Enslaved II: The Spawning
Miranda had been snatched and packed for shipping so fast, she was still reeling with shock when the trader marched her and the other women he’d kidnapped from Earth into the compound on the strange, alien world.
Word Count: 104,690
Genre: Science Fiction/Futuristic Romance
Rating: Erotica. Contains adult situations, frank language, graphic sexual encounters, multiple partners, spawning orgy, ‘gang bang’.
Available formats: PDF, RTF, Epub, HTML, Mobipocket (.prc)
© Cover Art by Eliza Black, July 2008
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Vibrations from the bass were already working their way up through the pavement, penetrating the soles of Detective Miranda ‘Randy’ Hart’s impractical but sexy high-heel sandals and rattling into her system before she had covered three quarters of the distance between her car and the popular nightspot that was her target for the night. Her heart thrummed in time to the beat, or at least it seemed to, pumping the blood more rapidly through her, producing a heightened awareness of everything around her, a level of excitement that seemed almost equal parts nerves and anticipation. Flicking a practiced ‘casual’ glance at the smattering of other cars parked in the back of the rear parking lot, at the deep shadows created by the lone security light near the building, she wondered a little wryly if the music itself had set off the adrenaline rush or if it was ‘the hunt’.
And, if it was ‘the hunt’, was it her feminine side anticipating the possibility of finding that perfect man? Or the detective in her hoping to catch a predator?
Ordinarily, there wouldn’t have been any question in her mind. The detective side of herself saw far more action than her feminine side, had risen to dominance long since, suppressing the softer side that she’d been forced to realize was a weakness she couldn’t afford if she wanted to stay alive and relatively sane. It helped that her personal life had only been a series of disappointments that had gradually worn down her optimism to the point that she no longer had any real expectation that there was a ‘perfect man’ out there for her.
There was still the sporadic twinge of interest when she saw a man that appealed to her on at least a physical level. Occasionally, she even gave in to the emotional and physical need to find release in a warm, male body, but without expectations, without the starry-eyed little girl dreams she’d indulged at one time that it was, or could be, more than what it appeared—a raw, animalistic coupling to assuage physical needs. About the most that could be expected of that sort of liaison was a few days, weeks, or months of pleasure and aggravation that slowly degenerated until it was more a trial than pleasure of any kind.
The search for a life partner with cool logic produced even worse results because then there wasn’t even passion to hold it together.
There was still hope, though, she realized. Deep down she’d never really given up entirely on the dream that one day, when she least expected it, she was going to walk smack into the one man that did it all for her. The white knight that thrilled her to her core with no more than a look, drove her wild in bed, intrigued her with his intelligence and complex personality. And, at the same time, gave her a sense of unshakable security because integrity was so deeply ingrained in him that trust was a matter of course.
She didn’t really believe that, but she still hoped, and it was that tiny hope that accounted for a little of the excitement thrumming through her because she felt so feminine tonight. She’d indulged herself in an orgy of primping she rarely took the time for. She’d donned a slinky black dress, sexy high-heals, just enough make-up to highlight her best features.
Even the pistol tucked in a thigh holster didn’t diminish the glorious sense of femininity she felt as she strolled across the parking lot toward ‘single territory’ where she knew there was at least some possibility that man that was just the right ‘fit’ might be waiting to be found.
She shook the thoughts off as she reached the corner of the building, struggling to suppress the inappropriate sense that she was just a woman seeking a mate. The night was all business and she’d do well to remember that if she wanted to wake up tomorrow with a whole hide.
Her backup was sitting in an unmarked car three rows over. He eyed her assessingly for so long that amusement flickered through her. She was going to rag him tomorrow about not recognizing her—because she could see he didn’t, could pinpoint the exact moment when it dawned on him.
Mildly annoyed that he hadn’t immediately recognized her as the same woman he worked with every day, she lifted a hand as if to smooth her hair and shot him a bird. He was glaring at her when she glanced in his direction again.
Prick, she thought, feeling slightly mollified.
Ignoring him, she scanned the main parking lot. The pickings were slim tonight, she thought, feeling vaguely deflated. Of course it was still early, but it wasn’t ‘prime night’ either and wasn’t likely to get terribly busy even if the club was one of the most popular in the city.
All business again, she focused on her purpose, grappling with the fresh spurt of adrenaline that flooded her bloodstream as she spied the entrance.
Without a doubt, there was no greater ‘rush’ than knowing she was closing in on quarry—a combination of sheer terror and fierce satisfaction that always arose regardless of the potential for danger. Truthfully, though, she had no sense that she was closing in on her quarry, felt none of the ‘vibes’ she’d learned to expect that told her she was close.
The painful fact was, she was pretty damned sure she wasn’t any closer to figuring out what was going on than she had been when she’d been given her current assignment. If there was any sense of urgency whatsoever to account for the surge of her heart rate it was the fact that time was against her, and she hadn’t managed to come up with a damned thing, not one lead beyond the club itself, and even that was a long shot.
More than a dozen women—that they knew of—had disappeared in the past two days and nobody had a clue of why, of whether the same perp or group of perps were responsible, or what, exactly, they meant to do with the young women.
They had their suspicions and it was possible they were right on target, but it had been her experience that the most obvious possibility turned out to be a dead end as often as it was on target and, what was worse, tended to act as blinders if one wasn’t damned careful.