Camille's Capture by Evanne Lorraine Read Free Book Online

tucked the comlink the ambassador had given her into a cunning wrist pocket. Though she wasn’t sure why she bothered. Goddess knew there was no one she wanted to talk to about the disastrous mating ceremony.
    As fast as possible she shed the cumbersome robe and delicate slippers, put the finery neatly beneath the seat, and tugged on a new, modern identity.
    “ Fasten safety harnesses, liftoff in sixty seconds ,” the vessel’s on-board computer announced in its faintly mechanical voice.
    Camille sank into a padded chair. The harness’s mechanisms eluded her trembling fingers. She found the fastenings and secured the straps, clicking the last buckle as the craft shivered and blasted them straight up into the clear blue sky. Fear over her uncertain future and an overwhelming sense of failure threatened to swamp her during the mind-numbing ascent. Despair wrapped so tight around her chest, it was hard to draw breath. The warriors’ rejection was only the most recent wound. Months of failing to conceive had eroded her normal optimism.
    She shook off the gloom of depression with a determined effort.
    So what if breeding wasn’t an option? There were plenty of tasks that needed doing. She would learn new skills and contribute. No disciple was idle for long in the sorority’s compound. Her only experience was with kitchen duties. Not impressive, but so what? Even humble jobs need done. Reassured, she sighed and eased her death grip on her seat’s armrests.
    As the ship leveled off, the tension of the day and sheer exhaustion caught up with her. She must’ve dozed, because she was jolted awake by the screech of metal on metal. The sound reverberated through her jawbone, setting her teeth on edge. Quiet followed. The sudden, total silence was terrifying.
    The shuttle craft stopped moving. She sensed no energy from the crew. Although there was nothing specific she could point to as the telltale clue to disaster, goose bumps prickled the fine hairs on her limbs.
    With chilled fingers, she undid her safety harness. She grasped a seat back when her knees wobbled. Once she’d found her balance, she moved toward the front of the craft and noticed the passenger door hung open at an angle. She stumbled over an unexpected bump. A quick inspection revealed the shuttle’s floor as uneven as a badly baked soufflé. As she neared the cockpit, the syn-wool under her boots squished. She crouched, pressed the carpet with shaky fingers, and slowly rose, bringing her damp, pink-stained hand close to her nose. Stale water mixed with human blood, thinning the distinctive coppery trace.
    The captain and the rest of the crew were injured and trapped.
    Fear fisted her empty stomach. She wrapped her arms around her waist, bent with pain and unable to straighten. Camille’s squeezed chest told her they were likely already dead, but she wouldn’t give up on them. She gritted her teeth and uncoiled her spine, eyeing the buckled door barring her from the other disciples. The metal portal must have been warped by the crash.
    Plop-plop -thuds shook the shuttle. She flinched at the noise. The sickening sound of blaster hits was much too familiar from the daily violence-filled holocasts that dominated New Eden’s media. The craft was still under fire. She had to get the crew out of here now.
    Energized by a clear danger, she was determined to wrench the door open by sheer force of will. She grabbed the handle. And let go even quicker.
    White hot metal seared her palm. Frantic, she looked for something to use to pry her way into the captain’s cabin. Snatching open compartments at random, she tossed contents and bit back a hiss at each contact with the burn.
    She cradled her injured hand and renewed the search for a tool. All she needed was a single piece of sturdy syn-steel. She yanked open an overhead bin, dodged the heavy canister that tumbled out, and came up empty again. Another screech of metal grated across her taut nerves. The ship rocked. She