Worlds Apart 2: Hunter's Revenge

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Hunter’s Revenge

Copyright
ã
2007 Bonnie Rose Leigh

ISBN: 1-55410-995-7

Cover art and design by Martine Jardin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by eXtasy Books

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www.extasybooks.com

Dedication:

My thanks go to fellow authors Jennifer Loy, Antonia Pearce and
Tianna
Xander
for their valuable input as I wrote this manuscript.
 
I’d also like to thank my beta reader for her help in getting this book ready.
 
And of course, I can’t forget the man in my life, Chris, who even through illness and strife, has stayed by my side, encouraging me in all that I do.

Prologue

Brantiff
Shi’Lan, King of
Chantrea
, sat at his throne holding his mate’s hand as he watched the festivities going on around him. His youngest son, Taliff danced with his new
Earther
-
Lionese
mate, Eve. What a strong, proud woman this Eve was.
So courageous.
She would be a strong mate to his son, and would not only be good for Taliff personally, but would be good for
Chantrea
.

He turned to his mate,
Luma
.
Smiled at her as he raised their entwined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
It had taken their kidnapping for him to see just what a strong woman he’d mated with. For so long, he’d taken her for granted, ignored her strengths, using her only as a vessel for his seed. Only during captivity did he finally get to know and love his mate. That was a damn crime, in his opinion.

Now if only Hunter could find someone who would make him as happy as Eve has made Taliff and his own mate,
Luma
, made him. Where was Hunter anyway?

He searched the crowd until he finally spotted him, leaning against the wall, watching his brother and Eve dance.
Brantiff
put his hand to his chin and watched his eldest thoughtfully. What thoughts could possibly put such a desolate expression on his face?

* * * *

In the farthest corner of the room, away from the surging crowd, Hunter sighed wistfully as he watched his brother and Eve dance. His mate was out there somewhere. It was only a matter of time before he brought her home. Easing away from the wall, Hunter left the others behind and made his way to his suite. He had packing to do.

Chapter One

Above the ice planet,
Visara
…

Hunter Shi’Lan, former High King and now, once again, Crown Prince and heir to the throne of
Chantrea
, stared down at the barren planet below him. Tension ran through his body, causing the beast within to stir and stretch. If he didn’t get a grip on his emotions soon, he would end up shifting into his
Lionese
form right here in the middle of the command deck of the
Manruvian
Warship,
Victory
.

He could feel her--feel his mate. He didn’t know her. Didn’t know her name or what she looked like, but somewhere below, on a planet of ice and snow, his lady mate awaited him.

He shuddered, imagining all the horrors she could even now be suffering. He had no doubt that the rebels had raped her, probably repeatedly over the course of her imprisonment. Such was the fate of every one of the unfortunate females kidnapped by the infamous Black Rose and her demented followers—those who were unlucky enough to survive their capture, anyway. At least six of the women from his brother’s ship were below, according to the microscopic tracking devices Taliff had inserted into their bloodstreams when they'd left Earth.

Once he freed the women held captive within the subterranean caverns, he would finally meet the
one
woman whose injured spirit had called to him across the vast emptiness of space. Even now, he could feel intense pain crawling through her body, sense her waning spirit, feel her tears of grief and rage in his mind—as he had for the last three lunar cycles.

Three moon rotations of her suffering had about driven him mad, enraging the lion within who roared his anger, his thirst for vengeance. How had she survived such torment for so long? Even now, he knew of the insidious whispers in her mind, telling her it was best to end her life. She felt she would be better off dead—and in the hands of the Black Rose, it was true. But soon, he would have her, hold her in his arms, and somehow he would make everything all right again. He had to.

“Excuse me, Prince Shi’Lan?”

Startled out of his dark thoughts, he growled then turned toward the
Manruvian
warrior standing behind him.
“Yes, Sander?”

“Prince
Logann
is requesting your presence in his private quarters.”

Hunter nodded then turned his gaze back toward the viewport. “Tell him I’ll be there momentarily.”

“Yes,
your
Highness.”

Braced against the viewport with one arm, Hunter lifted his free hand to run his fingers down the
transomani
—
the translucent and indestructible material the
Manruvians
developed to mimic windows. Close. He was so close to being able to touch her this way.

His gut twisted. He needed to remind himself that she’d be traumatized and no matter how much he would want to hold her, explore her body, he’d have to proceed slowly. She would fear him. She would fear any male. He’d die before he purposely inflicted harm upon her.

Straightening away from the portal, Hunter tucked his hands in the pockets of his uniform pants.
“Soon, my mate.
Soon, I’ll bring you home where you belong.” With one last glance at the icy planet below, he turned and walked away.

* * * *

Amy Morgan lifted her bruised and battered head when she heard the groaning creak of the opening door. Not another man. Not again. She couldn't take another one so soon after the last. Already she felt as though she would never heal from the numerous injuries she'd suffered during these animals’ attempts at impregnating her. How did they ever expect a woman to survive, to carry a child to term? If she
were
to become pregnant here, her child would never draw its first breath. She was certain of it. And, if it were a female, would she have the heart, the strength, to smother her in her sleep to spare her this fate?

“Please, Goddess, just let me die,” she sobbed into the dirty mattress as she felt the bed dip beneath yet another man’s weight. She tried to shift away from the new arrival, helpless to stop the agonized groan when even the slightest movement sent shards of burning pain through her abdomen.

A tender hand pushed the hair from her face and she cried for she knew she must be dreaming. No man residing in this hole they all called the ‘land of promise’ had such capacity for gentleness.

"Please, please don't touch me," she sobbed onto the stained mattress. "If you ever loved your mother, your sister, take pity and kill me when you're through with me."

The large hand splayed over her back, gently rubbed soft circles on her bruised flesh. It wasn't the first time one of them tried to trick her with the illusion of gentleness. She wouldn't fall for it this time. Not again—never again would they trick her into believing they cared for her welfare. It took a while, but now she knew these animals didn’t know the meaning of true gentleness. She wondered if any man truly did. The men here didn’t have an ounce of compassion between them. They liked to hear her beg them to help her escape, to return her to her home world, Earth. Hell would even be better than here.

She'd been tortured, abused, raped several times a day since they kidnapped her from the ship that stole her from her home. She longed to hear her mother’s voice again. Wished she could be home, held in her father’s arms. He may have been strict, but he’d loved her, protected her from animals just like these.

Her body ached, sometimes bled from each encounter. One day ran into the next and she just wanted to rest. To die would be preferable to having countless men rape her day in and day out.

The hand stopped its soothing motion and she knew it would begin again. She clamped her mouth shut, determined not to scream. They always liked it when she screamed.

“
Ssshh
...
Moya
, do not cry so. Your ordeal is over. It’s time to take you home.”

She shuddered. She couldn’t bear to listen to the soothing rasp of his voice, wouldn’t dare to believe he had come to help her escape. Thoughts like those led to madness.

She felt the air stir beside her, felt the bed rise once the male behind her stood. The air whooshed out of her lungs when she realized she might actually get a reprieve. Why wasn’t he groping her, ripping the sheet from her body, shoving her legs open and rutting on her? Or was this just a way to catch her off guard?

Minutes passed and the silence lengthened. The tension in her shoulders, her spine, began to ease. He must have left. Why would he leave before he got what he wanted? Wasn’t impregnation in the attempt to breed more females the entire reason they’d kept her locked behind iron doors?

Only when she was sure he’d left did she completely relax and ease away from the rough cavern wall. Despite the tortuous pain moving caused her, she rolled to her back and forced open her swollen and bruised eyes.

“There you
are,
moya
. What is your name, little one?”

Oh, God. Why didn’t she realize he’d never left? Were her senses now failing her just as her body had? “Why?”

Through heavily swollen eyes, she watched the large man make his way toward her. She gasped, in fear, in confusion. His face… His face looked so familiar. Yet, it didn’t quite fit in her memories. He looked wrong, somehow.

Why couldn’t she remember him? Had the continued beatings affected her memory? Did she even know him or had she finally cracked? Perhaps she had a concussion. With as many times as they’d beat her, she wouldn’t be surprised to find she had brain damage.

There was no time to figure it out as he moved closer and closer. Her heart stuttered in her chest. She tasted the fear in her throat. Even now, knowing he couldn’t possibly do anything different than the others, she feared his touch. Why couldn’t she just lose herself and grow used to it as she’d been told so many of the others had? She’d been told some of them actually welcomed the men to their beds. She shuddered at the thought. Before she could prepare to defend herself, he leaned over her, reached out with his large hands—hands that were scarred, calloused, rough looking. They were hands that could crush her with a single blow. How had she ever thought he would be gentle?