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Warriors’ Woman, Book one in the Seduction Mission Series

March 18, 2014 | Teaser Tuesday

warriorswoman_msr

After revising Camille’s Capture, I indulged in a reading spree. The final stories I picked up prior to recommencing work on the third Mech adventure were the first two installments of the Seduction Mission series. Rereading helps ground me in the fictional world, reminding me of the what’s already happened and what needs to happen next. As I read, I fell in love with Minka and her heroes, Batzorg, Vilmos, and Lorcan all over again. :heart:

Just for fun I’m sharing a snippet from where they first meet in Warriors’ Woman.

Batzorg, one of three, triad unit 341926, crouched and rolled out of the ship before the portal had opened all the way. He zeroed his Annihilator 2300 in on the enemy hurting Minka. Curses filled the silence of his mind when the cyborg turned, keeping her in front of him. The scrap metal piece of scum used Batzorg’s Minka as a fragile, living shield.

Of course Batzorg’s ownership of Minka was not a matter of technical accuracy. The woman had never met him. He had adored her since his introduction to the founders’ biographies as a mech trainee.

She had always been a bigger than life hero to him. Now next to the towering cyborg, she seemed very slight—her delicate frame no match for the powerful enemy gripping her.

Shaken by her fragility, he fought to focus on the current problem. Any distraction, even fear for his dream-woman’s survival, was unacceptable. Her life depended on him. With ruthless calm, he evaluated the battle zone.

They were a dozen meters away. At this range, he hit targets with one hundred percent accuracy, but he had no clean shot.

The triad’s mission remained clear and unchanged—rescue Minka and transport her back to their time where she would be kept safe in suspended animation until she could be reinserted in her own time in a location nearer the California compound with fewer hazards. To avoid altering the course of future events, her memories of him—of all her experiences with the mechs—would be erased.

A mech warrior did not fail, especially not a triad leader. There had to be a way to save her from the scrap metal excuse of a cyborg—not even a weapons specialist. Fortune smiled on the triad in this instance. If the enemy had been armed he would have blown Batzorg to particle dust.

Flipping down his face plate, Batzorg focused the video input receptor to enable his onboard processor to find a shooting solution.

“A throat shot would eliminate the target. The damage to the woman’s head should be within acceptable limits,” the computer’s artificial voice spoke directly into Batzorg’s mind.

Not acceptable to me.

Then Minka slumped in the cyborg’s grasp. With no hesitation, Batzorg locked on the enemy’s neck and fired. His weapon whined. The cyborg’s throat vaporized and the remainder of his helmeted head toppled off his shoulders. A good kill.

Minka slid into the snow.

Batzorg ceased breathing on the sprint toward her. He knelt beside her small body and sought for a pulse. His finger’s sensor on her slim wrist registered her heart rate at one hundred fifty beats per minute. Too fast. Already swelling, her right forearm changed color, darkening to deep-purple bruises. Her lips were too pale. She might have serious internal injuries. The ground was too cold for her. He wanted to hold her and comfort her, but he feared moving her. She needed a full med-scan.

He flipped up his face shield with an impatient yank. Where the hell is two of three, the triad med-tech?

She rolled to her left and used her uninjured arm to prop herself to a half-sitting position. “If you’re not going to kill me, then back off so I can check on Nigel.”

Who the hell is Nigel? Did she know one of the cyborg scum?

“You lost consciousness. You will wait for a medical evaluation.”

“I’m fine. I just pretended to faint to give you a clear shot. Now either help me up or get out of my way.”
In an effective demonstration of her determination, she struggled to her feet in spite of her injured arm. To Batzorg’s dismay, his choices narrowed to restraining her, possibly aggravating any undetected internal damage, or assisting her.

Still reluctant, he helped while he eyed the three dead bodies littering the snow and brooded about which one was Nigel and wondered how long the cyborgs had been with her. Had they lied to her? Hurt her? He wanted to kill all of them again. This time slower and much more painfully. He unclenched his jaw enough to say, “There are no life signs.”

Without a word of complaint about her own wounds, she marched past the fallen enemies. Her steps did not slow.

Batzorg caught up with her in two long strides and watched mystified as she crouched by a patch of dark fur.

Icy gusts of wind blew flurries of snow at them. Her teeth clacked from the cold and snowflakes caught on her thick lashes. She turned toward him with tears streaming from her beautiful silver eyes. “Nigel’s not breathing.”

Her tears made him desperate to ease her distress, but he could do nothing to lessen her unhappiness. This weakness left him uncomfortable and ashamed of his inadequacy—a new experience that triggered an illogical anger. Smashing a boulder or two should bleed off some of his fury, but such actions might frighten Minka. So he gritted his teeth and stayed still. “I regret your sorrow.”

Helpless to alleviate her pain, Batzorg positioned himself to shelter her from the wind and turned up his thermal output to keep her warm.

The patch of fur was an animal, logically her pet. He searched his data bank for information and found a match. A cat. Nigel was her cat. Not one of the damn cyborgs.

He had read every account of her life so many times he had memorized several long passages. There had been no mention of her cat in the founders’ histories. He shifted his considerable weight, uneasy with an inaccuracy in their records. What other vital details had been omitted?

Posted by Evanne @ 4:00 am  

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