Sneak Peek: Chapter One of REBORN

Happy Birthday to me! And you get a present. I've showcased the prologue of Reborn in Magna's Plea as well as on the blog Untethered Realms, so if you haven't read it yet, click here. Today, I give you Chapter One of Reborn.

The Island of Guntas

22 Day of Inasham

Year 2517 AUC

Fate would yank me kicking and screaming toward my destiny. Tomorrow I was supposed to leave everything I knew for a world I’d only seen in my darkest visions and dreams. The law dictated I would travel to the Place of Lordéhi, an island outside of the City of Amora, on my seventeenth birthday, so I could officially begin my training at the Temple of Apenth not only as the Phoenix Prophetess but also the future advisor to the queen.

I wasn’t ready.

“... fifteen days without a drop of rain, Yssa! We haven’t ....” Tym, my best friend and secret crush, droned on about the drought plaguing our island as we sat on the steps of Tamman’s temple like we had done a thousand times throughout the years. A tendril of ivy—about the only plant as green as Tym’s priest-in-training robes on the island—dangled above his forehead. In a few months, he’d reach full priesthood status. A pang ached in my chest. I would miss the ceremony.

“You’re not payin’ any attention to me.” He pushed back his damp hair, red strands sticking up like a rooster’s behind.

Any other day I would’ve laughed, but not today.

“Excuse me for not being very golden today.” I huffed and stared at him from the corner of my eye. When had he grown so tall, so strong? His shoulders and chest pressed against the green fabric. His warm hazel eyes reminded me of autumn leaves. Over eight years ago, my prophecy saved his life. Twenty-four died from those sudden storms, but Tym believed me and survived.

I could’ve lost him then, but instead I was losing him now. And yet on my last day, he could only talk about crop damaged and irrigation patterns. I slapped his shin with the back of my hand. “I’m not here to talk about the ... wea ... ther ....”

My body stiffened, and a soft gasp puffed from my lips. No, not now. Not today. The vision seized me in its frigid grip.

“Come on, Priest. The storm’s over, and Apenth’s light shines down upon us. We’ll arrive at the Island of Guntas on the ’morrow.” A bearded man swipes a cloth over the oar handles. He’s taken this path before to my home islands.

The priest wrings out his soaked white robes. His shoulders hunch over, and his cheeks bulge with a greenish tint. I do not recognize him. Where is High Priest Thodain? Without a word to the ferryman, the man twists toward the boat’s side and heaves.

“Liam, untie the sail. A bit of a wind is comin’.” The ferryman dips the oars into the churning ocean.

Liam. The young man has haunted my dreams and visions since High Priest Thodain showed me him in a dream years ago. A sword shimmers against Liam’s side as his strong hands untie the ropes harnessing the sail. He pauses from what he’s doing, and his dark blue eyes meet my gaze—as if he can see me.

“Yssa?” A hand waved in front of my face and distorted the vision. Tym snapped a couple times, the sound loud and sharp. “Come out of it.”

I blinked and sucked in air. Prophecies often left me breathless. The Temple of Tamman rushed toward me and removed any traces of the scene I foresaw. Nearby, golden-clad priests sprinkled the fields with water. Bees lazily swirled from flower to flower. I gathered my hair into a ponytail and brushed the perspiration from my brow.

“What did you see?” Tym scooted down a step to sit beside me.

“The boat that’s coming for me.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He rested his arms on his knees. His gaze followed the priests in the fields.

“What’s there to talk about? You didn’t seem that interested in talking about today earlier.” I rose from the steps. A blue butterfly fluttered against my hair. Its wings kissed my cheek before flying away. Unshed tears burned my eyes, although I refused to let them fall. I’d known my whole life this day would come. Apenth, the God of Prophecy, said I had the ability to change Fate. If so, then why couldn’t I alter my own?

“You’re leavin’ me behind forever.”

“Oh, Tym.” I pressed my palms against my eyes. “It’s not forever.”

“You’ll forget me once you’re in Amora.” His shoulders slouched, my wilting sunflower.

“Look at me.” I knelt before him. My hands nearly touched his, but I placed them against the warm stone steps instead. Why did he think I would forget him? Didn’t he know how much I cared about him? That I—No, I couldn’t think the L-word. The one that would undo me and him. We knew we could only be friends from the start, since his life was in Guntas and mine in Amora.

His head lifted, but he didn’t meet my gaze.

“Come on. Don’t you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“Good. You know I know these things. If I say we’ll see each other again, then we will. That’s final.” I stood to put distance between us again and pressed my back against a column. Coolness seeped through my dress.

“I don’t want to go. I love it here.” With you. My family.

“But you’re travelin’ to Amora. The big city! Everyone wants to visit there.” He kicked at an invisible spot on the steps, his lower lip pouting. “It’s better than this insignificant island.”

“You’ll visit the city one day.”

“Really?” His eyes lit up.

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “I ... I can’t imagine not seeing you again. You’re my b-best friend.”

My throat tightened as I sank down beside him.

“I wish you’d stay here.”

“Me too.” Could I ask Apenth to give me a reprieve? The kingdom had done fine since the last Phoenix Prophetess five hundred years ago. I could remain here and continue my training in my dreams with Apenth and High Priest Thodain and journey to Amora when I was ready.

Tym tapped his fist against my upper arm. “I’m goin’ to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” I mapped out the freckles across his nose and cheeks. An image of him was all I could take with me. I shifted closer to him and rested my head against his shoulder. “I wish you were my Phoenix Guard and could journey with me, but since you don’t have the phoenix mark, you’re not him.”

“I know.” He pressed his cheek against my hair.

Grasses, sporting yellowed tips, swayed in the breeze. The aroma of greenery tickled my nose. I was going to miss everything about Guntas. From the Temple of Tamman all the way to the other end of the island at the bustling marketplace and town center. Well, maybe not quite everything. A few—okay, most—islanders didn’t care for me or my prophecies of danger and destruction. If there was one good thing about Amora, it offered a fresh start.

My eyes rolled back as another prophecy seized me.

Dark clouds shroud the sun and distant thunder rumbles through my bones. Lightning sizzles over the town center. A woman—the innkeeper Erditha— shrieks, “My inn! My inn!”

A man in golden robes with familiar emerald green eyes runs into the burning building. High Priest Vert’s name is on my lips as I follow him up the stairs toward the rooms. In the last room, a woman stares out the window, flames rolling overhead.

“We have to leave now, ma’am.” He reaches for her.

She turns and stares not at him but at me. Golden flames lick toward me, mesmerize me with their flickering beauty. The woman’s throaty screams—or is it laughter?—echoes. The ceiling collapses in ash and fire. Vert’s dying screams skewer my heart.

The premonition released me.

I bolted up and teetered on the steps.

“Yssa, what is it?” Tym grabbed me before I fell. As I regained my balance, he released me and rose from the stairs.

“High Priest Vert ... where is he?” I searched the fields for him. The clear blue sky mocked my prophecy, but I knew the truth. A storm was coming, and my friend would die. The town center would burn.

“He’s gone.” Tym’s brow crinkled in concern. “He and a couple other priests went to the marketplace to deliver some goods.”

My flesh erupted into goose bumps despite the hot late spring day. Dear gods, I couldn’t be too late. “We have to get to the town center. There’s going to be a storm, and lightning will strike the inn.”

“It’s too dry. The inn will go up like kindlin’.” His eyes widened, and he gripped my arm. “What else did you see?”

“Vert ... he ....” I shook my head as I was unable to complete the sentence. Tamman’s High Priest was like a dear uncle to me. He believed in me, listened to me complain about my prophecies and having to leave Guntas, and made me laugh about temple and city life. I wouldn’t let him die.

Friday Excerpt: Nightmare Ever After and Guest Post over at Livia's

 

First, I'm talking about why writers should consider writing flash fiction over at Livia's blog, Leave it to Livia, so please be sure to stop by.

Today's Friday Excerpt comes from Chapter One of Nightmare Ever After. I apologize it's a little on the long side, but it's worth the read. Nightmare Ever After is the sequel to Once Upon a December Nightmare and will be available on October 31st.

(By the way, if you haven't read Once Upon a December Nightmare and don't like spoilers, then you might want to hold off on reading this.)

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

FBI Special Agent Tim O’Conner’s nostrils burned from the pungent reek of death. His fingers twitched to cover his nose, but he wouldn’t dream of looking disturbed by a corpse, especially in front of the local yokels. Off to his right, a green-faced deputy leaned against his truck and barfed into a plastic grocery bag. Tim swallowed hard and breathed shallowly through his mouth.

Sunlight dappled the forest floor and deepened the shadows around the golden pattern. The rustling leaves sounded like raindrops splattering upon a roof. Each footfall sent gravel flying on the forestry road. The odor grew stronger. Tim ran his tongue against his teeth, as if he could rid the rotting death coating it.

Sheriff Jones knelt at the edge of the road. His crisp brown slacks had mud upon the cuffs, but his sheriff’s star gleamed. He held open a manila folder and shuffled through papers.

Tim cleared his throat. He flashed his badge before tucking it into his pants’ pocket. Due to the late May heat, he left his suit jacket in his SUV not far from the deputy’s truck. “You requested a FBI agent? I’m Special Agent O’Conner.”

“Pleased to meet you, O’Conner.” Jones stood, stepped back from the corpse, and offered his hand. The two men shook hands firmly.

Past the sheriff, he could see the edge of a hiking boot. It dangled from a partially gnawed leg. The other shoe was missing from the body’s bare foot. Since no vehicle had been discovered, he assumed the person was a hiker. Tim saw no backpack, so perhaps the person either had lost it or was only out for a couple hours. From his position, he didn’t detect any maggots, but the smell indicated death had to have been at least a few days or more ago. The medical examiner would tell them more.

“Who discovered the body?”

“Forestry service. They radioed us.” The sheriff took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “They asked if they could give a statement after their rounds. Hope that’s all right with you.”

“I suppose it’ll have to be, won’t it?” His jaw bunched at the lack of protocol, and he continued to peruse the corpse. The mangled flesh suggested quite a few animals had feasted on this poor departed soul. The flies’ humming sent a shiver down Tim’s spine. From the long hair and torn tank top, Tim guessed the hiker was likely female, but even then it was hard to tell.

A few days ago, the news had mentioned a missing hiker. He hadn’t remembered her name, but could this be the same person?

“Any ID?” 

“We’ve been waiting on Patti Smith, the medical examiner down from Roanoke. She should be here shortly.” The sheriff glanced over to the deputy as he puked again. “Mikey, just drive down to the east entrance and look out for Patti. She might get lost up here.”

Tim knew Patti since he’d been assigned to the area three years ago. She was a damn fine medical examiner.

The deputy nodded and fled to his truck.

“Newbie?” Tim motioned to the deputy.

“Nah, Mikey’s a good guy but has a weak stomach.” Jones shrugged.

“Did you alert the State Police?” The FBI had jurisdiction in the Jefferson National Forest, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the State Police would be involved too. The Bureau was trying to get along better with the local and state police. They did know the land better, even if Tim sometimes thought they got in the way too much.

He tiptoed closer to the body, so he wouldn’t disturb the scene. Something shifted along the body’s upper torso. He squinted as he leaned closer.

“I did. Called them right after you.” He motioned to the body. “What do you think?”

“Something’s moving.” Tim scratched his chin. The odor shoved him back, but he kept moving near the corpse.

“Probably bugs.”

Tim removed a pen from his shirt’s pocket and lightly lifted up the neck of the tank top. Worm-like shapes writhed under the body. Then, a fat maggot popped out from the jagged tear along the victim’s throat.

Caw-caw! A crow flew from a tree branch, and Tim jerked upright. His heart thudded in his chest. He had to almost laugh at himself. Maggots were normal. So were birds in the woods. He was almost as bad as the barfing deputy.

“Agent O’Conner?” Sheriff Jones gave him a smug, slightly amused smile.

Great, the sheriff noticed his reaction as well. Tim slipped his pen back in his pocket and took a few steps away from the body. His gaze traveled up the slight incline. No signs of a struggle. The leaves and dirt appeared undisturbed, so he didn’t think she had fallen. A few animal markings dotted the area. 

“It’s possible the hiker could’ve died here. Heart attack, heat stroke, something of that nature. There’s no drag marks.” He circled the body. “Not much blood. Dead before the animals got her, I suppose. The ME will tell us more.”

“So you think this is an accident?” The sheriff clutched his folders closer to his chest.

“Do you think it isn’t?” Tim’s eyebrow arched as he studied the older man.

“Let me show you something.” He offered the FBI agent the first folder. “About nine years ago on June 6, 2003, seventeen-year-old John Faraday and sixteen-year-old Cara Ryder went missing. We discovered his 2003 Ford F-150 along this very road. On June 8th, we finally stumbled across their bodies within a clearing. Beside them, we found deer remains. These kids were murdered, and that’s not all.”

While the sheriff spoke, Tim flipped through the pages. The last picture he came across was the bodies. The ragged neck wounds were eerily similar to the hiker before him. “They weren’t the only ones?”

“Nope.” Sheriff Jones handed him the second folder. “James Canley, Denise Hart, and Mary Hart were discovered in that same clearing on December 29, 2002. According to the parents, they were supposed to have gone to a movie on the 28th, so no one knew why they were found along this road. We suspected murder and had a person of interest, but the investigation took a different turn when Faraday and Ryder were killed six months later.”

Tim flipped through the next set of pictures. An old black truck sat upon the road. Drag marks and blood smeared across snow. There were three bodies. A gaping hole replaced the one girl’s throat. The other two had fared no better. The frigid December temperatures slowed the decay rate, so the corpses were fresher than the one in front of him.

“Who was your person of interest?”

“One Cassandra Richards. She’s the last photo in the file. A car hit her along the main road, and the paramedics took her to Roanoke Memorial Hospital. She had trace evidence from her friends, but her mental state kept her from trial.” The sheriff sighed. “We were certain she did it.”

The agent came to the last photograph. A wide-eyed young woman stared back at him, her eyes as haunted as if she’d lived through a nightmare and had never woken up. “What happened to her? Is she living in the area?”

“After we had realized she wasn’t our killer, she was released from Grayson Mental Sanatorium. She’s not here, though.” Jones cleared his throat. “Let’s just say many folks didn’t welcome her back. Last I heard she taught high school history in Springfield, Missouri.”

“And she was your only suspect?” Tim touched the picture. His heart clenched for the pretty girl. In the distance, a truck engine roared closer. The deputy was probably heading back with the medical examiner. Either that, or Virginia’s State Police had arrived.

“Yes. We had some strange trace DNA and hair on the victims, but it was nothing conclusive.” His chuckle lacked humor. “Young Cassie there told us a hairy monster killed her friends. Can you believe that?”

Normally, Tim would’ve said no, but seeing those eyes, his gut told him to trust her. “And I guess you think the killer’s back. Is that why you brought these folders to a crime scene?”

“You guessed right, Agent O’Conner. The one man from the forestry service recognized the wounds, told me it might be the same killer. We rarely have crime out here, O'Conner. I brought these reports to check it out. You still think it’s an accident?”

After seeing these pictures, Tim wasn’t so quick to label it one way or the other. “We’ll see what Patti says. I suggest we start a perimeter search. If the hiker was murdered, then this isn’t the primary scene. There’s not enough blood or disturbance. If it's not an accident, could this be the work of a copycat?”

“I really don't think it's a copycat. But I agree this isn't the primary scene. My office is willing to help. I know this is the FBI’s call. We have little jurisdiction here.” The sheriff gathered the folders.

“We’ll be glad for the assistance. There’re a lot of woods out here. I’ll call in some backup and see if the Western Lab can speed up their lab work on what we discover.” Tim’s partner Jess Lawson had picked a fine time to go on maternity leave. He could’ve used her help. He removed his cell phone from his pocket and searched for a signal.

Nothing.

“Oh, those phones don’t work out here. You can borrow our radio. Mikey’s back with the ME.” Sheriff Jones nodded to the deputy’s truck, followed behind by the medical examiner’s vehicle and the State Police in their cruiser.

“Thanks, Sheriff.” Tim nodded.

Jones returned the gesture.

Tim glanced at the corpse again before heading to Patti’s vehicle. Even along the forestry road, the sun barely poked through from the dense tree canopy. Such a picturesque place for a terrible crime. If the sheriff was right this man had killed again, then Tim would find the murderer. He knew he would need to speak with the medical examiner as well as the State Police before he could call in a couple more teams, but he needed to talk to one other person. 

Cassandra Richards was the lone survivor. How could they believe she had anything to do with killing her friends? Plus, if this person was murdered and the evidence pointed to the same man who killed those teens back in 2002 and 2003, then she could give them insight on the case. Persuading her to return, though, might be a problem, but Special Agent Tim O’Conner was up to the task.

Next week, I'll have chapter two. If you enjoyed what you read, then consider adding Nightmare Ever After to your Goodreads list here.

Don't forget to visit Livia and my guest post about flash fiction here.

Excerpt: Chapter One from PULL OF GRAVITY

Sorry, folks, no #fridayflash for a few weeks. Instead, I'm revealing excerpts from Defying Gravity, Fighting Gravity, and Pull of Gravity. So, here is Chapter One of Pull of Gravity.

 

CHAPTER ONE

Corporal Nike Black had spent three years, nine months, twenty-seven days, six hours, and thirteen minutes aboard the SS New World. She probably could’ve figured up the seconds and even nanoseconds, but what was the point? This much time on a spaceship had worn on her nerves. She wanted to feel the sun on her face and breathe real air.

In four hours and forty-seven minutes, Nike would be off this ship with solid ground beneath her feet again. Thank God for wormholes! If they hadn’t been able to use one, hundreds of years could’ve passed before the SS New World reached their destination.

A giant sphere of bluish-purple mystery, Cupidis, home to winged, humanlike creatures, loomed before the spacecraft. She’d spent the past few years learning their language—it reminded her of French—as well as the intergalactic language of Anthronian. Although nothing could completely prepare the Earthlings for a new planet, Nike had done her best to organize her small reconnaissance crew. They were ready to conquer.

Every time she thought of Earth, a lightning bolt of pain shot through her gut. Two generations before her birth, an asteroid had struck Earth. From what she’d learned in history books, the climates changed and chaos reigned. The defunct space program took many years to build the SS New World, and she’d been lucky to be selected for the crew. Since she’d joined the army at fourteen, the twenty-one year old had spent her youth preparing for her departure from Earth and the task of colonizing a new planet. Now that everything was falling in place, all Nike wanted to do was to go home.

Her breath shuddered as she pulled for an image of her home planet. At first her memory fell short. Had the almost four years aboard wiped her memory? No, not quite. Glimpses of stunted trees, arid land, and the winter sun that held no warmth flicked before her eyelids.

It all seemed like a bad dream, but had they left one nightmare for another?

She would know in four hours and forty minutes.

“Nee-kay?” Commander Athenia Law always drew out her name, as if she called a dog to heel.

“Yes, ma’am.” Nike straightened her shoulders until the muscles in her upper back tensed and ached. Her courage relied on that stance to make herself appear taller than her 5’4” frame would allow.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Our new home.” The commander waved her arm toward the hovering planet.

“Yes, ma’am.” Nike didn’t dare look at Cupidis again, lest her real emotions showed. She’d wanted this post too much when she was on Earth to voice her doubts.

“Is everything prepared for Mission: Conquest?” The commander smoothed a hand over her bald head. Slight perspiration made her scalp gleam like an eight ball.

“Yes, ma’am.” Nike sucked her cheeks in and bit them. A stray dark strand tickled her cheek, and she tucked it behind her ear. “Ma’am, about the mission?”

“Yes?” The commander’s attention drifted away.

Nike paused. How could she express her concerns without showing weakness?

“Annihilation is still our plan, correct?” Stupid, stupid.

Athenia placed a hand on Nike’s shoulder. “We’ve traveled too far not to make this planet our home. Fate may have dealt us a cruel hand, but she also granted us the knowledge to travel to Cupidis. Get to know the Cupidians. Find their weaknesses and discover a way for us to exploit them. We have a chance to rebuild.” Her voice lowered. “The civvies are restless, Nike. If we don’t do something soon, they’ll revolt again. We can’t have that, can we?”

“No, ma’am.” Nike’s uniforms had gone through four washes to remove the blood after the last riot. “We will study our enemy and defeat them.”

Why did the words leave such a bitter taste in her mouth?

“I knew I could count on you.” The commander squeezed Nike’s shoulder and left the room.

Nike turned toward the window. The planet filled the small viewing window now, since the ship drew closer. In four hours and thirty-three minutes, she would depart with her crew in a supposed mission of peace, but it would really be one of espionage and war.

 

The Cupidians had no idea what was coming for them.

If you've enjoyed what you've read, you can purchase and continue reading the rest of Pull of Gravity at these retailers:  Amazon US / UK / DE / FR / ES / IT  Smashwords  Nook  Kobo  iTunes.

Next Friday, we'll meet Edonys in Chapter Two of Pull of Gravity.

Excerpt: Chapter One of FIGHTING GRAVITY

Sorry, folks, no #fridayflash for a few weeks. Instead, I'm revealing excerpts from Defying Gravity, Fighting Gravity, and Pull of Gravity. So, here is Chapter One of Fighting Gravity.

 

CHAPTER ONE

“You can’t stop the rage within you, son.” Phoebus’s mother’s words echoed in his head. Some days he thought she was more like a daimon than Aresian.

“I will stop it.” His voice sounded soft, weak. He’d cut into his chest too deep and still couldn’t remove the daimon’s mark. Hot blood oozed around his fingers. The injury would heal, and if his daimon—his so-called spirit guide—fixed the gash, Phoebus’s injury would be repaired in an instant. But what did he care? He would die. Sooner rather than later before he’d surrender to his daimon.

I’m not that easy to destroy.

“Get out of my head.” Phoebus screamed and clutched his hair, blood smearing on the dark strands. For a supposed executioner, he couldn’t even destroy a simple daimon.

You need me more now than ever before. You shouldn’t have left Aresia. They’re coming for you.

His daimon didn’t sound as calm as normal. Was it scared? Worried he would succeed in taking his mind, his body, his very essence back? Phoebus’s people couldn’t know he’d escaped yet, since he wasn’t expected for the next execution until tomorrow. And the one after that, Phoebus didn’t even want to think about it.

The bleeding had stopped, the flesh stitching together, as if glued. The mark, a serpent wrapped around a sword, had reappeared on his chest. If Phoebus looked at it just right, the creature would appear to slither around the weapon. Perhaps it would strangle his heart in time.

Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m really not that bad.

Phoebus would’ve laughed at the voice if he could, but he was too heartsick to find the humor in this situation anymore. Daimons were bad, and yes, that was the understatement of the millennium.

“Leave me alone.” He struggled to his feet and stumbled along the metallic floors. His boots rang dully, like a clasped bell. He ignored his reflection glaring at him from the shiny walls.

A door slid open at his presence, and he entered the spaceship’s cockpit. He collapsed into the single seat. His fingertips hovered above the panels. If he pushed the right combination of buttons, could he destroy the craft with him in it? Wasn’t this a suicide mission?

His hand dropped to the chair’s arm. Despite what he’d done, what his daimon made him do, he didn’t want to die. Worse, he was a coward.

A sigh tumbled from his lips. Outside the viewing screen, stars sparkled in the distance. If he turned the ship around, he would face his home planet, the red-tinged Aresia along with its lone moon. No other planet shone in sight, but a wormhole loomed with its swirling light. If he could make it that far . . . .

But you won’t. They’re coming for us.

“Let them come.” Quiet rage bubbled within his veins. With his mind, he sensed the weapons upon his cruiser. The laser guns tugged at his heart. If he wanted, he would give into his daimon and protect himself.

A hiss rose from the vidcom, and Hara, his mother, filled the screen. Dark hair sprouted from her typically shaved head. Her cheek bones looked sharp enough to slice steel. Red eyes widened and focused upon him. Of course, they would use her. He should’ve known.

“You’re bleeding.” Her crisp voice cut across space and time.

“Not anymore. You won’t change my mind.” He folded his arms over his chest, now completely healed from his attempt to remove the daimon’s mark.

“They’re coming for your ship, Phoebus, and they’ll bring you home. What were you thinking leaving Aresia like that? You have a job to do. What does your daimon say?”

Of course, she didn’t really care about the blood, his attempts.

“It told me they’re coming.” His shoulders slumped. His escape hadn’t gone quite as unnoticed as he’d hoped. Why couldn’t his daimon be wrong? If his people were close, then he might not enter the wormhole in time. “I never asked for this.”

“Ask for it?” Her laugh burst from her lips in a harsh, high-pitched, and cold tone. “A daimon like yours is fortuitous. Only one every hundred years has the dagger and serpent.”

Lucky, sure, she’d believe that. “They have me killing Aresians.”

“Traitors to our cause and laws.” A sneer curled her lips. “You were always weak, like your father.”

His back straightened and eyes narrowed. “Dying isn’t weak.”

“His daimon rejected him.” She shot back, anger tainting her voice.

That got Mother. Always did.

A blip to his left alerted him to the monitor. Five dots, or crafts, chased him. Escape beckoned. A few more minutes and he’d enter the wormhole.

“As much as I enjoyed this chat, it’s time for me to go.” His fingers danced over the panels and summoned the force shield a mere nanosecond before the first blast.

“Just concede and return home. Don’t be like your father. He was a good-for-nothing—”

“No can do. This is good-bye.” He slammed his fist into the vidcom’s screen. It shattered and went black. Although glass embedded into his hand, he smiled. Yes, this was good-bye. He’d been waiting his entire life for this chance.

“Are you ready to get out of here,” he asked his daimon.

We don’t have to do this, his daimon said.

“Yeah, we do.”

Another explosion struck the spaceship. Phoebus engaged the back thrusters, and the ship reached maximum speed.

“Weapons armed and ready,” a quiet, mechanical voice said.

He closed his eyes and grasped the charged lasers with his mind. Heat combined with his rage and flared toward his pursuers. It wouldn’t destroy them, but it would give him enough time.

Up ahead, the wormhole shimmered.

Boom!

What the—?

“Shield disabled. Rear thrusters damaged.”

The ship rocked and slowed. Freedom was slipping through his fingers like red desert dirt. He punched the instruments, not breaking anything this time, but pain shot from his hand to his arm.

“Oh, come on! Just a little farther.”

The spacecrafts hit him from behind and shoved the ship forward. The gravity sucked him in, and the wormhole swallowed the craft whole. The sensors showed no one following him. Would they? He didn’t know where this wormhole would lead, but it didn’t matter.

He was free.

So you think, his daimon reminded him.

If you've enjoyed what you've read, you can purchase and continue reading the rest of Fighting Gravity at these retailers:  iTunes  Kobo  Nook  Amazon  Amazon UK  Amazon DE  Amazon FR  Amazon IT  Amazon ES  Smashwords


Next Friday, we'll meet Marissa in Chapter Two of Fighting Gravity.