Anya Meets One of her Alien Mates

This is a scene from The Sarran Plague where Dr. Anya Forrester first meets one of her alien destined mates.

“Thirsty,” she whispered. A strong, gentle hand lifted Anya's head. She nuzzled closer, breathing deeply of fresh linen, vanilla and man—definitely man.

“Drink, Pa Mici, drink,” a deep basso voice rumbled.

Anya’s eye caught a snapshot of dark blue eyes, tousled midnight black hair. A thin white scar traced along the outline of a square jaw. Her vision turned fuzzy around the edges. She picked up a slight hesitation between his words and her understanding. His lips moved and she received, a nanosecond later, a weird built-in satellite delay. The hair on his muscled arm tickled across her back. His palm cupped the nape of her neck supporting her head. The thumb stroked downward. She trembled, leaning into the light caress.

The thick fingers of his other hand curved around a filigreed silver tumbler with maroon and gold swirls.

"Please, thirsty," Anya mumbled, as her lips pursed round the proffered straw.

“Careful, Pa Mici. Lips that shape beg a kiss,” the deep voice murmured.

Sweetness exploded on Anya’s tongue—a mélange of fruit? She didn’t recognize any of the flavors. Her eyes closed. The juice flowed through her mouth and down her throat easing the dryness. Voices in her mind, one here—the basso, the other, a baritone, close by. Their vibrations sang sweet music to her sex. Anya’s skin flushed rose. She reached up and traced a finger along the thin scar. Anya knew she dreamt. Her hero's face graced  the cover of every romance novel she ever read. He played an American privateer, scarred from a run-in with a British man-of-war, or maybe a Regency Duke, scarred in a duel over his sister. It couldn't be about a woman other than his sister. After all, this was her dream.

“Your skin is exquisite, Pa Mici. Do you feel us yet? ” His soft mobile lips swept light kisses across her cheek and nibbled at the corner of her mouth.

“Name...my pirate... name," she insisted, sticking out her lower lip—her mouth in moue.

"Jonal. Rest now,” the voice soothed.

“’Tis such a good dream,” Anya whispered, as she grabbed his arm. “Please, don't make me wake up.”

The Sarran Plague will be available from Captiva Press late winter, early spring.  In the mean time please enjoy my novel, Shattered Glass, from Captiva Press at www.captivapress.com.  Also visit my website at www.ackatt.com.  

A Scene from the Re-release of The Sarran Plague

A Scene from the Re-Release of The Sarran Plague...

The deadly rash snaked up her left breast. She felt the destruction of each cell as it fell to the intruder.  She had no reserves left to fight the virus. Pain slowly took control of her mind and heart. Despite her upbringing and her supposed strong moral fiber, she longed for the end. Tears ran down her blotchy cheeks, the saltiness stinging her abraded skin.

Her body would jerk in constant spasm, not allowing even the slight respite of sleep. Her throat hurt, parched and sore from the respirator Her mouth contained an abundance of sores. No one came for Anya; the tubes in her mouth muffled her sobs and screams. She would die alone, unloved by anyone, save an orange cat. She dare not close her eyes again; she did not want to go unto the dark alone.

Wait . . . what was that? A sharp spike hit the forefront of her skull, the pain struck like lightening. Then voices began to murmur in her head. The conversation, though muted, sounded intense and masculine. It was like a constant buzz, almost as if there was a fly in her brain. Her path was inescapable, she walked toward a blue light, yet the outline of the moon — no, three moons — at her back called her name causing her to stop despite the light’s gentle promise. But the buzz, she couldn't shake the buzz, it kept getting louder. She turned toward the moons. She heard the voices, they were closer now. Anya almost understood the words. Then, the buzzing ceased.

Curiosity, one of her besetting sins, kept her following the path towards the light. The blue light called her forward; it pulled at her and promised peace. Bits of conversation began to surround her. The strange moons and the pain stood to her back.

She lifted her face toward the sky; the voices rained down from the heavens. Tenderness bathed her body. Her imagination began to overpower her; fantasies paraded through her innocent mind. Lust ran through her body like a fresh breeze caressing her skin. She felt a masculine presence. Two, she thought. Gentle fingers brushed against her nipples, and wet, soft kisses flowed across her collarbone to the back of her neck, and then, a bite. Both nipples pushed erect against the soft, thin cotton of the hospital sheet. She needed more. She felt the blood moving to her labia as the lips engorged, becoming heavy. They opened outward, throbbing.

Rational thought intruded on her arousal. Anya, you’re dying here, in pain, breathing your last. You’re a physician. You know the score. What the heck is happening?

The thought fled, and her concentration shifted to the sensation of tender touches and butterfly kisses between her legs. Her body tensed, climbing, climbing the precipice. Then there was a burst of white light, blinding in her brain. Her lower body pulsated in rhythm, leaving the hospital linens damp.

She heard a whisper, a tendril of hope, and then formed thought drifted into her consciousness. “We’re here with you,” the voices said. “We are one, BondStirred; you will never be alone again.” The thought gave comfort even as she turned from the light and headed back into the pain.

The above scene is Anya Forrester's first encounter with the Sarran WarriorPair, Jonal and Tonas.  Read more about the Sarrans in future blogs and in The Sarran Plague which will be re-released from Captiva Press late fall, early winter.

In the mean time don't forget to read my m/m rock n roll romance - Shattered Glass, from Captiva Press at www.captivapress.com.  If you like this blog please follow and visit my website at www.ackatt.com.