Raider Captured
By J. J. Lore
Dreamspinner Press
ISBN:9781627984706
11 November 2015
Is
love possible between sworn enemies when the universe seems determined to tear
them apart?
Sagiv, a genetically
modified Atavaq fighter, is captured when his master’s raid on a Domidian ship
goes wrong. Daran, a young Domidian science officer, claims the warrior for
ransom and as a subject for study. As they spend time together in the close
confines of the shipboard cabin, both learn more about the other’s culture, and
against all odds, a fragile trust begins to form. But the ship is approaching a
frontier outpost, where Daran will be expected to ransom Sagiv—even though it
means condemning Sagiv to die for the dishonor of his defeat or suffer in the
fighting pits. That’s if bounty hunters don’t find them first. Daran’s risen up
the ranks through hard work and always following protocol, but he sees
something in Sagiv that might be worth breaking the rules for the first time in
his life—maybe even something worth sacrificing everything to keep.
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J. J. Lore bio:
J. J. Lore has been interested in the
dashing men who roam outer space since she was transfixed by Han Solo piloting
the Millennium Falcon a long time ago in a theatre far, far away. Sadly, there
is no way for her to join in the fun of intergalactic adventures unless she
writes them, so that’s what she does whenever she isn’t taking care of the
business of life. If you can’t find her typing madly on her sluggish keyboard,
she’s probably poking around in a thrift store searching for the perfect pair
of worn jeans or a vintage kachina bolo tie. These days she puts her
anthropology degree to work when she whips up dishes from many different
cultures, most of which benefit from a liberal dose of sriracha or a smear of
green curry paste. Her favorite reading topics are costume history,
epidemiology, and permaculture, all of which she’d like to work into a story if
she’s suddenly overcome with a brilliant idea someday.
Twitter: @JJLore1
Website: www.jjlore.com
Excerpt:
His cheek was pressed to
the soft rug on the floor. The material smelled faintly of perfumed wood, and
he wrinkled his nose, unhappy something pleasant was intruding on his misery.
To be the leader of the finest Creig raiding party one day and reduced to a
worthless prisoner the next was a fate he’d never envisioned for himself.
Sadness at his lost fellows settled over him in a cold wave, and he closed his
eyes tightly until the sensation passed.
A sudden awareness of
warm moisture on his body roused him, and he jerked upright as far as his
immobilized arms would allow. Was the Domidian urinating on him? With a growl
he sought the source of the sensation and was shocked to silence when he saw
the young officer trying to apply a wet cloth to the phase wound on his hip.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning this up. It
might become infected if I don’t.” The pretty boy gave him a measured glance,
then concentrated on the rent in his skin. Sagiv took a breath and tried to
hitch away but was brought up short by the manacles yet again. The Domidian’s
vigorous application of the cleaning cloth hurt, but Sagiv was determined not
to react. He might have fallen from his hard-fought stature as a skilled
warrior, but at least he wouldn’t flinch like a weakling when someone washed
his body.
“It looks as though you
endured blade cuts, blunt instrument strikes, and some sort of percussion
volley,” the Domidian said in a conversational tone. Sagiv gave him a glare
that would have sent one of his minions cowering to the floor. At least it
would have worked yesterday, when he still had underlings. Now his brother
Creig were dead, wasted in this futile raid made at the whim of an impulsive
master or three. His current condition didn’t matter; he was bred and trained
to serve and fight, not to think of his fate or wish for any different life.
The Domidian, for his part, merely absorbed the scowl with a slight smile.
Superior bastard. “I’m going to work on the most severe injuries first. Basic
triage. I have several accreditations in first aid and battlefield medical
treatment, so don’t worry for your health.”
The young man moved on
to the welts that covered his back, and Sagiv endured the ministrations with
teeth clenched, both to stop himself from making a pained sound and to prevent
the conversation this bare-chinned youth seemed to desire. As the Domidian’s
words sank in, he couldn’t help the question that sprang to mind.
“Heal me for the
execution?” Sagiv shook his head once. These damned Domidians had such perverse
notions. If only he’d been lucky and taken a phase bolt to the forehead
yesterday. The young officer stopped touching him, and his skin twitched.
“Execution?”
“Death to pirates,
that’s the code in the cold reaches of space.”
The Domidian laughed.
Sagiv craned his head to observe him. Even though he was brought low by his
defeat and loss of his collar, there was no way he was going to be mocked by a
spoiled boy.
“I follow a different
code. The Domidian code.” The young man moved closer and pressed his fingers
around the edge of the throbbing injury on Sagiv’s head.
Sagiv refused to flinch
and instead decided to scoff. “Oh, yes, the code whereby you decide everything
you do is correct and expect every other race you encounter to bow down before
your magnificence.”
The Domidian’s full lips
tightened and a spark lit up his eyes. “We cannot be other than what we are.”
“Arrogant whelp.” Sagiv’s
stomach dropped when the young man smiled broadly. What was he doing engaging
in conversation with the enemy? He was behaving as if they were at a rim world
tavern sharing a flagon, far from the concerns of Domid and Atavaq politics.
“Why are you treating me?”
He wanted to bite back
the words, especially when he saw the intent expression of the other man.
“It is my duty to care
for you. I have taken you as hostage proxy, and any ransom paid for your return
will be mine.”
“Then you will be sorely
disappointed.” Knowing that this boy would be deprived of even a small sum was
the only achievement he could muster at this point. A Creig was worth nothing
without the recommendation of a pleased master, without victories to bolster
his reputation. The Domidian shrugged and pulled out a small case. He flicked
it open, and Sagiv couldn’t help but look inside, sure he was going to see
implements of torture. Instead, there were bandages and creams. The Domidian
was going to help him. Pulling together the last shards of his dignity and
rage, Sagiv decided to remain silent. No need to treat the youngster as if they
were equals.
“You have a lot of
bruising and contusions. Did all of these wounds occur in the altercation
yesterday?”
Sagiv stared at the red
carpet. Altercation. What a fine word for a muddled mess that had cost him so
much. No, the majority of his injuries had been administered by his former
masters as they’d assaulted him in the brig after their humiliating capture. No
need to reveal that, or anything, to the Domidian. The young man waited a
polite interval, then continued to speak as if there was a normal conversation
to be had, all while he administered first aid.
“My name is Daran, of
the Eridia clan. If you tell me your name, I’ll be able to initiate contact
with your people and set up an exchange.” Daran waited for a response, but
Sagiv pressed his lips together. He didn’t have a people, only assignments.
Creig fighters existed on a different plane than civilian Atavaq, housed in
exclusive barracks and given the finest in weapons, nutrition, and training. He
jumped at the sensation of a warm ointment being carefully applied to the edges
of one of the throbbing welts on his back. The wounds felt ugly, but he hadn’t
been able to inspect them. Exactly what he deserved.
“I’m in service as a
science specialist. I’m hoping you can teach me more about your kind. I’m very
curious about you.”
Teach his enemy about
Creig ways? Betray Atavaq? He’d die first. As the Domidian continued his
treatment, Sagiv’s stomach boiled with regret and frustration. He slanted his
eye toward the officer to detect what he was about and saw the other man
frowning. Daran of the Eridia glanced up and hurriedly put a smile on his face.
“Your wounds, though
painful I’m sure, are going to heal well now that you are under care. I was
merely thinking about something else.”
The urge to ask what was
strong. Sagiv wasn’t sure if he was interested in gaining more information
about the enemy or genuinely intrigued by his unusual captor. The other man was
treating his wounds and speaking to him as if they were partners. Equals. As if
Sagiv wasn’t merely a tool to be repaired and sent back into service.
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