Arts
Synopsis When an unstoppable warlord meets an unyielding rebel, their link becomes a new force of nature.Taryn's dream of forging an alliance with a powerful alien race has become a nightmare. She is linked to a ruthless warlord, an alien killing machine who could destroy humanity on a whim.Taryn will go down fighting before she surrenders to the monster invading her mind.But in her struggle to regain control, she finds her tormentor has irreversibly changed her, and she has in turn changed him. The link is turning her into a weapon, drawing strength from the world-slayer who had no regard for another's life—until now.As death and destruction erupt around them, they carve their way out of their old lives with a single common purpose: unite their forces and change the future. Excerpt The elevator slows and stops. It opens onto a broad, dim corridor with sparkling walls arched outward like the curvature of a tunnel. The alien nudges me out, and the shift in gravity shunts me into the air. I flail, but manage to land on my feet, my stomach in my throat. Half a g, at most. I bound across the elastic floor, an awkward smile creeping up my face as my mask relaxes. Soft blue light renders the glittering walls and floor into an uncannily good impression of outer space. The alien walks quietly beside me. I can't read its facial expression, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't enjoy the change of environment. It's tenser than before, its movements brisker. Curves and bends in the spacious corridor pass without comment, until the alien brings one hand down on my shoulder and halts us both. "Prepare," it rumbles, and turns me to face the wall on our right. A new doorway opens, and I'm pushed into a round room, maybe five meters wide. There's a single white chair at the center, reminiscent of a gamer's hub. But I doubt he brought me here to play VR games. "Prepare for what?" The alien grunts, picks me up as if I weigh nothing, and plants me into the chair. "Hey, wait a minute, this—" "Prepare." It presses a heavy hand against me, jabbing the barbs of my mandible pendant into my chest. I clench my jaw as the Dorylinae chitin punctures my skin. The alien rakes its claws along the side of the chair, and I'm immobilized. All I can do is stare into the glowing eyes of my alien captor. Then it rips my mask off. The air reeks of ethanol and molten plastic. My eyes and throat start to burn. Every muscle screams to fight, to run. But I can't move. Panic snakes through me, stirring up old nightmares. I was twelve when the TMC bombed the Dorylinae hives and killed everyone I knew. They weeded out survivors by their informative value, like data chips. I got passed along repeatedly until I landed on a command carrier, where I was recognized as the daughter of xenologist and traitor Gregory Harber, and his equally traitorous wife, Mira. I was suddenly interesting to the Ticks, and with that interest came a long procession of interrogations, brain probes, and drug-sustained virtual torture. The Ticks fucked with my mind so much it took me years—after I escaped and hitched