About Star Crossed
by Emily Veinglory
25 pages
Available file types - lit, pdf, prc
Simon is a hardened soldier rising through the ranks of the Thene army. When fate leads him to cross paths with the gifted psychic Slyn during a routine diplomatic assignment a deep bond forms between them, leaving them vulnerable to intrigue and danger.
For years their differences in social standing and culture keep them apart, making them both feel the pressure as the bond tries to bring them together again. Finally Slyn can stand it no longer and seeks Simon out˜with disastrous consequences. Can the two of them find a way to be together? Or are they destined to be Star Crossed?
Sample
Simon and Travis stood fifteen feet apart as the drones closed on them. If either of them was touched by one he would be shocked, and fall stunned to the ground. But it was the other man who lost the duel. For the test of marksmanship, and teamwork, given here was to cut down the drones targeting your opponent and ignore those coming after yourself.
Simon had a steady hand. He fired systematically and with a meticulous accuracy that compensated for his slower pace. Travis shot quickly with a casual but wasteful flick of his wrist, and more than occasionally he missed. He wasted too much energy trying to look good rather than just concentrating on being good.
The two men kept just about abreast with each other, until a darting drone all but touched Simon. Travis fired for it but Simon could not stop himself from swaying out of its way. The combined explosion of taser and drone flared so near his arm that it spoiled his aim, and one of the little bastards got through to Travis in that moment.
An absolute hush passed over those who watched. Strange, for these soldiers-in-training were normally very vocal in their responses to any victory or defeat. Travis came to slowly, tremors shaking up and down his body. Gavin looked up at Simon with a green-pale face. He knew that Simon had only dueled to save him, answering the challenge in his place. Travis had originally gone for Gavin, a green recruit with no chance of prevailing against an experienced upperclassman.
Ah, Gavin, the kids conscripted to the Thene rarely retained such charm and naivety. He had the features of a pre-Raphaelite angel and the body... well. Simon was not a man to take advantage, though, no matter how tempted he might be.
Simon shrugged; he had lost, and for Gavin’s sake he tried to look indifferent. He walked slowly back to his small cell and closed the door firmly behind him. He looked at the drab walls and the simple free-standing closet and bed within the room that had been his home for almost five years. His mind groped for a solution to his plight, but there was nothing he could do. Within minutes Travis was at the door to claim his prize.
There were, after all, only three reasons to duel. Dueling honed skills, it earned points toward graduation, or in the case of someone like Travis, it got him a forfeit. A sexual one. That was why Simon never dueled. He had no wish to give or take on that basis. But as an upperclassman he had an aide, and that aide was Gavin, a pretty young man not worth any combat points at all.
He let Travis in when he knocked. To do otherwise was to buck a lattice of tradition that went a thousand years deep and ten thousand men wide, as well as all the way to the top. There was always a dark corner and unrecorded moment for the men to take forfeit withheld--with interest, and speaking of it brought down even greater reprisals. Every Thene had come through this training and kept their silence about its brutal customs.
His time before being drafted had taught Simon to fear abuse and to hate it even more than he feared it. As yet, he could see no way around except to stay, as much as possible, out of its way. Travis smiled with what looked like grim satisfaction. He slammed the door conspicuously closed. The bastard was obviously pleased to let people know what he was about to do to the year’s top marksman and best overall trainee.
Go on, push me, Simon thought. Something within him was busting to break free--just waiting for the excuse.