Restless and embittered by an abusive past, Arton the Heretic finds himself in a battle of wills with Lily, a gorgeous geneticist. She holds the key to the future of his people, but she was brought to this savage world against her will and that’s an insult she’ll not soon forget. Their attraction is instantaneous and intense, yet each has valid reasons for mistrusting the other. He wants her, is consumed with the need to claim her, but he can’t focus on the future until he deals with the past.
Copyright © 2018 Cyndi Friberg
“Why do you call yourself Heretic?” Maybe if she started with the obvious, she could ease into the darker parts of his past.
“I didn’t choose the title.” He already sounded defensive. This wasn’t good. “I was branded a heretic when I refused to accept the nonsense they were preaching at Harbinger Academy.”
Unadulterated hatred flared in his eyes as he said the word branded. Dread dropped into her stomach like a stone. “Do you mean that literally?” Her throat was so tight she barely got the question out.
He stood and tugged his T-shirt out from inside his jeans, then peeled the garment off over his head. Well-defined muscles rippled with each movement, momentarily distracting her from the images displayed on his smooth skin. Horrified, yet mesmerized, she pushed to her feet and lightly ran her fingers over the deep scar centered above his heart. A Rodyte word had been burned into his flesh in stylized letters. The scar was raised and discolored yet perfectly legible. She shuddered, unable to imagine the pain he must have endured.
“This means heretic?” She knew the answer, but needed to hear him confirm it.
“Yes.” He said nothing more.
“How could they… I’m so sorry.”
He grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away. “I don’t want your pity.”
“I don’t pity you. You’ve clearly used the pain they inflicted to make you strong. You took the word they meant to shame you and wear it like a badge of honor.”
His fingers relaxed around her wrist, but didn’t let go. “If rejecting the lies they teach makes me a heretic, I accept the title gladly.”
“Someone mentioned a change in the leadership of Harbinger Guild. Are things any better now?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had no contact with anyone associated with Harbinger Guild since I left the academy.”
She moved closer, resting her free hand on his chest. “But you didn’t just leave. You were rescued by the people you claim to hate.” His free arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush with his body. He still held her wrist slightly out to the side. The position made her smile. “Shall we dance?”
“I have a better idea.” He released her wrist and lightly fisted the back of her hair. His head lowered slowly, giving her plenty of time to turn away.
She didn’t. She wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel the tingling rush that accompanied his other kisses. He excited her, fascinated her, and she was tired of pretending otherwise. Her lips were slightly parted when his mouth settled over hers.
He made a soft, throaty sound as he accepted the invitation. His tongue teased her lips for a moment then pushed deeper, exploring the interior of her mouth. She rubbed her tongue against his, greeted him with open enthusiasm.
Her fingers splayed against his side, but his naked torso was too much of a temptation. She ran her hands over his arms and back, savoring the heat and muscular contours she’d been imagining for weeks. He was glorious, lean and overtly male. She wanted him, wanted passion to burn away reality. And he obviously wanted her. Ever since the battle born arrived on Earth she’d been focused on the greater good rather than her personal happiness. Well, she was ready to be selfish, if only for a while.