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  STOLEN EARTH

  Delroi Connection Book Three

  By

  Loribelle Hunt

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  Author's Note

  Welcome to Delroi! If you enjoy this story, please join my mailing list to be the first to hear about the next book in the Delroi series, or my reader group Delroi Oasis for additional information.

  ~ Loribelle

  Britt Anderson is retired. Secretive and fiercely independent, she journeys to Delroi to spend time with her two oldest friends. She doesn’t expect to be dragged back into the spy business when she gets there. But the lure is impossible to fight for a not so reformed adrenalin junkie. Danger. Conspiracy. What’s not to love?

  Unfortunately, there’s always a price and it presents itself as the darkly dangerous Barak Trace. She can’t deny the attraction, but has enough sense to steer clear of the possessive glint in his gaze. Until he somehow manages to merge his psychic abilities with hers. When he’s captured by rebel forces, she has no choice but to go after him. The question is will she be able to free himself once he’s rescued? And will she even want?

  Originally published in 2009.

  Contents

  Author's Note

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Nineteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  MORE FROM LORIBELLE HUNT

  COPYRIGHT

  One

  She’d vacillated between fury and abject terror so much over the past few days she didn’t know if she was coming or going anymore. It wasn’t fear of being injured or killed herself that worried her. She’d been in worse tight spots. No. It was the loss of half of her soul that terrified her. Damn Barak. When she got her hands on him she might kill him herself for putting her in this position.

  Britt Anderson stood back in the shadows of an alley, in the massive southern city on Delroi that was the seat of the rebels’ power. It was called Saber City, named after the ruling Saber clan. She watched and waited for a signal from Jaxon and his men. The Overchief’s men. And while her old friend Kendall may have mated with the Delroi leader, Britt only trusted them because they worked for Barak, the Delroi Spymaster who’d somehow tied his soul to hers moments before being taken prisoner by these southern rebels. She had no idea who’d taken him or why, but she’d been looking for him for weeks.

  The darkness in front of her shifted the slightest fraction, the barest inch, and her eyes narrowed. Focused. Picked apart the shadows. Not something a regular person—a non-combatant—would have noticed, could have done. She pressed her lips together and bit hard, reminding herself. She’d never been one of them. Never been a civilian. Never been a normal functioning part of the masses.

  She sensed the spy moving up to her before she saw him. Didn’t tense and give herself away as he approached. Barely managed to not flinch. She gritted her teeth. Where was all her fabled cold, self-control now?

  “The informant says he’s in there,” Jaxon whispered, nodding once towards the building across the street and two doors down. “We have someone inside but you won’t have a lot of time. Get in and get out. You have twenty minutes to get to the rendezvous point.”

  She nodded. “Got it,” she replied so softly her words were a whisper of air, the barest current.

  She hoped like hell she did. The place was a warren. The streets and lanes and alleys were narrow twisting paths, the five and six story buildings so close they blotted out the sky. It was almost like being back on Earth where she’d done a brief stint in the Moroccan Kasbah, which was not reassuring because she’d never figured it out either.

  Jaxon moved closer to her, close enough to brush up against her side, and even though she knew he wasn’t interested in her at all, it made her skin crawl. It made her nervous and shifty and want to lash out. She ground her teeth together. This was not like her. This was Barak not wanting anyone near her. This was her letting him affect her even though he’d gone quiet. She almost growled, but repressed the urge as Jaxon began whispering instructions in her ear. It could wait—her anger and frustration—until they were sure Barak was free and safe. Then she would make him pay for all her discomfort.

  She crossed the street and rapped lightly on the door three times, paused, then rapped twice more in the prearranged signal. The door was opened by a short, cowled person, but she’d learned in the last few weeks that didn’t mean anything. Everyone wore robes in the southern hemisphere on Delroi. Everyone wore hoods. It certainly aided in hiding one’s identity, but the main reason was to protect from the unrelenting wind, from the sand that was a constantly moving force against sensitive skin.

  “Quickly,” the covered person-a man?-said. He led her to a door at the end of a hall. “He’s in the third room.” A woman. The timbre was definitely a woman’s voice. She pressed something into Britt’s hand. “The key. Downstairs. Third door and then follow the tunnel out.”

  She didn’t give Britt a chance to respond, instead pushed her through the door and shut it firmly behind her. She stumbled on the steps but quickly found her footing. It was dark but there was enough dim lighting to guide her way. Her hands shook as she found the third door and inserted the key in the lock. Twisted.

  She held the battery powered torch up and flicked the switch. Squinted as light suddenly flooded the area. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, seconds she didn’t have, but she was already moving forward. Barak was restrained in the middle of an empty room. Legs tied to the bottom of a chair and arms pulled behind his back. She moved quickly. Cut the ropes at his ankles and wrists fast.

  “Barak,” she whispered harshly when he didn’t move. “Wake up.”

  One moment he was out like a light and she was afraid she was too late. The next he was in motion. Standing. Propelling himself and her under him, to the wall. He moved so fast. Lips peeled back in a snarl, gaze wild. Like a creature out of nightmare. She stared him in the eyes. Saw madness there and willed him to come back to her. He held her hands over her head and she struggled against him, but it was a useless fight. He was bigger, faster, stronger.

  Her only recourse was mental communication. But it made the bond between them stronger so she hated to resort to telepathy. Which was stupid, really, considering how pissed and worried she’d been when he cut his mind off from hers. She almost reconsidered and pulled back, but she couldn’t stand to leave him this half-mad creature.

  “Barak. Barak! Come back to me.” Something flashed in his eyes. Knowledge. Civilization. “Please, baby. Please.”

  He pressed her against the wall, his growing erection insistent against her pelvis and she shuddered in response. Wished it was for her and not just a natural response to adrenalin and survival instinct. This was a man strong enough to take her. Strong enough to claim her. If he remained sane after his weeks of captivity. It had probably taken her too long to find him to hope for that.

  “We have to go,” he whispered harshly, and grabbed her hand, tugging her out of the room.

  In the hall he tried to turn to the right, the way she’d come, but she dug in her heels and pulled him the other way. “No. This way.”

  She found the other route and they climbed the steep exit, entering the new street just as an explosion rocked the area. “Shit!” she uttered angrily, shielding her eyes from the distant explosion she was certain was their transport back to the Overchief’s home. “Now what?”


  Barak was in bad shape, battered, bruised, and bloody, but he straightened and looked around. He jerked his head towards the alley. “That way.”

  She wanted to argue but he let her in his mind. The relief, after weeks when he’d been blocking the connection, was so great she almost passed out. He caught her, fed her strength he couldn’t afford to lose. “We have to move, honey,” he whispered.

  “I know.” Pissed at the connection between them, the way he made her feel weak in the knees, weak in spirit, she shoved his hands away and followed him through the alley, refusing to give into the need to put her shoulder under his. To help him. He was in bad shape. She knew it and he knew it and both were too proud to admit it.

  “Where are we going?”

  He turned to her, slowed a bit and cocked an eyebrow. “Home, of course. Where else do you go when you’re on your own?”

  His words were like a barb to the chest and that pissed her off even more. She’d never had a home and he didn’t trust her. Why should that matter? She didn’t trust him either. But she’d come this far for a mental bond he’d forced on her. “That isn’t good enough,” she snarled.

  His hand snaked out fast to grab her wrist, much faster than a badly injured, maybe mortally injured man should be able to manage. “It’s enough for now. Don’t fight me, Britt. We need to rest and regroup. Both of us.”

  He was pushing at her mind, trying to find entrance, and it took her awhile to realize he was also pushing at her shields, encouraging her to relax her guard. She ground her molars together as she followed him through the streets. Sleeping, she couldn’t fight him off. Couldn’t keep him from her mind. But awake? Awake she was in charge. Her nerve endings sizzled at the thought and she glared at his back, knowing he’d read it and responded as if she were challenging him. A challenge her body wanted to answer in direct opposition to her mind. She kept her groan to herself. She was so screwed.

  Two

  Britt woke all at once, an old army special forces trick, and listened to her surroundings. Cautiously, she let her other senses flare out. Nothing felt bad or dangerous. Barak was near. She felt him close and knew on a deeply instinctive level he would never let anyone harm her. That didn’t mean there weren’t dangerous undercurrents in the house or that he could control unseen threats. He seemed to be unconsciously warning her to go cautiously. Shit.

  He’d led them to this house in the middle of the night, to a back door that had been answered to his soft tap. A suspicious man had opened the door, taken one look at Barak and ushered them both in. The man had ushered them down a set of stairs, to this room. Barak had entered and thrown the lock. Days of inadequate sleep and a near non-stop adrenalin rush caught up with her and she’d gone straight for the bed and crashed. He’d thought they were safe here and she found she couldn’t help but feel secure when he was around.

  But the morning desert glare brought sanity and she rose out of the bed, the bed she’d shared with him, untouched and unsatisfied. Suspicious and angry even in sleep. There was a row of windows at the top of one wall and she saw feet walking by, realized she was in a room mostly below ground. There was no bathroom or closet. Only the bed and a single dresser. She got up and approached it, scooping water out of a bowl on top of it and splashing her face.

  She longed for a shower. The sand here in the south was everywhere. The wind blew it with a non-stop, unrelenting force. She pulled off the long sleeved shirt she’d been wearing for how many days she refused to remember. Dropping it to the floor, she looked at it with distaste. She refused to put that thing back on ever again. There wasn’t a lot of water in the basin, but she used it, hoping it was enough to rinse off the worst of the sand and sweat.

  After she’d finished, she stood and faced herself in the mirror. She was wearing black combat pants and a tight tank top. Tattoos covered eighty percent of the skin left exposed below her collarbone. Few people ever saw them. They were private. Her personal, permanent reminder that there were still beautiful things on Earth. Things worth fighting for when everything else seemed hopeless. She wasn’t comfortable exposing them, exposing herself to strangers, but it was better than the alternative.

  She was a little surprised that the door opened. That she wasn’t locked in. Of course, if Barak wasn’t why would she be? He was in her mind, maybe not consciously but he was there, and she followed his mental beacon through the basement, up a set of narrow stairs and into a large kitchen. He looked up, somewhat distracted, when she entered, but was on his feet, waiting for her in moments.

  “Britt. Come here.”

  He held his hand out to her as if he expected her to be some obedient lackey. It pissed her right the fuck off. She’d risked her neck coming after him. The least he could do was treat her like she was human, like she was his equal. The crazy thing was she found herself going to him anyway and she desperately checked her mental shields. Made sure he didn’t have access he shouldn’t. Except that was stupid wasn’t it? He’d been in her head since right before he got captured.

  “It’s okay,” he said, taking her hand.

  She shook her head, dread filling her. The loss of control was not acceptable. “No, it isn’t.”

  He bent his head to her neck, right under her ear and whispered. “Trust me.”

  All of the blood in her body rushed to her pussy as his hot breath blew over her skin, as his intent sunk into her mind. He meant to have her. In more ways than she’d ever tried. More ways than she’d ever imagined.

  Someone cleared a throat behind him but she didn’t see who it was. He was ushering her out, back downstairs, back to that spare, barren room. He slammed the door behind them. Flicked the lock. Leaning back, blocking her escape he looked her over. He took his time about doing it. The scrutiny made her self-conscious and she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Oh no, baby. No way.”

  *

  Barak approached her slowly. She was skittish. The last thing he’d expected. He had a hard time controlling the erratic beating of his heart. The euphoria. She’d come. He knew she would. Probably would have even if he hadn’t bound her to him before he was captured. And now... Well, now he could make it real.

  He’d never really believed he would find his der’lan. That there would be a woman for him, only for him. The mate of his heart. He sure as hell knew there were few who could handle him. But if any could, this spy from Earth was the one. The one who was strong enough. The one who could submit enough. The need to touch her, taste her, possess her was all consuming.

  She retreated and he followed until her back was against the wall. Her breathing was heavy and her skimpy shirt stretched tight across breasts he wanted to shape, to taste.

  “Mine.” He used the mental path between them, growled his intent, before lowering his head, catching her lips. When she refused to open for him, he nipped, tugged her lower lip between his teeth until she groaned and rocked her pelvis against him.

  Lifting her hands, she pushed at his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. He caught them, laced their fingers together and slammed them against the wall on either side of her face. He ground his cock against her pelvis, felt the whimper of desire in her mind more than heard it.

  She let him into her mouth and his tongue thrust in. Setting a fierce, steady rhythm, matching the rocking of his hips. He lifted her arms so he could hold both her wrists in one hand above her head. The change in position pushed her breasts up, made them rub against his chest.

  He tugged her shirt out of her pants, slid his palm up under it. Her belly quivered under his touch and he felt the arousal she couldn’t hide in her mind as he slid it up. Slowly. Exploring. Absorbing the feel of her. Then he was cupping her breast, squeezing it.

  She strained towards him, tried to pull her wrists free, but he couldn’t allow her retreat. He’d suffered too many weeks through the uncompleted bond and his primitive side was in charge. Demanding control. Demanding complete surrender. She twisted her head to the side, breaking his kis
s, and something ugly, dark and fiercely possessive, rose inside him.

  “Not like this,” she whispered.

  He felt how the loss of control shook her, how she didn’t trust herself, didn’t trust him to her care. The knowledge enraged the feral beast that seemed to be a living thing inside him. Pleading, fearful eyes met his.

  “Barak,” said softly, so softly he almost didn’t hear her but he shook when she opened her mind to him. Just a little. Just enough so he knew her feelings.

  He felt her fear. The wild, untamed part of him found it satisfying. She should be afraid of denying him what was his. But the civilized thread that was left couldn’t stomach it. Needed her willing, wanting, craving as he did. It was there in her body, but in her heart, her mind, her soul, she still resisted. That enraged all of him. Keeping from him what was by rights his. She’d come looking for him, had rescued him, but only because of the bond. Only because it wouldn’t let her be.

  “Submit,” he demanded, voice low and harsh.

  She shook her head, eyes wide. Less afraid. More determined.

  “I can restrain you. Make you respond. Make you beg.”

  “We have a word for that on my planet.” Words with an unmistakable meaning. Words that stabbed at his honor.

  His fingers found and plucked at her nipple. It became a hard point under his thumb the moment he touched it. Her eyes slid shut, breathing hitched. “Your body is more than willing, darlin’.”

  “I refuse to be owned.” Eyes snapped open with a hard glare.

  Leaning forward, he tasted the skin on her nape, sucked it between his teeth hard enough to mark before whispering in her ear. “The ownership is reciprocal.”

  He bit again. Sucked her luscious skin into his mouth.

  “That’s not,” she panted, “what’s in your mind. You want to own. Possess. Claim. I feel it.”

  “Yes,” he hissed, not sure why he was explaining instead of trying to convince her with his hands, his lips, his teeth. “The bond is starving. I need your surrender.”