Warrior's Wife
Warriors’ Wife
Book two in the Seduction Mission series.
One of few women left on post-pandemic Earth, Tori travels west to help build a better future. On her journey a team of cyborgs capture her, knowing she is the key to change the course of history. A triad of mech warriors destined to be her mates arrives from the future just in time to save her, offering their protection. With no real choice, she accepts and the three men set out to win her heart.
The passion between the four is explosive, and the seductive mechs’ campaign succeeds. She falls in love with each man, surrendering her body, heart and soul. But a new cyborg team lies in wait for a chance to snatch Tori. When that opportunity arrives, she is taken, and her lovers are punished, forbidden contact with the woman they love—their rebellion punishable by death. But love dictates they track her to ensure her safety. Once again, the future invades the present, threatening to execute her triad. Only Tori can save her mates.
A Romantica®
futuristic
erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave
Warriors’ Wife
Evanne Lorraine
Chapter One
A couple of seconds shy of 2100 hours Friday night, Tori turned on the ignition, adjusted the headphones and held her breath. The shortwave scanner crackled to life with nothing but static.
She itched to fiddle with the tuner as if changing the frequency might pick up long-haul truckers’ friendly chatter, ham operators’ dry humor, or police dispatchers’ crisp requests. Those voices were silenced forever. Normal left the planet more than a year ago when a horrific pandemic spread throughout the population, making humans an endangered species.
Her hopes for marriage to a fellow soldier—a true warrior, and a family of her own vanished along with everyone she cared about or even knew. She shook off the wave of loneliness chilling her more than the autumn air.
The weekly ritual of listening to the broadcasts from the survivors’ group was her lifeline to sanity. The other woman’s message delivered a dose of hope in an irreparably broken world. At last her patience was rewarded.
“Please join us. We have shelter, food, clean water to share. We’re working together to rebuild a stronger civilization. We offer you a chance to help create a better world, plus lots of hard work. This is Minka broadcasting every Friday evening at eight o’clock from the Founders’ Compound in California. My men and I are at 38 degrees north and 122 degrees west. We need your help to make the dream of peace and prosperity for all true. We look forward to meeting you. Until then we wish you a good night and safe journey.” The woman’s soothing alto disappeared beneath the static.
Tori turned off the ignition and wondered for the umpteenth time what Minka meant by her men. Had she referred to the people banded together to form a society or something more personal?
A harmless mini-fantasy of being cherished by more than one drool-worthy man flickered across her mind, curving her lips. Not likely, but a little escapism kept grim reality more bearable. Later tonight she’d masturbate, imagining three faceless warriors filling every one of her empty holes. Lucky there was no charge for dreams.
If nothing else, the radio message promised she wasn’t the last woman on Earth. The few survivors she’d encountered had all been male. Lone men were frightening enough. They usually traveled in packs—much scarier. Had women and children been hit that much harder by the virus? Or were they cautiously staying out of sight? God knew she kept as far off the grid as possible.
She removed the headphones, replaced them with a helmet and picked up her vest, a light jacket and her utility belt. In addition to keeping her baggy camo pants from falling down, the waist holster held her Sig, two knives, space clips of ammo and a high-intensity pen light. Before exiting the Humvee, she checked each piece of equipment. Once outside the vehicle she finished dressing, layering the Kevlar over her t-shirt, pulling her braid over her shoulder, shrugging on the jacket and strapping on the utility belt. The military outfit was miles away from the clean, soft scrubs she’d worn when she worked as a trauma nurse in Lincoln Medical’s busy ER. Although, now that she thought about it, the cotton scrubs weren’t all that flattering either. She shrugged. There was no one she wanted to impress so her wardrobe didn’t matter.
After weeks with no sign of human life, last night she’d spotted a fire in the distance. During the small hours she’d used more of her dwindling gas to move the Humvee within a mile of the possible campsite. She prayed to a God she didn’t think listened that the survivors were friendly and had fuel to share. The odds were equally rotten on both counts.
The harsh reality of life since the contagion had crushed her optimism and made her cautious of strangers. And the world held nothing except strangers. An old memory of her laughing with her brothers rose unbidden. She brushed away the wetness beneath her eyes and shook off another wash of sadness threatening to incapacitate her. Hope flickered, too stubborn to die, pushing her forward.
The Humvee didn’t run on fumes, but she needed the gas hog. Thanks to a shrapnel fragment she’d acquired on her last tour in the Middle East, foot-powered events weren’t her forte. Sure the vehicle’s mileage sucked, but in the last eleven hundred odd miles she’d been shot at, rammed, and had a couple of Molotov cocktails tossed her way. Through every attack that had been thrown at her, the field transport unit kept rolling. Besides, she’d crammed the heavy military vehicle with vital medical supplies and everything else necessary for the rest of the trip.
Carefully, she palmed her cane and stepped away from her rig, locking the door with no more noise than a cricket chirp and pocketed the key. Just as silently, she crept through a tangle of weeds and the decaying stalks of last year’s corn crop that lined the highway instead of simply strolling into their camp and asking nicely for fifty gallons of joy juice.
The rotting vegetation still held a touch of warmth from the sun and gave off an oddly appealing scent, reminding her it was autumn again. She crept closer, careful not to disturb the dried corn husks and spotted the glow of a campfire. When she was within a hundred feet, the camp was still too dark for her to make out details, so she traded her helmet for tracker goggles. Careful to avoid the blaze, she scanned the outer circle. Thanks to the night-vision glasses she counted three tents—one larger than the others. In addition there were three motorcycles, a heavy-duty pickup and a trailer. All of them clustered near an honest-to-God fuel tanker. The discouraging math added up to five men guarding the juice dispenser.
The spark of hope in her chest hiccupped and wavered.
Movement snagged her attention. She refocused in time to see a guard at the rear of the tankers tuck a semi-automatic under his arm and light a smoke. Mr. Safety First’s lighter flare ruined her night vision, to say nothing of the way he’d spoiled her siphoning plan. The answer to her fuel prayers was heavily defended. Not exactly a news flash.
Frustrated by worse odds than usual, she tore off the goggles, squeezed her eyes shut, and rested her forehead on folded arms.
Something cold and damp nudged her face.
Her head snapped up and she bit back a scream.
A pair of shiny eyes, seated behind a long, cool snout, peered back at her, and a pink tongue lolled past lots of bright-white, pointy teeth.
Perfect, the tanker boys had a dog. Any second now the fur ball would figure out it didn’t know her and sound the alarm. Her heart made like it was qualifying for the Indianapolis 500. She fought panic that would make her odds of getting back to camp alive even suckier.
A burly figure emerged from the center tent and strode toward the guard. “Hey, Tank, seen Rufus?”
“Fucker’s probably tracking some kind of rodent.”
“Hope he pukes on ’em.”
The fur ball, a small mixed breed with a lot of sheltie snuggled against her side and lowered his head to his paws.
His owners were loud and scary, but at least they took care of their dog. His coat was soft, snarl-free and smelled as if he’d spent the day being pampered at some fancy doggy spa.
Tori whispered, “Rufus, I presume? That’s a lousy name for a decent pup like you. Stick with me and I’ll think of something better.”
He thumped his tail in quiet agreement. Smart dog.
The stocky guy stomped back to the tent.
Slowly she edged backward through the rough stalks. The pup followed her example, weaving carefully between the broken rows. She waited until the campsite was well out of sight before she straightened, turned her back to the tanker boys and used her cane to hitch back to her rig.
The night air grew chilly, but she lingered outside, braced against a tire. Her defense would give her enough warning to dive into the vehicle if the tanker boys came looking for their mascot.
She poured water into a shallow bowl, nudged the container toward the dog and bit off a piece of beef jerky for her new friend. “You’re a little on the scrawny side, but definitely clever and discriminating.”
Another tail thump agreed with her or maybe it was a mark of jerky appreciation. The dog dropped the piece she’d given him between his paws, watched her with bright eyes and made no move to eat the meat or drink the water.
“It’s not exactly what you’re used to? It’s good.” She demonstrated with a slow bite and exaggerated, thorough chewing accompanied by plenty of appreciative hums.
Rufus cocked his head at her and kept his piece safe between his small, white paws.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged. After the rest of the meat was gone, she allotted herself a slice of dried apple then finished off the canteen.
Tori rubbed Rufus’ fluffy chest, stood and coaxed the cramps out of her bad leg. The twisted muscles protested her weight. With a sigh she retrieved her walking stick before patrolling the perimeter to check her early-warning system. A line of dark twine stretched in a rough circle around the copse where she was parked. Every fifteen to twenty feet a small collection of lightweight trash, mostly empty food cans, made a racket if the rope were cut or bumped.
Satisfied her defenses were in place; Tori stopped and massaged her still-aching calf muscles. She straightened and grinned at Rufus. His quiet company lightened her heart. “Let’s head back, time to hit the sack for a nap, pal. We’re rolling out of here at o-four-hundred. Keep your eyes peeled tomorrow for anything with a fuel pump, ’kay?”
A shimmer of light jerked her attention to the right. Three beams of glittering particles appeared and grew denser. The effect was as if someone controlled glistening rain drops in tight, almost human, shapes. The show ended as abruptly as it began. A slight charge in the air, like a coming storm, was the only sign she hadn’t hallucinated the entire incident in some kind of weird
Star Trek
flashback.
The pup hadn’t made a sound, so maybe she had imagined the strange glimmer. A sudden fear she couldn’t trust her senses made her chin tremble. She clenched her jaw and limped toward the Humvee. Way past her naptime.
Millions of stars glowed in the clear night sky, but they didn’t illuminate a damn thing. The trees creaked menacingly in a gust of north wind and the shadows seemed to deepen and loom closer. Dry grass and crumbling leaves padded the ground and made her footfalls silent. The crack of a twig startled her. When nothing else happened, she let out a relieved breath and quickened her steps.
In a few hours, she’d be on the move again, willing to risk the exposure of the open highway to put some distance between her and the tanker boys. The half-moon cleared the horizon and gleamed off the rig’s windshield. The vehicle’s promise of safe shelter cheered her like a welcome-home banner.
A warm palm covered her mouth at the same time her feet left the ground and her arms were banded to her sides.
She reared back, head-butting her captor in the face. No reaction, not even a grunt of pain, from her assailant. She bit and kicked. His flesh had an odd plastic taste and her heels hit something more like steel than human shins.
Panic surged through her bloodstream, giving her a burst of strength. She wrenched an arm free and grabbed the first weapon she reached—the Ka-bar TDI—and rammed the blade into her attacker’s gut.
Still no grunt of pain, just an angry hiss and some strange sparks. No matter how tough he was, a knife in the belly had to hurt.
The palm over her mouth loosened and she dropped.
Her bad leg crumpled. She hit so hard her diaphragm spasmed and she couldn’t draw a breath.
“Watch it, we need her alive, she’s worth more than our entire team.” The words were laced with authority, clearly from the leader.
“Bitch stabbed me, Sly. Something…” More sullen hissing accompanied his flat whine until the sound effects ground to a full stop.
“Get over here, Tank. Rocky’s shorting out.” The leader spoke rapidly, but with the same odd lack of inflection.
Just a second… Humans don’t short out from a stab wound.
So what just grabbed me, alien androids?
Her eyes darted frantically. Voices came from behind her, but they might as well have been in the next county. The full range of her mobility was limited to rolling her peepers, blinking and struggling to breathe.
“Get the damage checked out. I’ll take care of the woman.”
A cold nose nudged her cheek.
“Nice work, Rufus.” An arm reached past her face to touch the dog and the furry body stopped moving.
Finally she drew a sharp breath with a gasp. Before she gathered enough strength to roll away, a hand clamped on her shoulder, holding her in place. Something colder than the fake pup’s snout pinched her neck.
The millions of stars glowing in the night sky darkened. Utter blackness covered her like a shroud.
* * * * *
“Thank God you made it back.” Nigel’s usually friendly face had acquired shadows and deep lines, since Gideon last saw the director of the Guardians of History Agency.
Nigel hadn’t asked a question. As the first among equals, Gideon felt compelled to respond for the triad. Fully expecting to be melted down for scrap, he straightened to rigid attention, flipped up his face shield and saluted. “Yes sir. We failed to solidify at the insertion coordinates.”
A tech assistant hurried to Nigel’s side. “Please sit, sir. You’re not going to help this triad by collapsing.”