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| The bounty hunter's soul thirsts for vengeance, her life given to the hunt. She knew the killer, but who were the extra players in a growing mystery? One cold, bloody night, and he'd found her again. Given a second chance, could Cam convince her to exchange vengeance for love? |
| REVIEWS |
Susan Biliter eCataRomance Gene King Joyfully Reviewed Tracey West The Road to Romance Rose Romance at Heart Harriet Klausner Romance Danmark Lydia Funneman Writers Unlimited |
| EXCERPT |
How could everything have gone so wrong so quickly? How could it have all ended like this so swiftly, so brutally? It was getting darker. And colder. The snow beneath her was melting, wetness seeping through the thick jacket, icing her body. It was so cold. Blinking, she peered up at the darkening sky. She wanted to cry for her friends, for the futility of it all, but somehow she couldn't. A strange calmness had fallen over her and she thought how odd it was. Shouldn't she be frightened or something? A cold wind traced across her cheek and she wondered if it was Death's icy touch. She didn't know how long she lay there, only that early evening was giving way to dusk and the snow was coming down faster, half covering her bleeding body, and it was becoming harder to breathe... All feeling had left her. No one came near her, no voices sounded on the street. It was quiet. Even the noise from the tavern had abated. She closed her eyes and when she finally opened them again, it was to find a dark shape filling her vision, blocking out the weak light that shone from the broken window of the tavern. Puffs of white came out from the darkness of the hooded head. Death had come to claim her at last and hazily she was aware that Death was big. Huge. He wore a heavy cloak and hood, just the way she always thought he would. Crouched over her like the grim angel of death he was. One big gloved hand reached out for her. A surge of sudden, desperate strength allowed her to reach up and grasp the thick wrist, feeling the slippery leather of his glove. Holding his hand away from her, she whispered, "You cannot take me now, Death. I have unfinished business." ~ * ~ Clutching the cloak tighter about himself, Red burrowed into the warmth of the hood and shivered. "Whose bloody bright idea was it to go out in this weather?" "'Twas yours." Simon's voice was muffled in the folds of his cloak. "Only a brainless idiot like you would suggest this." Jase's teeth chattered. "Only a brainless idiot would comply," Red returned. "Only a brainless idiot wouldn't talk me out of it. Nice bloody friends you lot are!" Snow melting icily in his beard, Shamon's footsteps quickened at the sight of the tavern lights ahead. "At last! A hot meal and warm ale!" Cam hurried forward. "I'll have my ale cold, thank you." "A nice plump wench." Borga smiled dreamily. "With a warm bosom and soft thighs and--" "What's that?" Heddam slowed his pace. "What?" Cam glanced around them. "Where?" "A pile of something on the sidewalk, in front of the tavern. And is that window broken?" The traders slowed their steps, growing more cautious. "Must have been some fight," Red remarked as they drew closer. "I'll say." Jase's face grew grim in the shadows of the hood over his head. "Those are bodies lying out there." Drawing closer, they were able to make out the cold, dead features of one of them. "'Tis the one called Alen," Shamon said. "And Belmos." Heddam grimaced. "Or what's left of him." The street was deserted. Snow flurried down more urgently, becoming heavier. Cam noticed that the blood beneath the pile of dead bodies on the sidewalk was hardening, aided by the cold conditions. "'Tis the bounty hunters," Simon stated. "I guess we'd better check if any still live." "I doubt it." Red glanced around warily. "Should be safe enough, anyway. Whoever did this seems to have left." Approaching the bodies, Cam felt his insides tighten as a sudden thought occurred to him. The lass. The bounty hunter. Would she be among this pile of broken bodies? They were the pack she ran with. It was more than possible unless--he suddenly felt sick. She'd been taken by outlaws for sport. God, he hoped not. Reaching the bodies, he realized that it was too late. Glazed eyes stared sightlessly up at the darkening sky. Dark, thick blood lay in patches over ripped clothing and sat gruesomely at the jagged openings torn into their bodies. Entrails spilled from a disemboweled body. The bodies didn't steam with newly spilled hot blood, but had cooled with death. His heart started to thud heavily as he scanned the faces of the corpses. "She's not here." "Who?" Shamon wiped his pale face, swallowing the gore rising in his throat. "The wench. The female bounty hunter." "You're right." Jase straightened up from where he squatted beside a body. "Do you think the outlaws who did this have her?" "I hope not," Red said grimly. "Mayhaps she got away?" "Mayhaps she wasn't here to start with," Simon said hopefully. Cam glanced around them. "We'd better find someone to bury this lot. Even I'm not hard enough to leave them to be carrion-fodder." "'Twill be hard to get someone willing to do that," Shamon remarked. "Especially here." "Pay enough dinnos and anyone will do anything here," Jase said in disgust. "True enough. Let's go inside and--where are you going?" "There's someone lying out there." Cam stepped down off the sidewalk. Following him into the street, the traders approached a snow mound and saw a shape lying in it. Dark blood saturated the clothing and marred the whiteness of the snow beneath the body. White powder had settled lightly across the face, outlining the delicate features, and settling lightly upon thick black lashes that lay like half-moons on her cheeks. Long hair lay scattered wetly in the snow, a blonde streak amidst the brown. "'Tis her," Simon said in a hushed voice. "Poor little lass." Red shook his head. "'Twas no way for a wench to live. And too young to die." "She should have been safe in the shelter of her family," Shamon said angrily. "Where the hell are they?" "Not everyone thinks the way we do," Simon reminded him sadly. Kneeling beside the still figure, Cam gazed down upon the pale features. He couldn't understand why he felt so empty, so sad. He didn't even know her, had spoken only once to her. It was such a waste of life. What had made her live such a hard life, to choose to hunt outlaws, to live with death, to deal out justice in a harsh way? She could have wed, a pretty lass like her. She could have had a happy home, a loving lifemate, children... Instead, she lay dead in the street in a settlement on the outskirts of the Outlaw Sector. And no one gave a damn. A victim of those she hunted. Clenching his jaw, he told himself to get up, find an undertaker, and see her decently buried. Mayhaps he could find her kinfolk. And give them a hell of a beating for allowing her to live such a life. Preparing to push upright, he glanced down once more and froze. Had he imagined it or had her chest risen? Had she taken a breath? Aye, there it was again! Shallow but unmistakable. "She lives!" "What?" Simon hurried forward. "The lass breathes." Cam reached out to touch her. The long lashes lifted and pain-glazed eyes stared up at him. One bloodied hand suddenly came up to clutch at his glove-covered wrist, holding him weakly away, as she whispered brokenly, "You cannot take me now, Death. I have unfinished business." ~ * ~ There was a flurry of words then another shape appeared, equally huge, cloaked darkly. One of his minions? Sabra couldn't make out the low, hurried words they shared. "Lass, you're coming with me." The deep voice came from the figure beside her. "Nay. I--" Pain clawed at her, sudden and unexpected and she coughed, feeling wetness bubble up in her mouth and spill out onto her chin. Blood. The gloved hand pulled gently away and something heavy and warm was tucked around her. Death moved closer, she could feel his arms sliding beneath her knees and back, and she was picked up easily and cradled against his chest as he stood up. In the gloom she became aware of his minions, hooded and cloaked against the cold and snow, gathering around to form a formidable, protective circle. Of course they would guard the Angel of Death and his captive. "You can't take me," she whispered. Her face was pressed gently into the shelter of his shoulder, the heat of his body against her cheek. "You have no choice, lass." "You of all must understand." Her eyelids felt so heavy. She was so tired, so very tired. "I have killing to do. You can't take me now." "Little bounty hunter, your killing will have to wait." The deep voice was a gentle rumble in her ear. It was the last thing she heard as blackness claimed her for its own. ~ * ~ Seeing the blood bubbling out of the corner of her mouth, and hearing the wet rattle with every breath she took, fear clutched at Cam. "She may have been shot in the lung." "Then she'll die for sure," Shamon said. "The most we can do is get her to a warm, safe place." Swinging around on his heel, Cam started in the direction of the trading ship. "Wait." A shadow stepped out of the alley on his left. Immediately the traders snapped to attention, hands yanking lasers from the holsters strapped to their thighs. Was this friend or foe? In a settlement like Walot, while no foe to the Daamens, it was sure to be of a bounty hunter. "Who goes there?" Jase snapped. "Step forward and be identified!" |
| Romantic speculative fiction fans who have not read the works of Angela Verdenius is missing some of the best world building tales in the galaxy (see HEART OF AN OUTLAW). Her fifth tale contains a superb story line that never decelerates until the final scene. Harriet Kalusner The Readers Guild |
| "...a powerful story, which is full of intensity, strong emotions and the dramatic words of the author." Tracey West Road to Romance |
| Soul of a Hunter |
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