Blood Moons
Authors: Alianne Donnelly
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Adventure
Blood Moons
by Alianne Donnelly
Atlantic Bridge
www.atlanticbridge.net
Copyright ©2010 by Alianne Donnelly
First published in 2010
NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others.
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CONTENTS
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* * * *
Blood Moons
by Alianne Donnelly
Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana.
Copyright 2010, Alianne Donnelly. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
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Blurb
They say no good deed ever goes unpunished, a sentiment Dara understands fully now that she is paying for a crime she didn't commit. It was stupid to call in a murder she didn't really
see
. But how could Dara have kept silent? Now a stunning—scratch that, a
dangerous
—man with a frightening secret of his own is telling her he can help. Yeah, right. A telepath knows better than to trust mere words.
The last decade of Tristan's life has been penance. All that time spent among the worst dregs of society might have made him begin to question his humanity, but he's never felt so much like an animal as he does around this timid, delicate female. Her very presence stirs the beast within him; Tristan can feel it growing stronger every day. Any more time with Dara, and it might overpower him completely. But without her, he stands no chance at all...
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To Ms. Lyn Isbell, whose encouragement led me here.
You believed I would be a published writer one day, and you were right.
I am honored to have had the privilege of being in your class. I am a better writer and human being for having known you.
Facilis descensus Averni:
noctes atque dies patet atri ianua Ditis;
sed revocare gradium superasque evadere ad auras.
Hoc opus, hic labor est.
It is easy to go down into Hell:
night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air—
there's the rub, the task.
Virgil
The Aeneid,
Book VI
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27th day of the 3rd Blood Moon, 3028
The man behind the desk didn't notice the two guards and their prisoner approaching. He was bobbing his head in rhythm to the music coming from his tiny music player while he filled out forms, consulting the computer screen a few times. He sang out a couple of words in a high-pitched voice that cracked. It didn't seem to bother him that he was singing offbeat—and why should it? He was there by himself.
Dara winced listening to him. He was a terrible singer, but at least his voice drowned out the other ones—those in her head.
Can't believe I pulled transport duty...
If we get out of here in time, I can make the flight to Lotus
Three...
...cares about one chick, anyway...
...the beaches are snow-white...
Dara squeezed her eyes shut.
I'm not hearing you...
...and the best thing—no sharks. Ha! A deep blue ocean,
and no sharks!
She massaged her temples, humming a tune in her mind.
The one the clerk was listening to. It was all she had to distract herself with.
It wasn't enough. Desperate now for a break from the constant chatter, she went over everything the guards had let slip from their minds. Facts were her saving grace. Facts gave 8
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the rest of it meaning, so she didn't have to drown in the flood of random thoughts.
The bigger guard was the one in charge. His rank was higher. His name was Michael J. Jennings; he was thirty-nine years old, married with a kid on the way, and he thought guard duty was a short stick he'd gotten in some sick universal draw. His idea of dealing with criminals was shooting them in the head.
Impatient, Jennings cleared his throat.
The clerk didn't notice.
Fucking lazy-ass bureaucrat!
Dara flinched.
Facts.
The other guard was a newbie and this was his first prisoner run. He annoyed Jennings because he kept jabbering on and on about vacation spots he would go to the next time he had some time off. He was young, fresh out of the academy—or wherever it was that people went to learn how to strike terror into someone with just a look or gesture.
Charles Timmons. He still thought the world was his oyster.
Still hadn't realized that none of the places he talked about were affordable for a guard of his station, and all the talking about it made Jennings even more miserable.
Jennings cleared his throat again, this time banging his ham-sized fist against the metal net that separated them from the clerk.
The clerk jumped, dropped his pen, and pushed away from the desk so abruptly that the wheeled chair carried him nearly to the end of the room. "Goddamn! Show some respect, man," he complained. The headphones came off his ears.
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"Get up off your ass, and do your job," Jennings growled in return. "We have more work to do today." He was cracking his knuckles again. He'd done that the entire way here—that, and pat his gun like some sort of talisman—and Dara gritted her teeth, wishing the clerk would sing again.
...fucking shithead cop,
Dara picked up from the clerk. She agreed wholeheartedly. "Awrightawright," he said. "No need to shout at the brotha." He left his chair behind as he stood up and returned to his desk to check the prisoner in. Once the surly Jennings signed the form, both he and his partner made their exit, leaving Dara alone to face the clerk.
The clerk put his headphones back on, but turned the volume down on his music. When he faced her again, he grinned and said in a mocking TV announcer voice, "Welcome to the sunny New Alaska underground prison facility." He was holding an imaginary microphone to his mouth. "As our final contestant, you get a pick out of our five very luxurious blocks." Bobbing his head again, he passed her five brochures in a bunch and Dara was morbidly glad for his sense of humor. She hadn't enjoyed much laughter lately. Not since this had all begun.
The chief of police had stood as witness both for her and against her. Ultimately, it had been his voice that had condemned her. At first, she'd been glad. She'd wanted it all to be over. But then he had stood up again and pleaded with the court to spare her life. Once more, his voice had been heard and, instead of a death sentence, she had received life in a maximum security prison on Alpha Beta Nine, better known as New Alaska.
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She really wished they'd just killed her and had done with it.
The planet was ten light years from Earth and no easy journey. The prison itself was underground.
Dara picked technical information out of the clerk's mind without giving it conscious thought. Turning her attention to the pamphlets the clerk had given her, she simply glanced at the covers, not bothering to flip through them. That she was even being given a choice was baffling. But Dara supposed that it didn't really matter in the end. Prisons didn't get more maximum security than this.
Each pamphlet had a name on it and an animal symbol.
Each animal meant a different level of security. There was a hamster, a hummingbird, and cat for the lower security blocks, and a human and wolf for maximum security. But if there was any real difference between them, Dara couldn't see it. As she looked at the pictures, the clerk followed her gaze and she could easily read their descriptions from his mind.
Hummin' bird's got all the hot chicks. Hamster's all crooks
and accountants. Hate those fucking pricks. Kitty cat ... soap
opera twenty-four seven.
"Make your choice," he said cheerfully, still in character.
Wouldn't wanna be caught in
human ... But wolf...
"Time's a'tickin'." He was still grinning as he executed a small salsa step and turned full circle on the ball of one foot with a flourish.
But he stopped and his smile faded when he noticed her pointing at one of the pamphlets. "The wolf," he said, eying her doubtfully. "That is
maximum
maximum security, lady.
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Ain't no one there but messed-up motherfuckers."
Be kidding.
Please.
Didn't make a difference. Dara didn't reply, only kept pointing.
"You sure? I was thinking more along the lines of the hummin' bird, or cat. I mean, men and women are kept together, sure, but there's only three in Wolf block. And two hundred men."
Again, she didn't reply. This was where she wanted to go.
Didn't know why, only knew that she had to. It was an instinct so strong, she was afraid to go against it.
Accountants, hot chicks, soap operas ... he hadn't thought anything about Wolf block.
"Think about this, lady," he tried again, the jovial announcer gone. He really wanted her to change her mind.
"The guards only step in when the men fight. They ain't gonna risk their necks for a woman. Shit, for a sweet thing like you, they might even be worse than the inmates."
Now he was making her nervous. She couldn't tell from his mind whether he was just being dramatic, or really concerned for her safety. He wasn't thinking in words at the moment, just silently willing her to point to something else. Dara looked over the choices one more time. None of them drew her as that one did. She met his gaze again, made her own calm and steady, and nodded once.
"You'll be dead or worse within a week," he told her, enunciating each word with cruel precision. "Once you give a thumbprint, that's it. Ain't no such thing as transfers."