Whispers in the Dawn

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com

Whispers in the Dawn

ISBN #978-0-85715-911-3

©Copyright Aurora Rose Lynn 2012

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright March 2012

Edited by Amy Parker

Total-E-Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Total-e-sizzling
and a
sexometer
of
1.

This story contains 142 pages, additionally there is also a
free excerpt
at the end of the book containing 13 pages.

WHISPERS IN THE DAWN

Aurora Rose Lynn

A wedding day turns to attempted murder.

Nothing counts but the mission. Nothing is relevant but getting the job done.

Dakoda Harley is undercover and is the second in command on the space station of Romaydia. He jeopardises his life in an attempt to bring to justice the murderer of his wife. The station is rife with hidden dangers introduced at every step by an ever-changing variety of unsavoury foreigners, but the naïve and beautiful woman pretending to be a sophisticated traveller catches his eye. Does he dare place her under his protection even though he has no idea who she really is and she might be a spy ready to turn him in as a traitor?

The pretty woman, Odessa Grante, is devastated that her wedding day turned to tragedy when her fiancé raced away on his spaceship, stranding her on Romaydia. She is without money, is unable to return home, and when an attempt is made to kill her, she fears for her safety in an unfamiliar and perilous world. Trust appears to be a commodity that is hard to come by on Romaydia. When she meets the dashing second-in-command, can she rely on him to keep his word to guard her or is he a wolf parading in sheep’s clothing?

Chapter One

2090 C.E.

Odessa was anxious to escape the crowded and unfamiliar public area of the space station and get back on the
Drifter
. The thrill of adventure had dissipated. Romaydia wasn’t a place intended for a woman walking alone, with its ill-lit corridors and unappealing strangers roaming everywhere in their search for novelty and perhaps forbidden pleasures. Voices—some high-pitched, some husky and low—mingled with one another, creating a wall of noise that grated on her nerves. The smell of rotten eggs, unwashed bodies, overpowering flowery perfumes and musky colognes did nothing to settle her queasy stomach. And today was her wedding day.

For the first time since she had left Earth three months earlier, Odessa felt panicky fear settle in the pit of her stomach. Adventure wasn’t all it was cut out to be. She clutched a small brown parcel protectively to her chest as she tried desperately to avoid brushing against any particular individual in the milling crowd. Roland had given her strict instructions about delivering the package.

Her upper arm inadvertently touched the chest of a hairy alien who squinted at her with one misshapen eye. “Sorry,” she mumbled, hoping he understood Earth English. He blinked and his lips moved wordlessly before he stalked off, leaving a stiff breeze in his wake.

To her relief, she found the concourse numbered ‘fourteen’, behind which the
Drifter
was docked. Oddly enough, the door was closed tightly. Uneasiness burgeoned within Odessa. Hoping there was some error with the operating system, she pressed her palm against the recognition panel next to the door, which should have opened at her contact.

Immediately an unsympathetic male voice intoned, “Concourse fourteen sealed. No admittance. Repeat. No admittance.”

The dread that had been growing for the past hopeless hour bloomed into life.

“What is going on?” she asked. How was she supposed to get back on the ship if the concourse was closed? Maybe Roland Baylon, her fiancé aboard the
Drifter,
would know, but how was she supposed to contact him? How had she become so helpless, so totally out of her mind because she had fallen in love? She hunkered down to see into the round hole of the viewing circle, expecting to see a ship that looked like a flat quarter
docked in the perpetual darkness.

Her heart began to race. Sweat popped out on her forehead, as if tiny beads of her fear had come to life in a physical manifestation. Outside, there was nothing to see but twinkling diamond stars.

Alarm bells sounded in her head. The warning signs about Roland had been there all along, hadn’t they? His jokes had become painfully thin. “He’s playing another of his gags,” she whispered, almost on the verge of tears. She had never before felt so alone and abandoned. “I can take care of myself. I can take care of myself,” she repeated over and over, like a mantra.

She drew herself to her full height, slightly over five feet three inches. Roland often played his worn jokes that had become irritating and not at all funny because they were at her expense. This time he had tested her limits. “Where are you, Roland?” She spun slowly around, dragging on the heels of her feet, searching for him, suspecting the effort was wasted. When he didn’t want to be found, he became as good as invisible.

She shouted into the crowded station in a high voice, “Roland! Come out, right now! Don’t play around on our wedding day!”

Amidst the already ear-splitting noise, her shout of frustration hardly made a dent. No one turned to look or question her. She was truly, and miserably, alone.

Her carefree uncle’s prediction came rushing back. “He’ll love you and leave ya. He’s nothing more than the devil in disguise, and won’t ever commit to you.”

Odessa found a hint of comfort in the memory. After his sage pronouncement, her uncle had slid his favourite smoking pipe between his weathered lips and continued to rock in the chair from which the varnish had long ago peeled away. When she had offered to refinish the aged maple, he’d replied, “I like it the way it is. It’s old. Like me. If you repaint it, that’s about the same as giving me those new-fangled teeth. Why bother when I’ve almost done my time on this earth?”

Homesickness overwhelmed her, as it had almost from the time the
Drifter
had left Earth. She missed her older twin brothers, Brody and Jason, and Uncle Peter who always smoked his pipe in the old rocking chair out on the porch no matter how hot or cold the weather turned. She missed the aromatic scent of stately pine trees, the wide open fields, puffy white clouds floating by in a robin’s egg blue sky, and the orchards of blossoming apple trees.

In contrast, Romaydia was as colourless as the sky on a flat, leaden-grey day. The whole place—three months travelling distance from Earth, built five years ago, according to Roland—appeared utilitarian and uncomfortable, metal riveted to cold metal. Odessa felt as if she was walking through the middle of a huge pipe flanked by smaller pipes. The floor was nothing more than grating, through which she could see pieces of garbage and other items she didn’t wish to name. Sometimes, if she looked hard enough, she could see the electrical conduits through the metal grid.

Why had she thought she had wanted to escape the beautiful, rural Washington area she had grown up in and experiment with the wider world? Why had she allowed Roland to convince her Romaydia was the perfect place for a wedding? The perfect place would have been a flower garden near the Columbia River, surrounded by her friends and family. Romaydia couldn’t hold the proverbial candle to her dream of the perfect scene for a wedding. In fact, the whole station was drab and colourless. Why had she listened to him?

“Stupid fool,” she muttered. She had listened because she thought she had really fallen in love, with a man so unlike those unsophisticated high school buddies she’d dated. Roland was different.

Her smile was melancholy as she reminisced. Her brothers, husky men who used their bulk to get their way, usually won out—with everyone else but her. She had learned that if she wheedled enough, they would give in to all but one of her demands, which was not to bail her out of trouble but to let her learn from her mistakes. It hadn’t made her wiser. All her petty insistencies and cajoling gave her a false sense of self-confidence. On Earth, she’d known that if she got into big trouble, her brothers would come charging to the rescue. And here she was, coming up on twenty-four. Three months ago she would have thought she was smart and savvy enough to make her own decisions. Now Odessa found herself lacking. How would she manage alone if Roland really had vanished into outer space?

Careful not to brush against any of the beings crowding near her, she whirled around and once more searched for Roland. He was nowhere to be seen.

She caught sight of a woman in a long, grey-blue silk skirt, pressing her thin body up against a man and brazenly giving him a lingering kiss. Further along, a peddler hawked his wares in a voice that carried over the buzz of the myriad conversations floating through the stuffy air. Her eyes fixed on the woman kissing the tall man. How could she be so open in a public place? She shrugged and finished scanning the area, which was so crowded she could barely breathe and so unlike her peaceful, small hometown of Wenatchee.

She bent over and set her package on the ground. What was tucked inside? Should she rip apart the heavy string wrapped around it? She had trusted Roland enough not to ask questions about his business, but now she wasn’t so sure. She shouldn’t have acted the love-struck fool. She searched through the pockets of her black woollen slacks for her identity papers and perhaps some money. Her pockets were empty of everything except a stick of glossy plum-rose lipstick, the most useless article at this moment. At the least, she should have carried money to be on the safe side.

She wanted to cast the cosmetic item onto the floor and jump up and down on it. What use was it except as an extension of her vanity? Her stomach rumbled, reminding her it had been hours since she had eaten a light breakfast. “Roland, you son of a bitch, you better show up in a hurry,” she exclaimed, “or I’ll rip you apart.”

As if that would really happen, Odessa thought miserably.

“Are you lost?” a woman wearing a faded violet gown asked. She stood only an inch higher than Odessa. Some sixth sense told Odessa the woman had probably been taller at one time, but life had taken its toll.

“That’s kind of you to ask,” Odessa replied, thankful for the woman’s presence. Her hour-long hunt for the room she was to deliver the package to, had shown her that most people, some humans, and others a mix, walked with their eyes cast down, as if to avoid even momentary eye contact with others.