No Fear: Trek Mi Q'an Book 5 Read online

  The doctor, she thought, as she took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She wondered why she was even wasting her time by driving across town. She knew what he was going to say, knew too what the test results were liable to be—they were going to confirm what her body was already telling her:

  The cancer had come back.

  What had began as a small tumor in her stomach had spread throughout the rest of her body, slowly eating away at her internal organs until they were rotted. She had gone into remission for a short while—twice in fact—but every time her body began the process of healing itself, the cancer had come back within months, stronger and deadlier than before. She realized that her time on earth was very limited, understood and accepted the fact that she would never live to see her thirty-seventh birthday.

  No fear.

  Brynda closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. She had lived a full life and had been a good person. She had given her love freely to others and had expected nothing in return. She would die with no regrets.

  No fear.

  Her eyes opened slowly. She gazed at herself in the mirror.

  Except one regret, she quietly admitted.

  No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, no matter how many times she tried to deny the desire buried deep within her heart, she knew the truth:

  She grieved the fact that she would never live long enough to fall in love.

  She grieved too the loss of the child that would never be.

  Brynda straightened her shoulders and held her head high as she gathered herself together. She needed courage and strength to get through the next few months, not a sense of grief and regret from having lost things she’d never really had to begin with.

  There was no such thing as a miracle. There would be no last minute advances in technology to save her from her impending fate.

  There was no such thing as a faerie tale. There would be no magical kisses bestowed by Prince Charming that would awaken her from within the glass coffin.

  There was no glass coffin. Just a cold steel cage she’d already bought and paid for, patiently awaiting her arrival at the cemetery.

  She was going to die.

  No fear.

  Brynda left the women’s washroom with her dependable briefcase in hand, sensibly determined to carry on with life as best as she could. And if she secretly dreamed of the impossible, if she secretly prayed for a miracle, she would never admit it to anyone. Not even to herself.

  Especially not to herself.

  Chapter 2

  Quietly humming to herself as she flicked through brochures on the jungles of Central America that her travel agent had given to her, Brynda smiled as she found the perfect hotel to stay at during her two-week vacation from the library. The hotel was jungle-themed, each individual apartment made to resemble a small hut. Perfect.

  After seeing the doctor last Friday and having him confirm the worst, she had decided to spend her last months of life living it to the fullest. She had no intention of quitting her job for she was ever the dependable, reliable type, but that wasn’t to say a little respite from day to day living wasn’t in order.

  First things first, she wanted to explore a jungle before she died. Well, she conceded, it wasn’t so much the jungle in and of itself that had snagged her attention as it was the desire to see and experience a culture and habitat very different from her own.

  Native Indians. Predatorial animals. Mayan ruins. Big bugs—

  Perfect, she grinned.

  Brynda’s heartbeat sped up when she came to the part in the brochure that listed the dates of the various guided tour expeditions slated for this year. She immediately noticed that the next scheduled tour into the Belizean and Guatemalan jungles would commence three days from now.

  Last minute prices were bound to be sky-high, she considered as she nibbled on her lower lip. She could probably afford it, but the two-week sojourn into the jungle would cost her over half of her savings. She hesitated.

  The vacation would be fun, she admitted, but she wasn’t really the type to squander money as if it grew on trees. She was a sensible woman. A practical woman…

  A dying woman.

  Brynda’s gaze flicked toward the coffee table where the test results had been laying since she’d haphazardly flung them there last Friday night. She took a deep breath as she straightened her shoulders.

  It’s time to let go and live a little, Brynda, she admonished herself. No Fear.

  Determined to take out a new lease on life, she picked up the telephone and rang her travel agent.

  * * * * *

  Concentrating intently, Brynda squinted her eyes and mumbled to herself as she studied the English to Spanish translation book she’d purchased to take with her on vacation. Sitting at her desk in the library, she went over the phrases she thought she was likely to get the most use out of.

  “Excuseme señor,” she said in a monotone southern American drawl, “Por donde es el servicio sanitario de las damas?” Which way is the ladies’ room? She smiled politely as she pretended that a native Spanish speaker had answered her question. “Gracias,” she returned. “Muchas muchas gracias.” She frowned. “Maybe just one ‘muchas’ will do it,” she muttered.

  “Oh god, Junior—oh my gawd…yes!”

  Brynda’s head shot up. Her gaze flew to Aisle K7 where a couple in their late forties was currently getting it on. Located somewhere between Krentz’s latest romance paperback and King’s newest horror novel, the Texan couple was apparently more interested in spicing up their sex life than in the Dewey Decimal System. The male’s pants were down below his knees as he repeatedly thrust into his female companion from behind. Her sundress was unbuttoned all the way down, showing off everything there was to see about her body.

  “Mierda bendita,” Brynda mumbled as she absently set down the English to Spanish reference book. Holy shit!

  “Oh baby yeeeeeah.” Junior half grunted and half groaned as he thrust twice more then spent himself inside of her. His cowboy hat fell off mid-thrust. “That was one good fuckin’ you gave me, Cindy Ann.”

  Cindy Ann harrumphed. Apparently she didn’t agree. “You stopped before I got started—damn it Junior you’re always doin’ that!”

  Brynda’s eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. Premature ejaculation, she decided, the Psychology term mentally rolling around on her tongue. Poor Cindy Ann.

  “That ain’t true,” Junior grumbled as he slapped his cowboy hat down on his head, effectively covering his receding hairline. “Now come on—let’s get outta here and head over to my mama’s for some beer and barbeque. The ballgame’s on tonight.”

  Cindy Ann rolled her eyes. Her frosted pink lips pinched together in a frown. “Be still my beatin’ goddamn heart.”

  Brynda absently watched the couple adjust their clothing and hightail it out of the library. Cindy Ann mumbled to herself the entire time, her disgruntlement obvious. Brynda didn’t know whether she should feel sorry for the woman or envy her. After all, at least Cindy Ann had a sex life to complain about.

  Stop it, Brynda, she chastised herself. You’ve made your choices and you’ve made them wisely.

  Besides, she told herself consolingly, she had a two-week trip to the Central American jungle to look forward to. There was approximately fifteen minutes left of work today, then she’d go home and pack and be headed out on the first flight leaving Houston for Belize City tomorrow morning. Perfect!

  A cold puff of air hit Brynda squarely in the chest, interrupting her thoughts. She let out a small gasp as the wind hit her, inducing her nipples to harden into tight points.

  Her brow furrowed in confusion as it occurred to her that she was downright cold. Well that wasn’t entirely true. Most of her body was warm, but her chest…

  Slowly, very slowly, Brynda’s gaze flicked downward. Please, God, she silently pleaded with the heavens, her heartbeat picking up and her brow perspiring. Please tell me my medications haven’t affected my memory
that badly. Please tell me that when I got dressed for work this morning I remembered to put on a—

  Brynda’s eyes rounded in dawning horror when she glanced down to her chest and realized that she was completely naked from the waist up. Her breasts were sitting there for the world to see, her nipples hard from the chill of the library’s air conditioning system.

  Oh. My. Gawd.

  Her heartbeat picked up dramatically and her cheeks flamed scarlet red when she realized that her indecency hadn’t gone unnoticed. Somebody is here, she thought hysterically. Somebody is watching me. Mortified, she wondered how many other people had witnessed her public humiliation today as she thrust her hands over her breasts to shield them as best as she could. Her breathing labored, she shot up from her chair, preparing to dash into the washroom.

  Only…she couldn’t move.

  “Oh dear god,” she breathed out. “What’s happening to me?”

  Just then the remainder of Brynda’s clothing flew off right before her very eyes. She gasped as she watched first her skirt and then her underwear fly out of her reach and seemingly disintegrate.

  Naked. She was completely naked.

  Holy shit!

  “Optical hallucinations!” she cried out in a panic, the verbal iteration of the Psychology term somehow comforting. “Brought about by the repeated use of certain prescription drugs. Chapter five, section three of Heinrick’s Thesis on—”

  “Uh, Ms. Brynda…”

  Brynda closed her eyes briefly to steady herself when the familiar sound of George’s voice reached her ears. You’re hallucinating, Brynda, she frantically reminded herself. You aren’t really naked. George is the only exhibitionist around the library. Address him as if nothing is amiss for crying out loud!

  She plastered on a smile and forced her shoulders to straighten. “Yes, George?”

  He studied her as one would an abstract piece of art. “I hate to be the pot callin’ the kettle black here and all, but uh…” His wrinkled face scrunched up in confusion. “…why the hell ain’t ya got no clothes on?”

  Brynda gasped. Mortified, confused, and a thousand other things, she frantically recovered her breasts as best as she could with one hand while her other hand flew down to shield her mons. “What do you mean,” she squeaked out. “I’m not naked.”

  George looked as confused as she was horrified. The seventy-year-old flasher was about to comment further on her state of undress when both of them were startled speechless by the arrival of five huge men who proceeded to surround them on all sides at Brynda’s desk.

  Her jaw agape, Brynda watched as the largest of the males slowly strode toward her. He was handsome, she conceded somewhere in the back of her mortified mind. Tall and muscular and…

  She gulped. And huge, she thought in a panic. At least seven and a half feet tall and so heavy with muscle that he probably weighed in the vicinity of four hundred, maybe five hundred pounds.

  And his eyes. Good God in heaven…

  “Who are you?” she whispered. She nervously pushed her spectacles further up the bridge of her nose.

  The large male cocked his head as if he couldn’t understand what she had said. He appeared to think that over for a moment, then slowly raised his massive hands to his neck and unclasped a bizarre necklace he wore from around it. He held it up, then slowly resumed his walk towards her…

  Holy shit!

  She gasped.

  “Holy shit!” George announced, effectively stating Brynda’s thoughts aloud. “Let’s get outta here! I’ve got a trench coat you can wear, Ms. Brynda—come on!”

  Brynda tried to nod, tried to follow George as the old man scurried away, but found to her rising panic that she still couldn’t move. Not that she could escape if she could move, for huge, gargantuan males surrounded her on all sides—all of them dressed in similar leather outfits as their leader. Although the giants had let George pass them by, something inside told her she’d never be so fortunate.

  The men were odd looking to say the least. Not only were they the most massively sculpted men she’d ever seen, not only did their eyes glow like something out of a horror movie, but their manner of dress was bizarre. They looked like high-tech Hell’s Angels dressed all in leather as they were with unidentifiable contraptions secured to their arms. And their hair…she’d never seen any group of males that braided their hair at the temples. In 1986 men simply didn’t do that.

  The leader of the group of barbarians stopped a few feet before Brynda and studied her face and her body with such intensity that it frightened her. When his eerie gaze clashed with hers she tried not to appear as though she was scared of him, but failed. She tried to maintain eye contact so as not to look submissive and docile as is the natural instinct for many people when confronted with a larger enemy, but she knew that, again, she had failed.

  The intense stare of his eyes was so possessive as to be alarming. He didn’t smile, didn’t show any outward signs of having emotions at all, yet his eyes—

  He softly murmured one single word in a deep, masculine voice that sounded almost computerized, a word she had no idea the meaning of…

  “Nee’ka.”

  Brynda’s wolf-blue gaze flicked up to meet his glowing one. Her eyes rounded and her jaw fell open further when, a moment later, the dark-haired giant banged on his chest, let loose a ferocious war-cry, and charged the rest of the scant distance toward her.

  Oh. My. Gawd.

  She gasped, her mind finally panicked enough to do the unthinkable and allow her to faint.

  There was only one psychology word that came to mind as her eyes rolled back into her head and her body proceeded to fall backwards like a stiff board:

  Sociopath.

  And a gigantic one at that.

  Holy shiiiit…

  Chapter 3

  Jek pulled himself up from the raised bed where he had been busily staring at his sleeping nee’ka and followed the warrior-guardsman up to Pod One—the sealed off chamber from where his pilot was commandeering the gastrolight cruiser. Upon entering the pod, he noted immediately that the mood inside of the command centre was a tense one. Leastways, Jek had ordered that he not be bothered with trivial matters whilst he was attending to his Sacred Mate, so he knew without asking that some sort of trouble was afoot.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What goes on here, Yar’at?”

  The pilot turned in his crystal-carved chair and began to speak. Jek waited patiently for his report, not wanting the soft-spoken giant to feel as though he thought him a lesser warrior because of his troubles with speech. Indeed, Jek knew what sorts of names were whispered about Yar’at behind his back as though his name was but a great jest—idiot, dim-witted, dunce—he’d heard them all…and had severely reprimanded any who thought to make sport of his giant friend.

  Yar’at’s gaze clashed with Jek’s. “W-we…” He took a deep breath and expelled it, then slowly enunciated his words that they might not trip o’er each other. “We have received a holo-call from the King of Morak, my lord.”

  Jek nodded. “And?”

  “And,” Yar’at softly continued, “He wishes us to depart for the third dimension in posthaste.”

  Jek’s eyes narrowed as he considered the king’s command. The third dimension was not a safe place for his nee’ka to be. Leastways, ‘twas not a safe place for anyone to be, let alone a wife not trained in the warring arts. He would protect his Sacred Mate with his life as would his men, aye, but the necessity thereof would handicap them for a certainty, which caused him to believe their hunting party was ill-suited for such a trek as this one. “Did you tell my cousin of my Sacred Mate?” he rumbled out, surprised Kil would ask him to go knowing that a nee’ka was counted amongst their numbers. Warriors never played a game of chance with the life of a wench who was biologically capable of breeding their kind—not ever.

  “Nay,” Yar’at admitted. “The c-connection was cut short.”

  “For a certainty did we try to recontact the k
ing,” a warrior-hunter named Kaz seconded. Kaz was another of Jek’s favored amongst the warriors. He was younger than Yar’at so not so deadly as the giant, yet ‘twas a given that the young man had proven himself a worthy hunter these past three Yessat years. “Yet did we receive no acknowledgment that our holo-call was received.”

  Jek sighed as he ran a hand o’er his jaw. ‘Twas possible his wee cousins were in trouble in the third dimension, yet ‘twas for a certainty he had no desire to take his nee’ka into a universe that was riddled with predators, slave traders, thieves, and little else. “Did the king narrow our search down to a specific planet or…?”

  Yar’at nodded. “Aye. ‘Twas to the three outlying p-planets we are to go.”

  Of course, Jek thought moodily, ‘twould be to the three planets he least desired to venture into that he had been commanded to hunt within.

  His jaw clenched tightly, realizing as he did that he had been given little choice but to see to the task. Without a verbal affirmation from Kil that would release him from the duty, ‘twas treason plain and simple to do aught else but adhere to his cousin’s command. If he broke his oath of allegiance and refused to venture onward to the third dimension, he would automatically be sentenced by the Holy Law to death in the gulch pits, High Lord or no.

  And then what would become of his nee’ka? Jek thought grimly. The warriors would never return her to the dimension of her birth if he were sentenced to die in the gulch pits. Leastways, without her having birthed a son, they would keep her in Trek Mi Q’an as naught but a servant if the next eldest of his brothers didn’t claim her in time.

  ‘Twas done this way with the nee’kas of the eldest in a line that another male’s seed might not infiltrate a royal dynasty. Jek had never seen the wisdom in keeping with this custom. Mayhap many millions of Yessat years ago it had been necessary to do as much, but now after so much biological evolution had transpired ‘twas simply not possible for any male to impregnate a wench the fates did not decree he should mate.

  Regardless, to the other warriors his woman was but a potential bound servant for the time—at least until she had born a son.