The Skies of Mahdis Read online

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  Wings ePress, Inc

  www.wings-press.com

  Copyright ©2005-08-01 by Wings ePress

  First published in Wings ePress, 2005

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  The Skies Of Mahdis

  "Q'winn, tell me the truth. Are you ever going to take me home?"

  "Yes.” He turned and looked at her. “There is a war coming, Trista. Before that happens, I will take you home and you will be safe."

  "What war? What do you mean? You'd see me safe, but what about your safety?” His words panicked her. What war was coming? She pushed the fear aside. She could learn this later. Tonight she had come to him for something else entirely.

  He touched her cheek in that soft way he had.

  "I am a kaden. When the war comes, I will take my place on the Anakin."

  "You just sit there and say that like it's nothing more than a Sunday drive!"

  Q'winn shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. “I don't understand the reference, but you are annoyed with me."

  "Damn right I am! You'd take me home and then come back here and fight and maybe die?"

  "I would endeavor not to meet Death."

  "You're closer than you think,” Trista muttered in Terran. Q'winn laughed softly.

  "Not that close, love,” he replied, also in Terran. He took her hand. His long fingers closed over hers and his thumb stroked across her knuckles.

  "You did not seek me out to discuss the future. You are here to discus the now."

  "Yes.” She met his gaze. “If you're really going to take me home some day, then all we have is now."

  "Then tell me what it is you seek, in your now.” His voice was a mere whisper.

  "Don't you know?” She was bold enough to come to him but her courage failed at saying the words.

  "Yes.” His eyes were shadowed. He rose and went to one of the lamps along the wall, blowing it out. He came back and held his hand out to her. She looked up at him.

  "Why did you blow out that lamp?"

  "When an avaki serves in a place, a lamp is lit for him. It is the lamp he uses for meditations, for prayer. Any who come will see it out, and know that I have received an answer from Sioda."

  "Won't they ask what your answer is? Your question?"

  "No. That would be considered very rude."

  "Will you light it again?"

  Q'winn hesitated. “Perhaps in a few days.” He pulled her to her feet, gently embracing her. “Will you come to my rooms? Will you lay with me?"

  What They Are Saying About

  The Skies Of Mahdis

  Rayne Forrest draws the reader into a believable futuristic world. My interest was held from the first, and I enjoyed reading the interaction and dialogue between the many alien characters. Also thought-provoking was Ms. Forrest's tie-in to UFO (Raku) abductions, and how the Dannarri civilization tries to prevent this alien race from committing atrocities. For a compelling and suspenseful story with plenty of sex, read The Skies Of Mahdis!

  —Susanne Marie Knight, best-selling author of Alien Heat

  Rayne Forrest has weaved a fascinating sci-fi romance, with a touch of time travel, a dash of the exotic, and a race of people that you will come to admire. Wanting a story to take you to far off places? Then I suggest you pick up this book and take a fascinating journey to another world. You won't be sorry!

  —Angela Verdenius,

  Heart of the Forsaken

  A sunny day at the beach for Trista Roberts turns into a life-altering experience. What appears to be a normal day in The Skies Of Mahdis whisks the reader away to a whole different realm when Trista becomes the abductee of alien, Q'winn H'akan. Author, Rayne Forrest made me hopeful that alien worlds do truly exist.

  —Ginger Simpson, author of Sisters in Time

  Wings

  The Skies Of Mahdis

  by

  Rayne Forrest

  A Wings ePress, Inc.

  Futuristic Romance Novel

  Wings ePress, Inc.

  Edited by: Leslie Hodges

  Copy Edited by: Elizabeth Struble

  Senior Editor: Elizabeth Struble

  Managing Editor: Leslie Hodges

  Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

  Cover Artist: mpmann

  All rights reserved

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Wings ePress Books

  www.wings-press.com

  Copyright © 2005 by Rayne Forrest

  ISBN 1-59088-426-4

  Published In the United States Of America

  August 2005

  Wings ePress Inc.

  403 Wallace Court

  Richmond, KY 40475

  Dedication

  To my mother,

  Barbara,

  with all my love.

  One

  "Come on, Trista! Let's go to the beach!” The shout was accompanied by a honking car horn. It was Laci. The beach was her favorite location.

  Trista Roberts looked up from her laptop. She'd been checking out the websites of several colleges. Institutes of higher learning were her focus here of late. Her Bachelor of Science degree in business didn't seem like enough anymore. Suddenly a day in the sun sounded like fun. Trista called down to Laci to park the car and come in while she got her things together.

  They got to the beach and staked their claim to a little piece of real estate beside an outcropping of rock that, when one was mildly inebriated, resembled a shark. They listened to the radio and played cards. A group of young men invited them to join their volleyball game. It was fun.

  One of the guys flirted with Trista and she flirted back. When he asked her out, she agreed. Pizza and a movie on a Friday night sounded pretty benign. And so did Jay. Jay sounded downright harmless. Laci laughed over it.

  "You never date. Are you having a sunstroke?"

  "Nope. I like him. He smiles a lot,” Trista said, slathering on more sunscreen.

  "So does a crocodile."

  "Oh, please. Aren't you the one always telling me to get my nose out of the books?"

  "He'll bore you silly in less than two hours,” Laci predicted.

  "Maybe,” Trista replied. She grinned at her friend. “Probably,” she confessed. She stretched out on her stomach and made herself a sand pillow under their blanket.

  "Don't let me fall asleep,” she said to Laci. “I'll burn."

  "What? Like I don't know that?” The girls had been friends since first grade.

  They settled down and began the serious business of carefully perfecting their tans.

  Somewhere around three o'clock the tide went out and Trista decided to go beachcombing. Laci went and rented a large beach umbrella. She wanted a nap.

  Trista decided to walk north. That end of the beach was always less crowded. Private homes instead of hotels lined the water's edge. Windswept sand dunes with wispy grasses remained along the hig
h water mark. Every few steps created a new vista, a new play of sun and shadow and sparkling sea.

  She walked for a while, rescuing a horseshoe crab. She'd once read they were unchanged since prehistoric times. She hoped that were true. So little was unchanged in the world today.

  The weather was perfect. Not a cloud in the intensely blue sky. The radio announcer had reported it was eighty-six degrees. The breeze off the ocean moderated the heat. Trista thought it was just right.

  Her entire life was ahead of her. With her degree finally in hand, she had options. She wanted to follow her heart to her first love, architecture. It had been her passion since she'd been a young girl. With a little luck she hoped to make it her career.

  She climbed to the top of a dune and sat staring out at the ocean. She'd walked much farther than she ever had. There was not a house, or a person in sight. She wasn't wearing her watch, but she guessed it was approaching five o'clock. She was in deep trouble now.

  If it were as late as she suspected, she'd be two hours walking back. She was in good shape but the soles of her feet were getting sore from the sand. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. She should have been paying closer attention, but when she walked like this she became so absorbed in the world around her she forgot time.

  Laci would be furious. There was a two-hour drive ahead of them to get back home. She stood with the intention of heading back with all due haste. Her world suddenly shifted and went black.

  Rough hands grabbed her. She yelped in surprise and protest. The same rough hands slapped her. Instead of clearing, her confusion deepened. She heard garbled voices. She suddenly realized she was no longer on the beach. Panic welled up inside her and she tried to push it away. She had to be dreaming.

  She tried to roll over and turn on the light. She wasn't lying down. Disorientation and dizziness sent her to her knees. She heard her voice from far away asking what was going on. The rough hands shoved at her again. Fear beat at her, then anger.

  "What's going on?” she demanded.

  "Hhisza!" a rough male voice shouted at her just before someone slapped her face.

  "That's enough!” she cried, struggling against the bruising grip of his hands.

  "Hhisza, klarr!" shouted the same male voice. The hands shook her violently then let go. She dropped limply to the cold metal floor.

  Something was very wrong and she wondered briefly if she'd been drugged. Her vision was beginning to refocus. Her thoughts were becoming clearer.

  There was a metallic tang in the air that held none of the salt of the sea. Whatever it was it left her tongue feeling as if it were coated by the stuff. The light was so dim she wondered if it were twilight already. She couldn't find the sun. It had been just over her right shoulder a few moments ago.

  Trista tried to stand. Rough hands shoved her back to the floor. This time she remained still. Her mind was beginning to fit the pieces together. She washed cold with fear.

  A different male voice barked out an obvious order. Trista struggled to understand the words, but she couldn't bring them into focus. A thin blanket was spread over her. It was surprisingly warm and she pulled it tightly around her shaking body.

  She tried to think logically before her fear could take control. Stories of white slavery ran through her mind. Surely that could not be. She had been alone, completely alone, on the beach. There had not been another person in sight.

  She'd been sitting on the sand dune, she remembered. She'd stood up and was engulfed by a cold, biting wind. It had picked her up, lifting her off her feet. She clearly remembered the sensation now. There had been nothing beneath her bare feet. Nothing but air.

  Her brain rejected such a thing. It could not have happened.

  Trista took several deep breaths and tried to steady herself. Clarity returned, rushing in on her. She was huddled on a very cold metallic floor.

  Examine the facts, she told herself. Remain calm.

  She didn't have time. One of the men grabbed her and hauled her to her knees.

  "Rqika!" he ordered. She tried to turn to look at him. He grabbed the back of her neck and shoved her forward. "Rqika!"

  Trista stayed on her knees remaining as motionless as possible. A door opened somewhere and footsteps echoed off the walls, coming nearer. A pair of dark leather boots walked into her line of sight and stopped in front of her.

  The newcomer and her keeper conversed. She didn't know their language. It could be Russian, or one of the Slavic tongues, but she didn't recognize any words.

  A gloved hand grasped her chin and tipped her head back. She was suddenly looking into a pair of curious sea-green eyes. She refused to blink as he held her gaze for several long moments.

  His expression suddenly hardened. Apprehension rippled down her spine. He let go of her chin and snapped out another order. Her keeper yanked her to feet, hauling her towards the door with a crushing grip on her arm. The man with the green eyes grabbed her keeper, loosening the man's grip on her considerably. He bowed slightly to the green-eyed man then pulled Trista through the doorway.

  She stumbled along as he dragged her down a long corridor. They came to a door and he stepped on small lever. The door opened and he unceremoniously threw Trista inside. The door closed between them. Her knees threatened to buckle and she dropped, shaking and exhausted on the low couch.

  She was horribly dizzy. She fought against it, not wanting to pass out. She'd never passed out in her life. It was no use. The world went black.

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  Trista slowly came back to disoriented awareness. She surveyed her surroundings and discovered she was in a small room with no windows and a low ceiling. A tiny alcove held what must be bathroom facilities. The tub at least looked like a tub. There was only one door.

  She scrambled to her feet and made three quick steps to the door and searched for an inside release. The metal beneath her feet was vibrating. She must be on a ship.

  Trista pushed back a choking wave of panic. The wild stories about white slavery suddenly didn't seem so wild. A frightened scream sprang from her when the door slid open without warning.

  Trista stared at the woman in the doorway. She had eyes like a cat. The woman smiled, revealing a row of very sharp-looking pointed teeth. She tossed a bundle of clothes at Trista and gestured for her to put them on.

  She quickly complied. The soft leather boots were a bit snug. She suspected the leather would give just enough to fit her feet perfectly.

  Then she wondered why she was thinking about the odd little boots and not screaming hysterically and fainting again. No one on earth would have eyes like that woman had and here she was, she was pondering a pair of boots. This had to be a dream.

  The cat-eyed woman gestured for Trista to follow her, so she did. Trista did not trust the woman, not by any stretch of the imagination, but this was an opportunity to figure out what was going on and to escape.

  Escape what, escape where? her brain screamed. She was on a boat. Unless she could see the shore, she wouldn't know which way to jump and start swimming.

  It must be a big ship. The corridor stretched endlessly before them. Trista was counting her steps when she suddenly realized the floor seemed to slope uphill. She stopped to look behind her and realized the walls curved.

  The woman took her arm and pulled her forward again. They finally stopped a door with some strange symbols on it.

  The woman laid her hand on a panel beside the door. A few seconds later, the door opened and Trista could see the man with the sea-green eyes seated behind his desk. The woman urged Trista inside.

  "Rqika," the woman hissed at Trista as she knelt. "Rqika!" She tugged at Trista's hand. Deciding it might be in her best interest to kneel and not anger the man, she complied.

  Trista observed her companion had bowed her head. Trista looked around at her surroundings. The man moved slightly and Trista's attention snapped to him. Their eyes locked.

  He regarded her with open curiosity. Every instinct she had cauti
oned her to tread carefully with him. He looked dangerous and powerful. Yet his eyes spoke of another side of him.

  "What do you want with me?” she asked as evenly as she could, but she was alarmed at the way her voice shook.

  The woman beside her jerked and hissed another strange word at her. Trista recognized it. The man who'd been so rough with her had used it.

  "Hhisza."

  "What does that mean? I don't understand your language."

  "Hhisza, hhisza," the woman whispered more urgently.

  "I don't want to 'hiessa' right now.” The man's expression darkened. Trista wondered how big a mistake she'd just made.

  The man spoke briefly to the other woman. The woman looked surprised, then rose and exited, leaving Trista alone with the man. The man spoke a command. Trista heard the lock engage on the door.

  "Kassa," he said softly.

  Trista looked at him. He made no gesture or gave any clue as to what he wanted. He repeated the word and held out his hand to her. She shook her head.

  She didn't want to get close enough to him for him to grab her. Her heart was beating wildly. What would she do if he decided to ... ?

  Trista sprang to her feet when he stood. Where she'd run in this sealed room she didn't know, but she planned on running. He stood staring at her. Trista stared back.

  He was tall, at least six-two, possibly a bit more. His hair was a jet black, carelessly combed and falling in a wavy mass to curl on his collar. Short black stubble darkened his cheeks. He was broad shouldered and well muscled. Dressed in black he reminded Trista of a sleek jaguar. His eyes never left hers.

  He held his hand out to her again. "Kassa."

  "No."

  His eyes narrowed. He stepped towards her and she retreated. The muscle in his jaw twitched. She bumped against the wall. White teeth flashed in a quick smile. He grabbed her wrist.

  "Kassa," he repeated, pulling her away from the wall. "Kassa."

  He pulled her around the room like she was a puppy being trained. It infuriated her and she rebelliously tried to yank her wrist from his grasp. He grinned, tightening his grip. He dragged her to the couch and pushed her down onto it. "Vkcek."