to keep you heading toward those green pastures every man dreamed of, fought to grasp, and could lose at the drop of one foolish statement. And the bad thing is that Axe knows me well enough to know I'd go along with his little plan. Anything to save us all from being trapped on this asshole of a planet because The Creator is captured or murdered. That's why we bent over and let the Global Bureaucrats shaft us with their little Cyber Ops decree. It's not that we're saving ourselves from wormhole disorientation sickness. No. It's that we're surviving so the Global Bureaucracy can use as to conquer new worlds.

And to think I came so willingly to study this world. I walked right through that wormhole The Creator ripped through subspace without a second thought. Right into the realization that humanity could die any moment because someone wants to use her to gain control over the portals. But I'm not about to turn down a challenge. "Alright, Axe. If she chooses me, I'll keep her alive." And that's what I'm here for. Duty. Talk about an ugly four-letter word.

He blinked once then leaned close again.

So close I could almost feel the heat from his drawn-out sigh.

Here it comes. He can't shock me. Not after telling me his niece was mine to play with in any way, shape, or form I might find pleasing. What could possibly burst my bubble?

"I need you to work with her. Don't let her know you're an astrophysicist. Never even hint you know what she's talking about. I can't afford to have her pissed at her meddling uncle. Comprendes?"

So that's what he's after. I'm the spy unable to speak of my passion. And he hasn't disclosed shit, yet. "Come on, now. We're best friends. What game are you really playing?"

He scrubbed his palms down his weathered face as if he didn't want to come clean. But I'm used to his little tactics. We've worked in the field together for fourteen years. My God, the man gave me my first shiny bar. I'd still be a sergeant if he hadn't promoted me. "Come on, Axe."

His crystal blue stare locked onto me with indescribable passion. "I don't know. All I can tell you is that the guards she accepts into her service are murdered. It's all top secret. You're the last shot the government's got and the best protection I can offer her. She's running for her life. Risking everything she has to hop this one last time. You're literally all I've got, John. The only person I could ever call my child has but one chance left."

The room grew so quiet that surely something even more insane was brewing in the General's skull. Like a black hole waited to suck me into another level of hell far worse than Diablo's little paradise on this god-forsaken planet.

"Her dad's counting on me, John."

Reality prickled one desperate attempt to send a thought-provoking chill through me because that man died years ago on a shady little expedition nobody cared to discuss. Maybe the father and daughter's troubles are interconnected?

So, Axe dumped one final plea into my lap. Shit. You don't turn your back on a man who stood beside you every time you and death glared eye to eye.

The siren buzzed then chirped twice.

Three minutes until the portal opens.

"Let's go." Axton shoved off his chair with both large palms planted on his desk's dark wood, rising, emerging the towering camouflaged marine of fortune who lucked out and got to run the fucking war. "The other candidates are waiting for us at Arrival. If I'm lucky, she'll choose you."

What's dodging another bullet?

This one can't even kill me.

Yet.

And maybe she won't choose me. Maybe she'll go for one of the four other candidates. Younger pretty boys from various walks of pillage and plundering. Women loved them all for nothing more than marines grab a one-way ticket off the hellhole Earth has become. A woman marrying into the Space Marines was the best damned choice in life akin to being born with a platinum spoon in your mouth.

Axe swung the creaking door open and headed into the well-lit metal corridor, straightening his waistband with the same old grip he always used on his standard khaki military-issue belt.

Khaki. Not the best color to wear for camouflage on this planet. It blended well inside these beige metal walls though. I followed quickly enough to fall in at his elbow.

Marines should wear dark grays here--hiding in the shadows of things flying outside the bio-dome. But nobody gave much thought to all the men who volunteered to serve four years here to un-write the debt one of their relatives had gambled upon and lost. You got to give the twenty-first century credit for going full circle and pinning a person's debt upon his brothers or his descendants. So much for evolving into a model population led by a global government based on medieval mentality. Well, I suppose without that crucial bureaucracy there wouldn't be enough clean water and air to go around or invisible pathways discovered to other worlds. We shouldn't bitch about the hand that feeds us. But that hand keeps slapping shit around full circle…

Those luxuries wouldn't exist without The Creator.

So, hello, Beautiful.

Can't say I've ever seen a picture of The Creator. The Global Bureaucracy kept her identity on low profile. "General?" I used the gratuitous title in case someone was listening and shot Axe's hard-nosed profile a sideways glance as we walked down the sardine-can corridor.

Axe flicked his gaze my way.

His distinctive don't-fight-me-now squared jaw noted he worried I considered mutiny. I'd have to buy him a beer for that chuckle. But there's no time. "Is she--" Well, how do you phrase that delicately?

"Everything a man could want. And a brunette with a mouth to put him in his place." His thick lips split with a wicked grin, and he patted my shoulder hard once. "But don't worry, Major. There's no guarantee she'll pick you. You're too pretty."

I shouldn't have asked.

"She's into big scary fucks like Corporal Laurel. I'm betting on Corporal Laurel. You're probably worried for nothing." He winced through his grimace.

What a strange expression. I should have just choked down the two words and lived with the moment instead of asking. It's not like I signed up to dust the rafters. No, I was young and full of romantic notions about traveling at the speed of light and conquering new worlds so long ago. And this is, well, this is adventure. You couldn't buy into a decent adventure to other worlds without that platinum baby Space Marine spoon or a degree in astrophysics that miraculously tore open wormholes to places we could never reach by standard space flight. I never met a marine I wanted to marry. Nor did I wave my magic science wand. Somehow, somewhere, I got mixed up with Mad Axe and his hair-brained schemes, and everything spun my degrees down the shithole toilet faster and faster until I was crapped out here. I followed Axe through the toilet's doorway and stared into the silvery play of light that always sketched out the miraculous feat of splitting subspace's constituents into an invisible hole.

Arrival's portal lens widened like an anus into a circle of black space pierced with diamond-like stars.

There she blows.

"External lens deactivated, General Barley," the Space Tech reported from his duty station positioned along the wall behind us. "Arrival in ten, nine, eight…"

It isn't every day you meet destiny when it doesn't expect someone to rip your heart from your chest.

 

****

 

The wormhole device's burst of energy tore Charlotte's intestines through her navel. Slicing pain ripped through me from that central point like my insides were being pulled away from me by some invisible subspace hand, she cringed with thought.

To where? How could so many people travel this way? Desperation. It's not worth clean air and water. It's not worth unlimited breeding.

The eerie forward momentum suddenly rammed me hard.

Jarring my teeth. Crunching every fucking bone in my body.

Bleeding. I must be bleeding.

My gut surged with a billowing wave of molten acid.

I'm lying on my chest. Smashed atop something hard and flat. I slid a palm across the gentle softness of the cool surface.

Something coiled around my wrist.

Why can't it wrap around my throat? Kill me. Only a fool would have stepped into that wormhole again without implants. I should have stayed back in North America.

The acid burned up my esophagus like a razor-embedded boxing gloving.

Coming.

Coming.

Going to puke…

No. More momentum. Everything is spinning. Whirling me over. I've got to look like a broken butterfly the way my arms are hanging. Weak. Vulnerable. Plastered against some unexpected vehicle crossing the path I was taking.

Sound? I hear something. You don't hear things in the subspace of a wormhole unless you're inside a vehicle. Maybe what I hear is talking? Must have reached Arrival. People. Hopefully humans. It would be far too wicked a joke for the universe to send me back to one of those crazy planets I've visited. I tried to open my eyes.

Bright light smeared every direction.

My head swooned, and pain stabbed inside my skull.

Like it wielded a brutal ice pick. Setting off the churning magma in my gut again. I clamped my eyes tight and just floated in space.

The pain stopped, thank goodness. So much pain. The pain intensifies with every jump. I've got to learn what causes this. Learn why the only way to travel is with implants so I can correct this problem before someone uses the issue against others being forced to submit and be subjugated. On a planet level, anything that destroys the lives of an entire population is worse than taking a bullet between the eyes. I caused this. I can't die until I find the solution. And I'm the only one left of The Quintet--those scientists who worked to open the wormholes.

"Daisy Bell?"

Oh, God, I hate that nickname. My uncle is a dumbass. "Shut the fuck up." That's got to be the most brilliant statement a PhD cosmologist ever uttered.

The bastard's low familiar chuckle rumbled around me. "I knew that portal couldn't kill you."

The world began spinning again.

My gut didn't miss the momentum nor the opportunity to don another slashing boxing glove. It's him. He's holding me. "Stop," I screamed.

And the scream seemed to keep on going.

On and on. But the whirling momentum ended and left my gut to settle. "Down. Put me down."

"I want you in the infirmary," Axe thundered.

Each of his words pounded out the precursor to the volcanic eruption waiting deep within my belly. Tapped out with that damned ice pick inside my skull. Why are those words of his still moaning? "Sh," I hissed, managing to raise one broken wing to signal with a hand that he needs to find his little boy voice. Not that pompous windbag officers have one.

Something must have clicked with him because the world tilted and a softness met my backside, leaving me propped up with my legs hanging as if they thought they could tug the surging bile in my esophagus back into my stomach.

Like magic, the legs did an amazing job.

Chair. They've got a really nice comfy chair on Diablo's Shithole. So, I guess I shouldn't care I'm on a planet you can't pay people to visit.

My inner chaos began to settle.

Yes. Chair. Nice chair.

"Okay," Axe said somewhere near my knee to the left. "You're here. You're alive. We've got some business to contend with. Then you're going to visit the doctor. Am I clear?"

Ever the smug bastard. Some things never change. I leaned my head back until it felt good and stable against the soft upholstery and simply reveled in the stillness a chair had to offer the dying.

"Button Nose?"

Is he trying to make me look like an idiot? I've pretty much covered that myself with this wormhole catastrophe. But my uncle? "Unfortunately, Axe, I can't kick your ass right now. So, I will go with yes. So, shut up with the fucking stupid nicknames from my childhood."

Somebody snickered.

How many men had he lined up for me to choose from? Seriously, this whole bodyguard thing is really embarrassing. To top off the awaiting sundae for the special boy who gets the poisoned cherry of death. Lucky guy! So, I'm here, on Diablo's Shithole, picking a poor bastard to screw me when I fall asleep to keep my body locked in this plane of sanity or whatever bizarre crap unfolds when my cognizance shuts down, all the time the guy has to know he's walking the plank.

"I've got five folders. Personal records."

Something smacked a surface in the near vicinity, kicking up a cool little draft.

Probably a desk or tabletop is over there.

"I need you to flip through them and quickly make a decision, Junie Bee."

For some reason my eyes flitted open. Probably to shoot the idiot with laser beams. Unfortunately, I'm not into body modification, even if we had that technology. It's looking like my next venue of invention should be laser beams via eyes. But the smearing light around me tore away my equilibrium.

I wilted sideways by what didn't feel like gravity's pull.

Someone grabbed me. "Hold on, Tater Bug."

Gravity released me.

Bones. I love bones working hard to keep me whole and stiff. I hope they continue to keep up the good work. "My skeleton must have been pulverized on that jaunt. For the record, it hurt like hell."

"Then you're ready for Diablo's Shit Can, sweetheart. Now, stay focused."

Focus? My body is broken and someone's trying to kill me, forcing me through the wringer in this fiasco of a chase, and Axe is bitching about giving me a breather after I danced with suicide? "If I had a knife…I so feel like peeling potatoes."

That familiar chuckle, one that kept me safe all those years growing up and then kept my sanity in check after my father died, made the tears suddenly well in my gut. It's the worst kind of sick feeling. The one of loss and memory about things you can't bring back. The thing you want to cling to but hate having to because it hurts so damned much so you turn to work. You invent. And open an even bigger can of worms. That's the irony. Every action has an equal an opposite reaction that's connected to everything you ever did and all the possibilities of what you have yet to do. A can of wormholes. And I tossed in subspace to boot. What was I thinking?

But Axe the Ass is still here. Still holding strong and going to save my ass in the process. And he's still quite mad. But time only moves forward. There's no way to go back and save Dad. I've proven that. Time to move onward.

The chair began to roll.

Each of the four squeaks from the wheels pushed me onward with steady piercing thrusts of the ice pick. The annoyingly unbearable sounds drove the nightmare I can't even see because when I open my eyes my inner ear jacks with me.

The squeaks died with a new sensation. That of the bitter bite from a straight edge on my knuckles of my hand resting upon my thigh. So, the desk or table is before me.

"Remember when you were a little girl and we used to play Eenie Meanie Minie Moe?"

Is he for real? Although, I won't mention it's a silly scientific way to make a random selection. Who would give him more fuel to feed his pompous officer bonfire? "I've got three diplomas that distinctly state in fine print that I'm not allowed to play Eenie Meanie Minie Moe anymore."

"Yes, you do." He chuckled.

Someone lifted my hand.

Moved my hand. Turned it, stretching out the fingers with the thick leathery surface of his strong digits, pressing my palm onto slick cool paper. "Five files, Kick-Butt Kitty Fluff."

Oh, God, is he ever going to shut up? How much haranguing am I supposed to suffer? "Am I here for torturing? Have I been sentenced without being informed? I demand a trial, Axe!"

The grip on my hand slid to my wrist then began gliding my palm across the slick folders. "Pick a card, any card."

Like this was a Ouija board. Is he for real? I can't open my eyes.

Surely he sees how pissed I am. But the stabbing ice pick left. Yes. It had abandoned its mysterious duty. And I'll be damned if I don't get to read all the fine print before I sign another pup up for slaughter. God. Got to read the files and pick the best poor chump who might have a fighting chance.

Maybe I can open my eyes the way Axe has me jammed up against the desk. Pinned into submission. Gravity might cooperate. I opened my eyelids.

Light streamed in streaks and swirls.

Every color. No. Green. Yellow. White. Speeds. Only certain wavelengths or none at all. Colors. Got to remember the colors. "Green. Yellow. White--"

"Pick a card." Axe insisted.

My neck was arching.

Of its own accord like someone was pulling a weird piece of rubber taut all the way down through every link in my spinal column.

Here we go again. The ice pick started to tap out a merry tune directly into the back of one of my eyes. But the colors of the light must be important. "Colors. Remember the colors. Green, yellow, white. Axe!"

My gut began to bitch.

Roil. Heave. Ram into my throat. But I'll never forgive myself if I don't get to know whose neck I'm stretching across the chopping block. These eyes will focus again. I bit back the urge to throw myself forward and puke.

Gulp. Down. Keep it down. Make the world right itself. Peace. How do I make peace with the universe? Sadly, I lost my chance the day I crunched those fateful numbers and opened the can of wormholes. I sentenced my lab team to pain, fear, and what undoubtedly awaits me. Captivity or death.

Because they're coming for me.

And I can't stop them.

Someone grabbed me by the shoulders.

Held me up while the lights tried to hypnotize me, all the while another someone tried to split my skull open from the inside out. But I'm not closing my eyes or forgetting those colors.

"Pull it together, Charlotte. Stop rambling," Axe cooed.

Annoyingly. I gulped down air. But I can't hold back the vomit. I can't tell him to move, or I will puke.

My gut heaved, casting me forward with so much force I certainly tore a new wormhole open in the room. Heaving. I couldn't stop retching even when there was nothing left to pass. Air. Not enough air. But I couldn't suck down enough between dry heaves to fill my screaming lungs.

He patted my back.

Hopefully, stroking the loose hair that didn't hang down into the stinking mess coating his uniform.

"Now, your lab team knew they headed into new territory. You can't blame yourself for their hopes and dreams. You didn't hurt them. You didn't kill them. Now, pull yourself together and focus. You have to choose now. Because I can tell you're going to pass out cold and sleep for hours after your little trip across space."

So, I was talking instead of thinking, and I had metaphorically spilled my guts. This last trip through the portal has literally turned every part of me inside out. Well, Uncle Axe cooing like he meant to whisper into my ear so my dad couldn't hear him correct me was a nice change from yelling. But Dad always jumped in and made Axe angry. Dad always tried to modify my behavior so I wouldn't embarrass him. Well, that's normal for a father. But Axe is hanging strong and still steadying the tides. He's obviously trying to help me now. "Just remember the colors, Axe," I gasped between haggard breaths. "Like a dream. You have to take notes, or you forget what's important."

"Colors noted," a different male voice said.

Far away.

Axe raised me up by a grip on my shoulders to lean me over the desk.

Released me to flounder like a wet noodle trying to hover gracefully.

The ice pick wasn't about to allow me to forget it had substance and strange value. Unfortunately only a value that the sharp steady pain seemed capable of defining. But I'm awake. That's it. The ice pick is keeping me awake. So, I can choose another lamb for the altar.

What a monumental moment with all the fireworks.

 Another wave of something tore through my empty stomach to shake me with cold fear.

Fear of dying. Of heaving up every organ in my body. Of self-destruction through a bizarre self-disembowelment I caused with risking everything in this final desperate hop through subspace--for nothing more than to read the writing on the wall.

They're coming for me.

I did this to myself.

I did this to humanity.

I have to correct the problem before it's too late.

I have to save humanity from what they obviously have the power to make me do. From what they want me to do for them.

And hopefully, they haven't hurt the other four scientists.

Now. I will see the folders and read. Now. I slammed my hands on the hard surface covered with folders. Feebly searching for the straight hard edge of one with the telltale stickiness of a hand covered in vomit.

Unable to see anything but fireworks.

Unable to blink away the blinding dancing smear of a universe that wouldn't give up its hold in this plane of existence.

Blind. Is this how everything ends? I'm going to be unable to see anything. Unable to repair the damage I've done in my universe. What a play on Paradise Lost…To study all things in a quest for knowledge and then lose the only thing important with learning--the ability to read and observe. Maybe I should laugh?

The fisted boxing glove wedged back up my throat again.

Choking the laughter right out of me. I gulped and gulped.

But hurled another barrage of bile across the document I'd splayed for my perusal.

"It's going to be alright, Charlotte. Please, make your selection before the rest of us blow our brains out from being tortured having to watch you suffer," Axe said calmly.

The bastard. I shoved the file coated in viscous acidic goo toward him, closed my eyes, and threw myself backward until the comforting chair offered support.

Yes, in my new universe, chairs readily make themselves available for support. Charlotte's Universe. The undiscovered eleventh dimension. I should oust pompous officers while I'm here.

"Damn it, Charlotte. I need you to choose a candidate."

He's not too bright. "I did. Hero number one is lucky. Nobody will ever be able to read his file again. And any infractions are all forgotten! This is a day he'll never forget."

 

****

 

Fitzroy stood there watching the general lean toward the warping file folder laying on the desk. As if trying to read the candidate's name, Fitzroy thought. But all of us could see that the vomit hadn't missed a millimeter of paper on the upper two-thirds of the soiled document. The name was impossibly covered with stomach acid and murky solids.

Axe used the side of a hand to sweep the body fluids onto the desk. His gaze flicked to the candidates, then to me. "Everyone but Major Fitzroy is dismissed."

He's lying. The odds my personal file lay on the top of that stack were one in five.

Boots squeaked in response to Axe's command.

I'd be a fool to even appear not to buy into the game. But I'm going to see whose folder that is if it kills me.

The woman, Charlotte, The Creator seemed to be wilting. Probably because Axe got what he wanted. The opportunity to assign whoever he deemed worthy to the duty at hand. That's it's-my-way-or-the-highway Axe. And Mad Axe wasn't about to permit anything to unfold the way he didn't wish.

Axe knelt beside the crumpling ragdoll and donned his Daddy mask. "Now, Charlotte, I'm going to take you to the doctor. He swears what he's seen come through wormholes isn't physical wounds. It's all mental. Something about the mind and traveling near the speed of light. But I want him to check you over and give you something to induce sleep--"

"No!" She shot upward, her eyes flying open.

The chair caught her, forcing her to sit straight up and stare at the ceiling.

She's probably watching that light show that only she's privy to. Not a trace of colored light masked those wild green eyes. The color of trees in a northern forest. Dark. Deep. Nice eyes. On this planet, the only pair of woman's eyes. Nice right next to her chocolate brown hair.

"Calm down," Axe cooed. "I'd like you to meet Major John Fitzroy."

Her brown eyebrows pinched together where she stared with an odd unnatural angle toward the ceiling. But something else toyed with her. Something nobody could make out if they hadn't been here five minutes ago.

Her chest began to lurch.

She's going to puke again.

Axe grabbed her into his arms, dumping the side of her body into the vomit slathered across his fatigue shirt.

Her nerves seemed to calm enough to allow her to lean against his shoulder and breathe.

I could lean toward the file folder. Almost enough to make out the folder's writing. No. The black ink was smeared. I need to maneuver closer. Just two steps should do the trick.

"Where's my room? I can't smell anything but bile." Her voice started to warble and fade.

"No sleeping yet," Axe rocked her slightly with a movement of his arms. "You've got to have a physical, then," he shot me a sideways smile, "then, there's the ceremony."

My skin began to crawl.

What is he talking about? I slid my gaze sideways to see if Axe was giving any clue in his behavior.

She groaned. "What fucking ceremony?"

Axe tossed his nose over his shoulder toward the portal. "Grab her pack, will you?"

Not a command? How unusual. But there wasn't much time to contemplate Mad Axe's odd behavior because he set off for the door. Shit.

"Pack. Yes. I need my pack. I need to debrief the major," Charlotte said, suddenly finding a second wind and writhing in Axe's arms.

She could fall as slippery as her uncle had to be in his soiled shirt.

"I've already debriefed the major. Now settle down and think about what you're going to tell the doctor."

"No. I don't need to see the doctor."

But she was duly ignored by the dogmatic military machine, Mad Axe. I followed him.

We headed across the upper metal walkway that encircled the entire biosphere. The lower level was ten feet down, a ground level of compacted soil from all the heavy earth movers running back and forth inside the fifty-acre site. Down on the same level was direct access to where the doctor toiled in his subterranean infirmary. Everything was subterranean except the outpost's storage of construction materials--piles of fabricated steel and Plexisteelglass manufactured in the factory bio-dome.

Axe is obviously headed to the staircase, but those flailing arms and legs he had in tow weren't in the mood for descent. The Creator had a lot of spirit, even in her state of extreme disorientation from wormhole sickness. I'd seen mild side effects, but nothing where a person was practically turned inside-out after Arrival. And still she could battle with the general. Axe should resign himself to the fact she's going to have things her way--the opposite of his way. That's not worth gambling on.

It's about time things got interesting around here. I bit back a good chortle and tried not to notice her white knuckles pulling at the back of Axe's collar. Seriously, nothing from forcing her to bend to his will could result in anything good.

"Put me down, damn it. I want to go to my room."

He'd be choking if he had buttoned the uppermost button of his shirt. That's probably her intention.

"Damn it, Charlotte, be still."

Apparently, she learned to cuss from him.

That's when her knee jabbed up to his shoulder. The movement was easy to read by the way her brown hiking boot flew into the sky. But she didn't fly away gracefully toward the green sky outside the transparent bio-dome. No. She slipped. Right out of her uncle's slimy arms and thumped in a heap on the metal walk.

With a groan.

"The last thing I need is you doing more damage to yourself," Axe patronized.

She slinked around like a snake stuck in a sandpit, hissing. "You ass. If you'd listen to me, you'd know I'm the only person who knows what's best for me."

Her back arched.

And arched. She's about to blow again. "This is ridiculous. Move." I shoved into Axe's iron arm, pushing his solid mass a bit for effect.

Axe swooped down for the kill, grabbing his niece.

The man's insane. I met his glinting gaze.

One filled with serious intent. But this is my job now. My job is to deal with The Creator. He's going to have to hand her over. "Look, General, you chose the candidates based on their history of service. So, I don't have a problem telling you that taking care of The Creator is my job now. You're going to have to leave that responsibility up to me, General."

He blinked, slowly.

Like the thought had to seep through his thick hide to begin to tackle his dense skull. But it's taking too long. She'll start fighting for what she knows she needs. He'll refuse. She'll slip. And where will that leave us? With a creator who has a broken neck. And the fact I've got to confront Axe in public about this insanity isn't good either. But it must be done. "Let go, Axe. It's time to let go."

Axe exhaled in one long breathy sigh.

Like I'd stuck a knife through his lung. 

Welcome to my stop on THE ROMANCE REVIEWS ROMANCE MADNESS HOP! Just click the hop graphic below to hop on along at each blog stop where each participating hostess is giving away one prize. ;P So, this hop is all about what I like about one particular romance novel...

I'm showcasing WERESCAPE: COUGAR (Bk 1). Why? Because after all of the heroes I've written, Jackal was the one I went the extra distance with playing with eyes. Well, there's a little story behind that. I loved the crazy dragon killer American military leader in REIGN OF FIRE. Yes. I'm an adult woman, and I admitted that! Well, I was obsessed with how Matthew McConaughey's ability to express so much emotion in his eyes. So, I played with that one key detail in COUGAR, and Jackal still is my favorite hero. Borun runs a close second if not ties in FERAL FEVER. But I have to choose one...So, if you're curious about Jackal, you can read the 1st chapter and excerpts. The excerpt link also contains the blurb!

Mid-length novel available at Kindle, Nook, and pdf at ARE.

1. Werescape: COUGAR

2. Werescape: BEAUTY & THE BRUTE

3. FERAL FEVER

4. FERAL FALLOUT

(Since FERAL FORETASTE's formatting is screwed up in both e-format/print version, I'm not giving it away.)

To enter: 

1. What are you currently reading and what is it about the hero's physical description that you do or don't like? Tell me here as a comment by midnight CST, January 29th, 2013. I will randomly select one winner from the comments who answer my question to select a book from my list.  

2. Also, please subscribe to this blog until I've announced the winner as a comment. I have chronic health issues and find it's easier to contact the winners if they are aware they have won. Spam filters sabotage my attempts to contact winners often! Both of us knowing I'm on the hunt helps me make contact...

I will post the winner hopefully on the 30th. Sometimes, life gets in the way. But I do try! 

(Otherwise, they sell for 99 cents individually.)

Keep posted by watching my blog, my yahoo group, or my website.