Take Her to HeVan (Nephilim Book 6)
Read Take Her to HeVan (Nephilim Book 6) Online
Authors: Lucy Kelly
Tags: #women erotica, #multiple partners, #scifi menage, #other worldly, #fantasy scifi, #menage scifi, #supernatuarl, #womens fiction
Take Her to HeVan by Lucy Kelly
The Nephilim
Book Six
by Lucy Kelly
© Copyright June 2015 JK Publishing, Inc.
ISBN#978-1-311-5-28254
All cover art and logo © Copyright June 2015 by JK Publishing, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Cover by Jess Buffett
Published by JK Publishing, Inc.
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The Class C interstellar runabout shuttle stolen by Councilman Hend was still hidden in the Indian Peaks wilderness area of the Roosevelt State Park. Days after he had left him for dead, the body of warrior Darvik lay still and unmoving in the rear compartment. With stealth mode engaged, the shuttle couldn’t be seen by the naked eye. Help from his brother or other Nephilim would be a long time coming as any rescuers, or warriors sent to recover the body, would have to perform a grid search and get within a hundred yards in order for their tracking devices to register the cloaked ship.
A groan echoed through the shuttle, breaking the silence. The warrior, who’d lain still for so long among the wreckage at the rear of the craft, began to stir. As a sign of life, the flick of a finger was minor. As proof of life, it did the trick. In increments, he regained consciousness. The auxiliary engines hummed, circulating the air as it had done regularly since landing.
Navigator and pilot Lieutenant Karlo Darvik was fully awake. Unfortunately, his eyes seemed glued shut and his mouth was as dry as the sands of Azuma.
He could feel the hard deck underneath his body and he took a deep breath to fill his lungs. Even with his lips closed, he could feel the air hit the back of his throat. Moving his tongue, he tried desperately to work up enough saliva to speak. Knowing he had to speak in order to get the help he needed, he tried harder. When he did speak, the condition of his cracked lips and dry throat produced only a rasp.
“Computer,” he finally croaked. “Status report.”
“The shuttle landed on the planet Earth nineteen hours ago,” it replied in a chilly monotone. “Stealth mode has been activated. I will run a diagnostic on all systems. Your life signs show distress. Do you require assistance?”
“Yes,” he wheezed. “Send out a distress beacon.”
“All communications are found to be inoperative,” the voice responded instead of the beacon verification he had been expecting. “Do you have further instructions?”
“No,” he sighed. “Continue diagnostic.”
He was on his own for the time being. Unfortunately, not expecting to travel near Earth, his pack didn’t include one of the modified satellite phones, so he couldn’t call for help that way either.
Thank the Goddess that Suzanna had required all shuttle pilots to wear survival suits under their uniforms, even for short flights. In the event of loss of cabin pressure, ejection into space, or extreme physical distress, the suit would put the wearer into a type of stasis
—
though it wasn’t a true stasis, since they were maintained with minimal life signs. He knew it took between seven and eight days to travel to Earth. His suit would have healed his injuries, but it must have run out of juice. When the suit’s power supply died out, his semi-stasis halted and he awoke. No wonder he felt like shit; he probably needed to be seen by a medical. He might not be fully healed after all.
He rolled onto his side and felt blinding pain. His suit only protected from the neck down, and he’d been struck in the head. Grimacing, he forced his aching body onto all fours. His knees and palms protested as he crawled over the hard decking. He let himself collapse against the bulkhead then he reached into the compartment holding the emergency medical supplies. He groped for a ration of water to relieve his parched throat. As much as he wanted to drink deep, he knew it would make him sick. Slumped against the steel wall, he took small sips, allowing the parched tissues in his mouth to soak in the refreshing liquid. After he’d slowly consumed one emergency water ration, he grabbed the medical scanner to check himself over.
It was obvious from the scans that Hend, the traitor, had used Karlo’s own disrupter weapon against him. He also had a concussion. Karlo grasped onto a shelf and pulled himself upright, then knocked over several bottles of medication in his pursuit of the right pills to counter the effects of a disruptor blast. He swallowed two tablets with more sips of water and then slowly made his way into the small cleansing chamber.
After taking a sonic shower, he felt his stomach could withstand a liquid protein supplement and began to feel somewhat better. He would have to wait longer for solid foods. Opening another compartment, he took out a plain shirt and trousers made to be worn for sleeping on longer flights. He had a spare set of clothes in his carryall but didn’t feel like wearing anything heavy against his skin after removing the uniform and survival suit.
His head continued to throb and it felt like his whole body had been bruised. Not to mention the small amount of water he had wasn’t enough to cure his dehydration, but it was a start. Deciding he had had enough of the floor, he lowered one of the sleep beds. While he waited for the computer to complete its diagnostic, he wanted to rest his sore head and body…on something softer than the floor.
The dehydration was a major concern. At six-foot-one, he was considered short for a Nephilim warrior. It had turned into a plus when considered for a tour of duty in the Earth sector, as he could blend into the human populace. His brother, at six-foot-six, would stand out and be remembered more. Karlo’s body must have burned a lot of calories in the last few days, he normally weighed in at two-twenty, but he figured he must have lost nearly twenty pounds, even to himself he looked on the thin side.
