The Source is hunting Talents but Kara Jester is no
distressed damsel...
WARNING: LANGUAGE, SEX
Binder
The Price of Talent Book 2
by AK Nevermore
Genre
Spicy Dystopian SciFi Romance
On an alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population. Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations, giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting them…
Flynn and Kara have made it to the north, but they’re far from safe.
In the city of Glynfyls, the ruling body known as the Assembly has become ineffectual at best and treasonous at worst, leaving the Northern Territories ripe for invasion. Under the threat of blackmail, Flynn Scot is forced into a leadership position to combat the corruption and to protect his family. Titus is coming, and unless Flynn can convince the Assembly that the threat from the Source is real, every Talent in the North faces harvesting.
Meanwhile, Kara is floundering.
Thrown into a completely new environment, Talent Kara Jester questions her place in the North and everything else. Plagued by wedding preparations and without the ability to bind her resurfacing memories of trauma, she’s a mess. Then, with the arrival of someone from her past, tensions skyrocket between her and Flynn.
And it’s mirrored within the city.
After a string of grisly murders and abductions, Glynfyls is in turmoil. With the Original Houses playing games and setting their machinations above the common’s safety, no one is free from recrimination and rumors abound. So do threats of civil unrest. And if Flynn can’t find a way to get out from under his blackmailer’s thumb and set things right, their fairytale wedding being planned amidst the madness won’t end in a happily ever after.
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Breaker
The Price of Talent Book 1
Self-exiled to the Outside, Flynn Scot is oath-bound to a life of strict penance.
Cursed with a vicious temper and haunted by the blood-stained debauchery of his past, Flynn’s sworn off women, whiskey, and violence, and doesn’t give a damn about whispers of the coming war. He sure as hell isn’t in the mood to make good on a debt when it’s called in, especially when playing white knight outs him as a Talent, and the damsel in distress as his soulmate.
On the run from her future as a broodmare for the Source, escaped Talent Kara Jester is no distressed damsel.
And the last thing she wants is to be trapped in a blizzard with a surly—and frustratingly captivating—thug. Without the suppression meds holding her libido in check, her biology’s primed to procreate, and Flynn’s growled assurances that he won’t touch her doesn’t match the hunger in his eyes.
It doesn’t align with what fate has in store for them, either.
With elite troops hot on their heels and the border set to close, it’s a race to the North, away from Kara’s horrific future and towards the dark past Flynn wants to keep buried. Clinging to the shreds of his oath, he’s forced to choose between protecting the woman he’s afraid to love and letting out the animal he swore he’d never be again. Either may destroy him, if Kara’s secrets don’t get them killed first.
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Flynn put his book aside and eyed the massive pile of wood Kara had brought in. She stacked the last of the logs against the wall, pensive.
“You good?”
Her smile was forced. “Yeah, it’s just so quiet. I’m not used to it.”
She knelt beside him and unwrapped the compress. It’d long since gone cold. His gaze slid over her inspecting his knee. There was a competence and economy to her motions that gave the impression she was very good at what she was doing. He shivered at her touch, and a muscle in his jaw popped.
She peeked up at him. “Cold hands?”
“Yeah.” They were, but that wasn’t the issue.
“You have to stay off it.” She reached forward like she was going to ruffle his hair, then pulled back when he tensed, biting at her thumb.
Goddamn it. That kicked-dog look was back on her face. Flynn closed his eyes, fighting the urge to pull her into his lap and tell her everything would be okay. Wasn’t his f*cking problem.
Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies. Shit was gutting him. Why the hell he felt responsible for her…
He wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Couldn’t handle his own train-wreck. Adding her to that equation would only get her hurt. Last thing he wanted was for her to see what a monster he was. For whatever had been in her eyes before to snuff out.
Screw her not thinking he was a white knight; she’d despise him.
His stomach churned, sick over it.
“Mind if I put on some pants?”
Kara stared at her hands, fingers laced together. “As long as I can get to your knee.”
“Grab me those.” She got his sweats, and he moved the recliner back upright, feeling like an absolute dick. He jerked his head at the cupboard. “Couple cans of soup in there, if you’re hungry.”
She hopped to, like he’d given an order. Flynn’s brow furrowed, pulling on the sweats. What was that about? It was like a part of her had just shut down—
He bit back a groan. That look she had before. The one where he’d sworn she thought she was fucking defective or some shit, and he’d been flat out rejecting her advances. Christ, he wanted to kick his own ass. Having an ugly pr*ck like him say no had to be great for her ego. Motherf—
“How do I…?” She was turning a can over in her hands, frowning.
“Opener’s where you found the forks,” he muttered, watching her push around his meager supply of cutlery. God, he was an asshole, and there wasn’t anything he could say without making it worse.
“This thing?” She held it up for his inspection.
“Yeah, just clip it on and turn the wheel.”
She put her back to him, and it sounded like she was botching the job. Like she needed another blow to her confidence. Flynn sighed, hoisting himself up. So much for staying off his knee.
“You shouldn’t be—”
“I gotta piss.”
Kara turned away, flushing. He limped the six steps to the table and steadied himself with a hand to one side of her, grinning before he could help himself. She was so frickin’ adorable fumbling with the damned thing. How could you be clueless about operating a can opener?
“Here, just—no, not like—come here.” He moved behind her, adjusting her grip, and firmly clipping it onto the side of the can. Damn, she smelled good. As in there-goes-taking-a-piss-right-away good.
“Go on, turn it.” Her fingers were long and slender beneath his. Smooth.
“Like this?” she asked, peeking over her shoulder at him, all innocent and sexy as hell. It twined around him in that heady musk. Flynn’s eyes dropped to her lips—
F*ck, he couldn’t do this.
“Yeah.” He reached past her to grab a stout stick leaning between the cabinet and the wall. Woman was killing him. “Next one’s all you.” He lurched into the bathroom, cursing himself.
Kara’s bra hung limply from the curtain rod, mocking him. He ran the water, splashing the glacial iciness over his head, hard-on throbbing for the umpteenth time today. Pretty soon frostbite wasn’t gonna be a deterrent to j*cking off.
And he was supposed to take her north.
F*cking Cal.
Nothing had gone right since he’d answered his call. And now he was stuck with her and a mandate hanging over his head. Keep his dick in his pants. The hell he would, she wanted him, and if she kept offering it up, who was he to say no?
Flynn blew out noisily, scrubbing at his face. No. That wasn’t him. Not anymore, and she deserved better. Emotions running riot, he doused his head in the sink, soaking his shirt in the process.
Whatever. It stank, just like the rest of him. He peeled it off and chucked it onto the pile in the corner, sponging himself down. A Binder. Why the hell did she have to be a Binder? Bred for talent and beauty. They’d done a bang up job with her. Her in that lacy bra flitted across his mind’s eye. Shit, those halos. He’d never seen—Christ, he needed a cold shower. This goddamn knee. He wouldn’t be able to keep his balance in there…though sitting in six inches of freezing water held a certain appeal. He grimaced, grabbed his scissors, and snipped a few errant hairs off his upper lip—
What am I doing?
He threw the scissors back behind the mirror, disgusted with himself. He’d keep his hands off her. Ducking his head, he sighed, staring down at his tented sweats, then at the dirty laundry pile, and finally, the walking stick.
F*ck my life. How the hell was this gonna work? He snorted, trying to remember the last time he’d had to hide an erection.
Oh yeah, about an hour ago.
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AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up camo Chucks.
Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.
She pays the bills editing, wielding a wicked hot pink pen and writing a column on SFF. She also belongs to the Authors Guild, is a chapter treasurer for the RWA, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.
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I would enjoy reading this one. Thanks for sharing.
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