Huntress of the Star Empire Part 3 The Catch: Huntress of the Star Empire, #3

By Athena Grayson

Part 3: The Catch

He’s her captive…and her best chance to discover the truth.

Micah’s mission to strike at the Union takes on dangerous complications when his suspicions about Treska’s mysterious past are confirmed. Treska's secret could hold the key to breaking the Union’s uncanny stranglehold on the star system...but at the cost of her mind.

The Union gave Treska an identity and purpose she could believe in, but outside of its influence, she’s forced to question not only the official policies, but her own beliefs about psypaths, especially Micah. Rather than laying her doubts to rest, the arrival of a Union battle cruiser pulls Treska into a web of deceit with her identity at its center.

The line between allies and enemies blurs when you can't even trust your own mind.

About the Huntress

She always gets her man...

Ever since she was found in the aftermath of alien attacks, Treska Sivekka has been trained to one purpose--to hunt down threats to the security of the Union that gave her an identity. But when the Union's biggest threat inspires desire, and not fear, it’s going to take all her training to protect her principles against his persuasive onslaught.

The Huntress's neuro-collar and repulsor cuffs may keep Micah bound to her mercy, but they can't stop him from challenging her convictions, and the lies she's been told about his people. But when the secrets surrounding her own missing memories begin to reveal themselves, he may be the only one she can trust.

Pursued across the star system by the Huntress, helpless as his psionically-talented brethren were brought down one by one, Micah Ariesis must sacrifice himself in a sketchy revolutionary plot aimed at the Union’s heart, but the mystery surrounding his pursuer's mysterious origins puts danger to a much closer heart—his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Uncharted Worlds Media
• Release date: Aug 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516387199

Book preview

by

Athena Grayson

Copyright Notice

© 2015 Jen Sokoloski. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published by Uncharted Worlds Media. unchartedworldsmedia.com

Cover Artwork: Steven Novak Illustration

About The Huntress

She always gets her man…

Treska Sivekka is known as the Huntress — the Union's most skilled bounty hunter. She knows no other life than capturing the treacherous psypaths whose mental abilities pose a security threat to the government she loves and serves. When she captures Micah Ariesis and claims the bounty on his head, her mission will be complete.

But getting him in handcuffs was the easy part. Every scumbag in the star system wants a piece of Micah, and she's got to keep the last psypath out of their grubby claws—and out of her own mind—long enough to get him back to the Capitol. Even if his abilities might hold the key to unlocking her own missing past.

If you like fast-paced action, satisfying romantic tension, and breathtaking sci-fi worlds, then you'll love this sizzling space opera.

Huntress of the Star Empire is a space opera adventure with sizzle. For more about the series, visit www.athenagrayson.com/huntress or join the Private Readers’ Group at readers.athenagrayson.com/StarEmpire and receive notification of new releases right to your inbox.

Find Athena: athenagrayson.com | Facebook | Twitter | Private Readers’ Group

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―›»●♦◊♦●«‹―

Episode 7: Double-Edged Sword

Objective Reassessment

The fury of having lost his prey burned in Sharpclaw’s veins and his claws extended from their sheaths to slice the upholstery on his command chair. The prey is lost? To those avians? Find them. Shred them. Leave nothing but their bones. And execute the incompetents that lost them.

Sir?

Never mind. He rose from the ruined chair. I’ll go myself.

―›»●♦◊♦●«‹―

Brezeen’s booth rattled with the impact of a Riktorian body slamming into it. Female, Sharpclaw growled. I will have you skinned for the theft of my prey.

Brezeen brought out the blaster strapped beneath the plumage of her thigh. I don’t think so.

Sharpclaw’s troops stepped out from behind their cover to her left and right. But I do, Sharpclaw said.

The avian’s eyes narrowed and she backwinged. Well, then, shall we draw? And see which of us drops first? Can your men drop me before I drop their leader?

I will rend you myself. Sharpclaw’s claws came up to her throat. I will not lose my honor and my quarry to a stupid bird!

Brezeen’s feathers rippled. As I have no such ridiculous notions of honor, I’ll simply pull my trigger and blow a hole in your gut that will stink up this joint for days. Either way, we’ll both be dead, and you’ll be dead at the hands of a ‘stupid bird.’ Which has less honor?

Sharpclaw snarled. It is worth my honor to have my enemy die by my hand. He brought his claws up.

Brezeen stepped on the stud at her feet and the booth filled with smoke. Again, having no such honor, it’s worth more to me to stay alive, lizard man.

As the smoke filled the booth, the floor beneath her feet opened up and she dropped into the small underground passage put there for just such an occasion. When the smoke cleared and the gagging Riktorians peered around through runny eyes, there was no sign of the Guerran matria. Sharpclaw took out his rage on her booth, though, and the chips of crystal smashed satisfyingly, filling the air and coating the rubble that used to be the booth with a thick layer of shattered crystal dust, the artifacts they used to be now utterly obliterated.

Crawling away from the remains of her booth, Brezeen sighed with regret. Most of those artifacts would have fetched a fine price to the unsuspecting and casual collector of half-decent replicas. The single real artifact’s loss would hurt. A slice of ancient psypath history, now forever gone from Guerran nests.

She just hoped her tasty flightless friend would find it where she’d planted it on him before his companion did.

―›»●♦◊♦●«‹―

Guerre crystal had caught him off-guard once. It wouldn’t happen again.

Micah watched Treska fidget through slitted eyes. The climb had worn him out, and the cut across his abdomen burned as the antiseptic gel’s anesthetic properties wore off. He was grateful for the injury, as it kept him from falling into a slumber that tore down his shields and allowed the Guerre crystal to play such cruel tricks on his mind.

He couldn’t help dozing though, and every time he closed his eyes, he was back in the temple. Enlightenment’s pillows were covered with coarser fabrics than star-silks and real linen, but they were just as soft and decadent to a man for whom bare dirt had begun to feel like a luxury. The crystal surrounding him forced him to analyze every stray thought. When Treska flung out an arm in her turning, he took her hand and settled it on his chest, then started rubbing her back.

In staving off sleep, his mind began to inventory her reactions to him. Something that Enlightenment had said earlier made him think. He wasn’t using his powers to encourage an attraction from Treska, because of the damn collar, but there was an attraction there. Why else would she have cut off his clothes? Her behavior had not been typical, even for her. Guilty looks and spellbound glances were not found in the Huntress’s methods. It was why he’d chosen to confront her with seduction and flirtation, rather than intimidation and fear. He never thought it would work so well.

Her scent came to him. Warm musk and spice, with the after-hint of cool fresh water, swirled into his head, curling in his belly. Next, warm hands slid around his waist and a delicate whisper of silky hair brushed over his upper arm. The warmth from another body seeped into his side and he turned into her heat. Soft pillows cradled his body and that of the woman beside him and the sensual feel of comfort kept him all but boneless. The whisper of a heartbeat in time with his and soft skin under his hand.

Mmm… the light, feminine voice murmured as sleep forced her into yet another turn. The joy of contact, too long denied him, flowed through him and he stroked the hand resting on his chest. Another deep breath from her brought her breasts in contact with his side and the slumbering desire in him came to life. The background whispering that accompanied his every moment drowned out whatever feeble protests his mind might have generated, and his hand moved up her arm to her shoulder and down the line of her back to press her closer against him. The faint scent of temple incense mingled with her spice and he willfully dove back to that happier time, when the temple was home and pleasure wasn’t forbidden, but embraced.

―›»●♦◊♦●«‹―

Lady Lysan, high priestess of the Temple of Pleasures Untold, pinned Micah with a pair of emerald-hued thighs and a frank stare of penetrating jade. The Goddess does not embrace the unwilling, young man.

Ma’am! From his up-ended position, Micah watched his House flitter-craft merge into the tri-axial traffic he still wasn’t used to, on the Capitol planet he still found overcrowded and overwhelming, and tried to breathe around the weight of the well-connected—and well-endowed—woman on his chest.

He’d no sooner entered the Temple when the statuesque, brightly-hued Hathori high priestess had gone from poised stillness to lightning-fast attack. Micah found himself sprawled on the entryway’s carpet with the woman on top of him and her attendants peering down at him in a circle of classically beautiful, jewel-colored faces whose disapproving expressions were as intimidating as they were lovely.

Lysan’s face relaxed into a smile. You were ordered here by your head of House. To become experienced?

The young Micah nodded. Her thighs were squeezing his lungs so that he breathed only in short, shallow gasps. I’m—to be—auctioned—in marriage—next month. But the slight movements of her body made the dozens of chains that comprised her clothing shift and shimmy over her curves, revealing bare skin as fascinating as it was exotic. He knew it was ungentlemanly to react, but his body was having other ideas.

One of the lady’s attendants held up a padd engraved with his House crest. Her shimmering robe of starsilk showed off the lush curves of her nude body underneath it. Micah’s head fogged with sudden lust. Lysan glanced at it, mossy eyebrows raised. My instructions are to ‘make a man of you’ with a generous gratuity if you emerge from the temple a little less of a prig than when you entered it. She tapped her chin. Are you?

He lifted his head. Am I—what? He concentrated on taking breaths, and summoned the most severe of the monastery’s disciplinary exercises. Between labored breaths, his head began to clear and he saw why Hathori women were legendary.

Are you a prig?

Micah considered the possibility. His father, the current head of House Ariesis, had not been impressed with his ‘release’ from Ursis Amalia. It was only the old man’s belief that he hid mental talents greater than he actually possessed that prevented Micah from being outright disowned. Instead, the old man had promptly offered his son up on the auction block for an alliance marriage to a number of strategically-placed houses, but Micah had shown poorly. His youth was a benefit, but his unworldliness a liability. The other young men his age had been amassing tactical advantages from age ten—friendships of influence, real estate and personal wealth, connections, small armies. In the eight years since he’d turned ten, he’d amassed a collection of artifacts from a dozen different worlds, worth absolutely nothing to anyone without an unhealthy obsession with psypaths in the ancient Star Empire.

He finally answered her. Probably. His head drooped back down and he stared up past the ring of Hathori female faces, to the roof of the temple, where friezes ornamented the domed ceiling and artfully-carved negative spaces allowed light in from the sky. He recognized the pattern of the skylight right away, although the orientation seemed a bit off, and his heart jumped. If the orientation were correct, making adjustments for galactic time, that would make the temple old enough to— How old is that fresco up there? Have you got the provenances of the artwork? Identity of the artists?

Lady Lysan’s eyes narrowed. How much will it torment you to be denied the answers to those questions?

His poor showing, the displacement he felt after the abandonment of the monks he considered more family than his own, receded as he narrowed his eyes. If he squinted, he could just make out the details in the artwork. Yes, I see it! The skylights— Micah’s eyes widened as the esteemed lady squeezed her thighs together again, cutting off his airflow. He tore his attention away from the ancient art and addressed her question. How much would—you like me to say? he wheezed.

Lysan’s laugh took him by surprise. You’re a fast learner, at least.

His attention was already back on the ceiling. Just a little closer…

The high priestess suddenly wrapped her legs all the way around him, and her arms, too. The attendants each grabbed his limbs, and the sudden flurry of activity knocked his concentration back down to where his body was.

A deep pink attendant held his wrist in an iron grip. She looked about ten years older than he was, with sleek black hair falling in front of her face. What is this? She shook his wrist hard enough to hurt.

He tried to take it back, but glanced at his hand and realized two things. The first was that his hand had formed a kata on its own. The second was that he and the high priestess on top of him were floating a meter off the floor.

Shame flooded him. The high priestess’s face turned from speculation to surprise as he wobbled. Your father didn’t mention you were a psypath, she said tightly. That will cost him extra.

"It’s already cost me everything." Micah’s retort was unthinking at the time, and would turn prescient in the future. But he averted his eyes, sealing away the fresco’s image until he could escape his