Mystic may
be the second book in the Cat Star Legacy series (the twelfth in the
Cat Star Chronicles world), but it marks the first to have a guy on the
cover who actually looks like an alien! Granted, he doesn't have the
long spiral curls of the typical Zetithian, but check out the cat-like
eyes and pointed ears!
Not only that, it's also the first of my books to get a reasonably good review from Publishers Weekly. (Read the full review
here).
I've
been having some health issues lately, so perhaps I haven't been as
enthusiastic about this release as I have been with other books, but the
release of a new book is still a big deal, and spotting your book in
Barnes & Noble or Walmart is pretty damn cool. I recall getting a
bit weak in the knees when I first found
Slave (Cat Star Chronicles #1) in my local B&N. That doesn't happen anymore, and although
Mystic
could end up being my last published book (I'm working on a third in
the series, but it's nowhere near ready to send to an editor), I believe
it's one of my best.
Anthropologist Sulaksha Enduran
is still reeling from the death of her lover, who died as they studied the
primitive inhabitants of a newly discovered planet. Sula is determined to find
answers on her own—until an impossibly sexy Zetithian saves her life and joins
her quest.
Despite the prescient abilities
and power over the wind that enable Zetithian mystic Aidan Banadänsk to rescue the
human woman from certain death, he couldn’t predict Sula’s unique effect on him.
It shrouds her future in mystery…and fills him with unparalleled desire.
But Sula’s investigation has put
her in the crosshairs of a deadly conspiracy. With an entire planet’s population
at stake, Sula and Aidan must risk it all to save the planet, the galaxy…and
each other…
Chapter 1
In a vision, Aidan had watched her fall, disappearing through a
fissure in the rock as the ground gave way beneath her, her screams
reverberating through his mind like the tumbling roar of an avalanche.
Although most people would’ve dismissed it as a dream, he knew the
terrifying vision for what it was: a portent of a future event, which was not
uncommon among his kind. Therefore, she hadn’t fallen—yet. The trouble was he
didn’t know whether he was supposed to prevent the accident or rescue her after
she fell.
He’d spent the last week flying over the cliffs, his keen eyes
searching the jumbled boulders for any sign that she’d ever been there. Thus
far, he’d found nothing. No trace of any life aside from the cliff-dwelling
condors and the assorted rodents that were widespread in the remote mountains
of Rhylos.
But the vision… He’d seen it four times now. This was the right
place. He was certain of it. More certain, perhaps, than he’d ever been of
anything.
He skimmed over the plateau before swooping down over the edge of
the cliffs—jagged rock fit only as a nesting place for the huge condors, which
had been named for an extinct Terran species. Some said they looked similar,
and, having seen pictures, he agreed. However, these birds were even larger than
the original condors had been, and they defended their nests with a ferocity
few avian species could match.
His vision had been maddeningly vague. He should’ve at least known
why she was there. Was she studying the condors? Or was she simply trying to find
their nests in order to steal the eggs? He couldn’t think of any other reasons
why anyone would venture so far from civilization to this, one of the few
uninhabited regions of the planet. Neither of those reasons seemed important
enough to warrant a vision. Visions came when they wished; he had no control
over their timing or their topics. The only thing he could control was the
wind, enabling him to don a pair of wings and create updrafts strong enough to
carry him aloft.
Only Valkyrie, the Avian clone, knew of his flights. Val would’ve
hidden his own talent if he’d been able to remove his wings, but his were as
much a part of him as his other limbs. No genetic manipulations could undo what
had already been done to him.
As Aidan flew back up the cliff face, a flash of light on the
plateau caught his eye—the effect of sunlight on metal. Something was moving
down there. Something he’d only seen because of his vantage point high in the
sky.
And there she is…
How he’d missed her before he couldn’t imagine, especially on the
open mountainside, unless it wasn’t quite as open as it appeared. As she
climbed up the edge of the plateau as though ascending a staircase, the air
crackled around him like a thousand tiny lightning bolts. The moment had come.
He flew lower, hovering effortlessly, letting the wind do the work
while he studied her approach. A backpack and other accoutrements were strapped
to her upper body. Everything she wore—from her wide-brimmed hat, leather
jacket, and khaki trousers, down to a pair of dusty boots suitable for
climbing—was the same color as the rocks, causing her to blend in with her
surroundings in a manner that seemed strangely covert.
A visual sweep of the plain revealed no speeder or other conveyance
nearby. Had she hiked into the wilderness?
When she looked up, his eyes met hers—huge, expressive, and
brown—with an impact that nearly caused him to fall out of the sky.
In the split second before he shouted a warning, she slipped from
view, leaving nothing behind beyond a puff of dust that feathered away to
nothingness even as he plummeted toward her, his heart pounding like a drum. He
chastised himself as he flew; he’d assumed he was there to save her when, in
all probability, he’d actually been the cause of her misstep.
A condor’s harsh cry made him alter his route from the plateau where
she’d disappeared down to the opening in the cliff face and the cavern into
which she had undoubtedly fallen. He soared through the opening just as he’d
seen the condors do. Unfortunately, he’d only come prepared to rescue her,
carrying a knife, a length of rope, a sling made of leather straps and
carabiners, and a comlink. He hadn’t counted on having to get past an angry
condor with murderous talons and a razor-sharp beak.
Correction. Make that two condors
and a nest full of eggs. At least he assumed there
were eggs in the nest. He couldn’t see for sure, although given the female’s
protective stance, he deemed it a safe bet. “Son of a bitch.”
Fortunately, the female seemed disinclined to move from her position
on the nest. The male, however, was already advancing on the woman’s crumpled
body. Against the far wall of the cave below the crack in the plateau, she lay
unmoving amid the rubble that had fallen with her. A soft moan told him she
still lived.
No doubt the condor, which was easily twice her size, intended to
change that.
Focusing his attention on the huge bird, he created a gust of wind
with a sweep of his arm, sending the condor fluttering to the side of the cave
where his nest and mate were situated between two upright slabs of rock.
Undaunted and angrier than ever, the condor hissed and began
stalking toward him. Aidan really didn’t like the idea of killing or even
injuring the bird, but he might not have a choice. Taking advantage of the
bird’s position, which was now between him and the mouth of the cave, he
created another gust that sent the bird flapping out into the open air.
One glance was enough to inform him that this woman was quite small.
Val could’ve carried her easily. Never having flown with more than his own
weight, Aidan wasn’t sure he was up to the task. His own physical strength
wasn’t the only factor. The wings and their harness were sturdy but not
unbreakable. Not for the first time, he wished his wings were a part of him the
way Val’s were, although when it came to sitting and sleeping, wings large
enough to enable a man to fly tended to get in the way.
Upon reaching her side, he recoiled immediately when he spotted what
he took to be a snake but was actually a leather bullwhip.
He almost laughed aloud. “Who do
you think you are? Indiana Jones?”
Upon closer inspection, her outfit was exactly the same as that worn
by the fictional archaeologist. For trekking through the mountains, such garb
was quite practical, although the resemblance to “Indy” ended there. She was
small and undeniably female, with shiny black hair that had been braided back
from her face and pinned into a twisted knot at her nape. His gaze swept over
her exotically beautiful face, taking in the rich brown of her skin, the
fullness of her lips, and the lovely arch of her brows.
“No,” she murmured. “I am Sula.” Her eyelids fluttered, and she let
out a gasp. “Are you an angel, come to take me to Raj?”
Given his feathered wings and long, golden curls, her assumption was
reasonable enough, although not many people believed in angels anymore.
“Hadn’t planned on it,” he replied. “Who’s Raj?”
***
An angel wouldn’t have asked who Raj was. An
angel would’ve known.
Then again, he hadn’t said whether he was an angel. He’d only claimed
he wasn’t planning to take her to Raj.
Pain soon expunged any doubts from Sula’s mind. Had she been on her
way to the afterlife prior to being reincarnated into another form, she doubted
the body of her current life would’ve troubled her quite so much. Therefore, he
was no angel—certainly not like any angel she’d ever heard about.
Nor was he like any living being she’d ever seen. A man with pointed
ears, feline eyes, and enormous wings? Unless the wings weren’t real. They’d
certainly looked real when he’d been sailing through the sky above her. Plenty
of black and gray white-tipped feathers, arranged row upon row like those of a
bird. Or was she confusing him with the birds in the cave? In the short time
before she’d passed out, she’d seen drawings of them on the cave wall, being
hunted by primitive humanoids. She’d finally found the evidence she’d been
searching for.
The question was, could she ever find it again?
The warm sunshine beating down on her face was proof enough that she
was no longer in the cave. She wasn’t lying in a pile of stones, either. The
ground beneath her was relatively soft, and a gentle breeze carried the
fragrance of fresh, green grass to her nose—a smell quite unlike the dank odor
peculiar to caves, particularly those inhabited by birds.
Her leg still pained her, although she could tell that it was at
least lying straight. The initial shock of the break that had brought on her
fainting spell had passed. She was thirsty, almost to the point that her tongue
seemed cemented to the roof of her mouth. An attempt to moisten her lips
failed.
Within moments, a hand slipped behind her head, and a cup was held
to her lips. As the cool water soothed her parched mouth, she recalled doing
the same for Raj in the last hours of his life.
Dear, sweet Raj. So intelligent, such a promising student, and the
one man she would never forget. The love of her life—or rather, the lost
love of her life—and she’d had to watch him die.
She’d been helpless to prevent his death or even ease his suffering.
The aftereffects of the disease were nearly as bad. Within hours, even his body
was gone; nothing remained of him aside from the clothes he’d been wearing and
a pile of dust that was soon scattered by the wind.
Surrounded by an eerie silence, she’d returned to their ship. Purely
out of habit, she’d gone through the decontamination process. The scanner
proclaimed her to be free of disease, although she hadn’t been sure she could
trust even that. She and Raj had gone through a similar process prior to their
departure, and yet Raj had been among the first to fall ill. They’d had minimal
contact with the natives, observing rather than interacting with them directly.
Granted, they’d barely begun their study before Raj began to feel sick, but on
the whole, the natives had seemed industrious and intelligent and appeared to
live together in relative harmony. Rather strange in appearance, perhaps, but
that was to be expected.
Not nearly as strange as her rescuer. Despite being somewhat afraid
to take another look, she opened her eyes a teensy bit.
The wings were gone.
So they weren’t real after all.
The long golden curls remained, as did the peculiar eyes. Rather
than the usual dark, round pupils, his were vertical slits that emitted a soft,
golden glow. His ears came to a point like those of a storybook elf, and a pair
of straight brows slanted up toward his temples.
“Glad you’re awake,” he said. Then he smiled, revealing his sharp
fangs.
A scream had nearly left her throat when she remembered something
from her studies that caused her to gasp instead—a textbook description of a
nearly extinct species of feline humanoids.
“You’re Zetithian.”
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