Rogar: Lunar Uprising, #2

By Cyndi Friberg

Marisol doesn't want a mate. Can Rogar keep her alive long enough to change her mind?

 

Thrilled by the prospect of a new job, Marisol doesn't even make it to the moon before her shuttle is attacked by the Morax. A terrifying explosion shatters reality then she wakes up in the arms of Rogar, one of the lunar raiders. Marisol is determined to stay focused on work, so why can't she stop thinking, and dreaming, about her handsome rescuer.

 

Rogar is furious when a shuttle flies right into the middle of one of his missions. Then he realizes his mate, Marisol is onboard. Shaken by the near disaster, he refuses to let her out of his sight. He wants to give her time to explore her new environment before he tells her they are mates, but escalating danger and their intense attraction mock his good intentions at every turn.

 

Note to Readers: This book contains detailed descriptions of sizzling passion only suitable for mature readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cyndi Friberg
• Release date: Feb 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201473693

Cyndi Friberg

Passionate Sci-Fi with a touch of danger and a whole lot of sass. Cyndi has written about rock stars, vampires, and cat shifters, but she’s currently focused on outer space. Her stories are fun, fast-paced, and seriously hot. Her books have made the USA Today Top 100, and frequently land on Amazon Best Seller lists. She is currently working on the Shadowborn Rebellion, a spin-off series set in the Outcasts universe.   She loves to hear from readers: [e-mail] https://facebook.com/fribergc https://twitter.com/Cyndi_Friberg

Book preview

Chapter One

W e are nearly there , Ms. Conti, the stoic pilot informed. I should have a visual for you momentarily.

Marisol nodded, not quite able to manufacture a smile. The pilot introduced himself an hour ago when she boarded the high-speed shuttle. He asked if she needed anything before they took off, directed her to secure the safety restraints, then fiddled with the holo-controls for the rest of the voyage from Earth to the moon. Marisol had been on alien-designed shuttles often enough to know they were largely automated, so the pilot was socially awkward or had no interest in conversing with a human. Either reason was fine with her. She had more than enough to keep her mind occupied.

Spontaneous decisions and reckless behavior were not part of Marisol’s personality. However, there came the point in many people’s lives when they had to take a chance or be consumed by regret and disappointment. Marisol stood at just such a crossroads three days ago.

She’d spent the last six years as a U.S. Ambassador, most recently assigned to the United Nations. The assignment was prestigious and important. It was also frustrating as hell. The open hostility toward anyone with alien blood became intolerable. Bigotry of any kind was not acceptable to Marisol, and she wasn’t afraid to tell people what she thought about their attitudes. Needless to say, she wasn’t very popular with her coworkers, so she began searching for new challenges.

An opportunity presented itself a short time later when she jokingly told her college roommate that she was looking for a new job. The roommate’s name was Cat Barco, and her whirlwind romance with a lunar raider led her to the massive military base on the moon. Lunar raiders had been created by the Pylorians—Marisol’s mind stalled out over the name. The conflicts, hostility and violence currently gripping Earth swirled around the Pylorians like a superstorm. They were responsible for the chaos, yet they existed in the eye of the hurricane untouched by the destruction they created.

Eight years ago, massive spaceships filled with millions of Pylorian refugees filled the skies above Earth. The crafty aliens offered knowledge and advanced technology in exchange for sanctuary and a place to start over. Nearly a decade later humans were still debating whether the aliens were benevolent mentors or evil incarnate. On a scale of one to ten, ten being Satan himself, Marisol rated the Pylorians a solid eight. In her opinion, the advancements they provided did not justify the lies, threats, and deception.

Not to mention the ongoing war.

The Morax, sworn enemy of the Pylorians, arrived three years after the refugees. According to the Pylorians, the Morax were the aggressors and their ruthlessness resulted in the destruction of Pyloria. The Morax told a very different story. The Morax claimed that the Pylorians murdered billions of their race and they blew up Pyloria to drive the evil Pylorians out of their star system. All Marisol knew for sure was humans were caught in the middle of a war beyond their control.

Shifting restlessly in her seat, Marisol stared at the shuttle’s main display and tried not to second-guess her decision. With familiar craters and rock-strewn hills, the desolate moon was centered in the velvet black sky. That was her destination, her home for however long she decided to stay. She wanted something new and different, and this certainly qualified. This was the most reckless thing she had ever done and she honestly wasn’t sure if it would turn out to be a wonderful adventure or a horrible mistake. She was looking forward to spending time with Cat again, but being one of two females in a complex with millions of aggressive warriors was disconcerting to say the least.

No. She wouldn’t be controlled by fear. Cat was a good friend. She wouldn’t have encouraged Marisol to come if the situation weren’t safe. Besides, if Marisol wasn’t comfortable with what she found on Lunar Prime, she would turn right around and head back to Earth. Head back to Earth. A smile spread across her lips. The phrase said it all. She was about to live on the freaking moon! What could be more exciting than that?

Embracing the mindset, she asked, Are we as close as this appears or is the image magnified?

It is slightly magnified, he responded. We should dock in around twenty minutes.

She dragged her gaze away from the display and looked at the pilot. Like all lunar raiders, he was larger than a human male and powerfully built. The highly skilled warriors had been cultivated by the Pylorians to combat the Morax and protect Earth. The semi-derogatory term referred to the process of combining the DNA of several alien species into one specialized organism and then accelerating the growth process from years to months. How that process was accomplished, however, was so far beyond human understanding that it seemed more like magic than science.

I know there are four cities, but were they built all at once or gradually over the past seven years?

The cities were... He fell silent as another ship came into view. "Shuttle two-four-six to Venture. Are you in need of assistance?"

The Venture wasn’t moving and it seemed to hang there in space at a strange angle.  The ship wasn’t as large as the warships used to battle the Morax, but it was considerably bigger than a shuttle. It was likely a scout or cargo ship used for the frequent supply runs. Lunar Prime became more self-sufficient every day, but there were still many things not available on the moon.

A distorted hiss indicated that the Venture attempted to respond, yet the sound in no way resembled words.

"Shuttle two-four-six to Lunar Prime. The Venture appears to need—"

Something collided with the shuttle knocking it sideways. Marisol sucked in a startled breath, hands clutching her armrests as the small ship pitched and swayed. The display blurred and the pilot’s hands flew through the control matrix as he struggled to bring the shuttle back under control.

Lunar Prime, we are under attack, he yelled. Send reinforcements immediately!

Who would fire on an unarmed shuttle? Why?

The shuttle rotated and Marisol felt her jaw drop. Eight lethal looking Morax fighters were closing in on them. Nicknamed daggers because of their long, angular shape, the ships were fast as well as agile. They fired two additional shots at the shuttle, but it quickly became obvious that they were not the strike team’s target.

"The Venture is helpless," she cried, horrified at what she was seeing. The Morax daggers pelted the larger ship with pulse after pulse of energy.

They are after the cargo, the pilot told her. "They need the exionite even more than we do."

She wasn’t familiar with the word, but didn’t want to distract him by asking for an explanation.

The daggers swarmed around the Venture, attacking in an ever-changing pattern of advance and retreat. Their weapons didn’t appear to be creating much damage, however. Was the Venture using all their energy to reinforce their shields? They weren’t returning fire, so that was the obvious conclusion.

A distortion on the right edge of the display drew Marisol’s attention. Raptors, the lunar raiders’ primary attack ships, catapulted onto the scene, drawing Morax fire away from the Venture. She was thrilled to see them, but how had they gotten here so quickly?

As if to answer her question, a massive warship gradually appeared as some sort of invisibility shield was deactivated. Raptors swooped and swirled around the daggers, both sides firing in rapid succession. The Venture suddenly came alive, firing at any dagger that dared to approach.

The daggers began circling the shuttle, hiding behind the unarmed ship like the cowards they were. The strategy was horrifyingly effective. The raptor shots dwindled to almost nothing as both sides continued the lethal dance.

One of the daggers careened crazily then stopped moving all together. One of the raptors hesitated a millisecond then fired a burst of shots. The dagger exploded, momentarily blinding the shuttle’s cameras.

All of raider ships were firing with obvious care. And it wasn’t just the position of the shuttle. With the warship and the Venture on scene, the Morax were completely outgunned. The lunar raiders could have wiped out all the daggers with little effort. Are they trying to capture rather than destroy the Morax ships?

I believe so, the pilot agreed.

What about the damaged one? Why did that raptor finish it off?

"Their plasma reactor was about to explode. Exionite becomes extremely unstable when heated. The raptor controlled the blast, which prevented the dagger from destroying us as well as several other ships."

A chill raced down her spine. She hadn’t realized they’d been that close to dying. We screwed up their mission. Didn’t we?

"I screwed up their mission. You are blameless." Seeing a miniscule break in the fighting, the pilot took advantage of the opportunity and retreated at full speed.

Unwilling to lose their only cover or risk being captured, the daggers suddenly altered course, zipping past the shuttle in their haste to escape. The last dagger fired a barrage of energy pulses as it flew past.

Everything exploded in a blinding burst of light. A painful boom shook Marisol so violently that she screamed and covered her head with her arms. Utter darkness swallowed reality as intense pressure dragged her in two directions at once. The horrific tug-of-war ended abruptly and her energy slingshotted toward some unknown destination. Another scream echoed through her mind.

Reality returned in a nauseating rush. Her feet found purchase on something solid, but the seat that had been supporting her moments before was no longer there. She started to fall backward. Someone caught her upper arms and drew her upright as her legs gave way beneath her.

She was lifted into strong arms, her head was still spinning, eyes refusing to function properly. Voices spoke in urgent bursts just beyond the ringing in her ears but she couldn’t understand their language. Fear lanced through her confusion and she blinked repeatedly trying to bring her surroundings into focus. Had she been rescued by the lunar raiders or kidnapped by the Morax? And where was the pilot?

Pilot? she whispered, moaning as the throbbing in her head intensified. Where is—the pilot?

Safe, the person holding her assured in softly accented English. Relax. We’ll have you feeling better soon.

His long strides jostled her and the nausea increased with each step he took. She sucked air in through her nose and let it out through her mouth, not wanting to throw up all over her rescuer. Pressing her face against his chest, she inhaled deeply and his scent washed over her rioting senses. Clean and woodsy, the scent brought to mind rolling hills carpeted with endless forests and clear mountain lakes. Snuggling closer, she inhaled again and let the complex smell soothe her.

A short time later, he set her down on a table or elevated bed. The surface had a hint of give but wasn’t much wider than her hips. His scent receded as he moved back and nausea surged again. She squeezed her lids together and draped her arm over her eyes. Something cold pressed against the side of her neck and she felt a subtle sting. She took several deep breaths, grateful to be alive.

Gradually, the ringing in her ears subsided and her stomach stopped heaving. Feeling stable enough to brave her surroundings, she slowly opened her eyes. Bright overhead lights made her squint, but the scene finally came into focus. She reclined on a treatment table in a small clinic. It was similar to an urgent care center on Earth. Only the alien instrumentation made it obvious she was aboard one of the ships. But which one and where was the pilot.

You said the pilot was safe? Where is he? She hadn’t meant it to sound like an accusation. She was still pretty rattled. Turning her head, she looked at her rescuer. He was tall and heavily muscled, obviously a lunar raider. He had bold, overtly masculine features with a strong nose and square jawline. His dark hair had been pulled back and secured in a man bun. She cringed. The fad was a pet peeve of hers. The only people who pulled off the style, in her opinion, were the samurai. He also had a beard, another trend of which she disapproved. She much preferred clean-shaven males. His eyes, however, were stunning. Framed by thick dark lashes, his blueish-green irises brought life to an otherwise expressionless face. Still, he was part of the crew that saved her life. She should show a little gratitude.

Are you feeling better? A hint of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth as those turquoises eyes began to smolder.

His lips had a nice shape, she decided, always trying to acknowledge the positive. I am, but you didn’t answer my questions?

"This ship and the Venture locked on to your shuttle at the same time. The Venture ended up with the pilot and we ended up with you."

Thank you for the information and for saving my life. Dying wasn’t on my agenda today.

Rescuing a female was not on mine, he countered.

She sighed. His frustration was palpable. I’m sorry we flew into the middle of whatever was going on back there. It wasn’t intentional.

I am aware, but every lunar raider is accountable for their actions. Wislat is no different. He made the statement with cold authority, as if he would inforce the rules personally.

What will happen to him? She’d been distracting him, encouraging him to talk by badgering him with questions.

It is nothing you need to worry about, he dismissed.

I disagree. The pilot was completely focused on his job until I got him talking. If anyone should be in trouble for what happened, it’s me.

Understanding lit his turquois eyes and he looked at her with new interest. Are you Marisol Conti?

What led you to that conclusion? She sat up and eased her legs over the side of the table. Her feet were still well off the floor, or deck being that this was a ship.

Before her companion could answer another raider approached. They both wore formfitting gray uniforms that left no doubt about their athleticism. The newcomer wasn’t as muscular as her rescuer, but he was still well over six feet tall. The analgesic seems to be working. Are there any residual symptoms from the explosion?

My ears are still ringing faintly, but that’s about all.

Very good. He paused to run several scans and then looked at her rescuer. She should be fine, sir. You are welcome to leave her here until your shuttle is ready. If not, she is free to go.

Someone needs to tell him that talking about someone rather than to them is rude, she grumbled as the doctor walked away.

He is a shipboard medic. It is likely that he has never interacted with a female before.

It was easy to forget how limited lunar raiders’ lives really were. They had been created to fight the Morax, and war was literally all that some of them had ever known. Compassion and shame made her soften her attitude. Then I’ll forgive him this time, she amended with a hesitant smile.

He responded with a faint bowing of his lips. He will be so relieved.

More than ready to leave the clinic, she scooted off the table. He rushed forward and placed his hands on her waist, steadying her descent. She gasped at the uninvited touch, but was glad for the assistance. It was farther down than she’d realized and she was still unsteady. His large, warm hands lingered for a moment before he stepped back. Awareness arced between them, making her feel strangely restless. Heat crawled up her neck and blossomed across her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t remember the last time anyone made her blush.

How do you know my name? she digressed as they walked from the clinic. She knew nothing about the ship so she didn’t have a destination in mind. Her companion—she should probably ask his name—had been polite and helpful, so she decided to stick with him.

They strolled down a long, rounded corridor. She’d seen images of the Pylorian domed cities. Apparently the ships were constructed from the same or a similar material. Both were silverish gray with subtle streaks of color. Though utilitarian and unadorned, she found the combination beautiful.

I, along with all the class-commanders, am scheduled to attend a welcome reception in your honor in about an hour.

Damn. She’d hoped to have a day or two to acclimate before diving in to her new responsibilities. Will Cat Barco be there?

Lady Savoy will be there, he corrected, politely matching his strides to hers. That is how Cat is addressed now that she has accepted Zorak’s claim.

Cat had mentioned the custom, but she would always be Cat Barco in Marisol’s mind. So, what’s your name and which class do you command? According to the detailed report Cat had given Marisol, lunar raiders were divided into classes, each with a different purpose and set of skills. The medic had called her companion sir, so she’d thought he was the ship’s captain. If he led one of the classes, he was much more than that. Class-commanders were responsible for thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of soldiers.

I apologize. The medic is not the only one who has been rude. He stopped walking and faced her, holding out his hand. Rogar Kazel of munitions-class. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Conti.

She shook his hand and another surge of tingling heat curled through her body. Maybe she needed to look beyond the bun and the beard. Something about Rogar electrified her senses every time they touched.

Absolutely