Epilogue - Dom #2
Stifling a cry, Arture arches upright. The pilot's left eye goes wide, his mechanical right eye glowing from blue to a piercing red. His sky blue scales shift, darkening like a storm to a deep, ominous petrol blue, the exact shade of Ilia’s.
His chest swells and keeps swelling, his shoulders bursting outward, arm and thighs flexing.
And all of us stare at a Gerverstock clone, the exact double of Ilia.
“Arture? What's going on?” Ilia moves close but, almost as a reflex, Arture straightens and slams a fist into his chest. Red flares up his arm, as if he's pulling on Gerverstock strength, and the impact sends Ilia reeling back.
He turns and does the same to Gara, who tumbles backwards from the blow.
Waves of mental torment pulse from the pilot-turned-adventurer clone. Previously we couldn't hear anything when we brushed Arture's mind, but now blue-white shards of pain rain on us, as hard as betrillium. His thoughts hurt like a shower of pellets, peppering our connection with screaming static.
“Calm down—” Arik orders, clutching his head as he staggers within range of our crewmate.
Arture whirls with a snarl, the metal fingers from his replacement limb elongating into razor-sharp claws and tearing across my wave brother's chest.
Arik doesn't scale up in time, and blood spatters in a wide arc onto the white tent. I take his pain, grunting as deep slashes appear on my torso, but I can't move. Cold shock freezes me in place.
How is Arture suddenly a Gerverstock?
“What the fuck?” Law-rah demands, glaring at Arture and then Ilia.
El-len gapes. “Ilia?”
“Everyone remain calm. Arture, desist,” Ilia orders.
But he's not listening. He's staring at the females like he's never seen them before.
And then his look turns predatory. “They'll do,” he says, leaping toward them.
I can’t let him.
I launch myself into his path, intercepting him with a hard grip around his chest, enough to snap ribs. He thrashes wildly in my hold, his strength far surpassing anything I've felt from him before. Arture’s blue and red scales shift to purple, and now I'm holding another Parthiastock.
‘Can we stop him?’ Law-rah fires at me as I struggle to restrain him.
‘Yes. Nevare!’ I shout mentally, even my inner voice strained with the effort of keeping Arture contained. ‘Psychic attack delta, now!’
On instinct at the command, Nevare focuses, unleashing a wave of raw, telepathic energy meant to cripple even the strongest of us.
Arture shoves out a powerful shield, as if he's been a Parthiastock Apex all his life, and the attack slides either side. I have to grab it, or it'll hit the females.
‘Nevare, stop!’ I struggle to shove his power back under control and hold onto a similarly strong Parthiastock.
‘What is this?’ Arture’s mental voice is jagged, raking up the private bond between me and Law-rah.
“Get out!” Law-rah's outrage turns to panic.
She shoves her hands over her ears, and her friend Nic-coal reaches around the bales to take her hand.
She pulls her down in the relative cover of the straw bales.
El-len and Arra-bellah follow suit, taking shelter behind another two, peering over them with wide eyes.
Arture laughs aloud. He shifts again, becoming more compact and scales morphing from purple to a sickly green that glistens under the tent’s cheery lights. Now I hold a Selthiastock in my arms.
I squeeze hard, not wanting to crush him to death but needing to stop our crewmate from his rampage, now.
He turns to face me, lips pulling back in a feral grin before he spits something viscous into my face.
Pain explodes as a burning acid sears into my scales. The sizzle and stink of melting flesh cloud my senses, and my strength falters.
Arture tears himself free, my grip sliding closed on nothing.
I roll to one side, swiping at my face, fighting to keep my vision steady as the scales around my eyes and nose continue to smolder with the acid's bite. Where's Law-rah? Her anger pulses alongside mine, her fear deep dark clouds.
"Who are you?" Ilia demands, and I look in the direction of his voice. He's positioned himself in front of El-len and Arra-bellah, his voice steady despite the horror unfolding before us. Gara moves in beside him, a tight set to his jaw and a tranquilizer gun aimed at Arture’s head.
Arture’s face shifts into a mask of innocence. "I'm Arture Pranastock, of course." He glances down. “Or I was. Then I was Arture Gerverstock, and Arture Parthiastock. Now I'm Arture Selthiastock.”
Ilias’ voice turns grim. “What are you? How can you change like this?”
Arture's mechanical blade gleams in the soft glow of the lights strung overhead. They reflect like fire in his cold blue eye. “I'm a Tuber, same as you. Except… perfect.”
Before he can finish he's moving, a blur of green leaping for Gara. He snatches the gun and fires, hitting Nevare, who goes down in a limp heap.
I struggle to get up to oppose him, but Arik's injury and Nevare's unconsciousness drain my strength, my eye burning from the acid.
I barely make it to my knees, shuffling towards him, a pathetic protection against the predator coming for me.
His replacement eye flashes blue, but there's nothing of my crew mate in his other black, empty eye.
I drag myself in front of the straw bales. If he wants the females, he will have to kill me.
Arture’s scales change again, shifting from that sickly green to a dazzling, almost blinding gold on his back while his chest is cloaked in dark, impenetrable black scales.
What kind of clone is he?
His eyes flick up to Law-rah and Nic-coal behind me, and I focus on one thing. Bringing him down.
With a roar, I jump to tackle his legs, but he leaps up and above my grasping arms.
I fall forward onto nothing, twisting my head to look over my shoulder.
My mate doesn't cower and get to her feet, defiant, facing this terrifying imposter. His metal fingers reach for her throat, and my beautiful mate stands no chance against his speed and strength.
I heave upright with everything I have, reaching for him, but I won't get there in time.
Just as his fingers reach her, Nic-coal shoves my mate out of the way. Nic-coal stumbles into Arture, who lifts her effortlessly.
And then he sprints, sliding into a clone type who delivers small shipments at speed, a Tabellariustock, legs pumping towards the back garden, and the hovering, dormant ship.
Ilia and Gara give chase. I get to my knees but the world is swimming, everything tipping upside down. Whatever he spat at me stings.
“Dom.” Law-rah sobs next to me, but at least she's unhurt. “He's got Nicole! We need to do something.”
I get to my feet and stagger after Ilia and Gara in the garden. The All-Mother’s ship sits cloaked in stealth mode beside El-len’s plants, humming ominously, as if it’s waiting.
Arture stands on its gangplank, Nic-coal struggling, tossed onto his shoulder. He strokes the exterior and the hull shimmers, parting to admit him.
Ilia and Gara rush him, shouting, but it’s too late. The door closes, the cubes sliding into place. But before the entrance disappears, Arture glances back, a smirk on his face.
“Goodbye, shipmates, from your dear friend: Arture Samarastock."
Cold as unforgiving as space opens up inside me.
The engines ignite in a roar, the All-Mother’s vessel lifting off and away.
I’m left on my knees, Law-rah clinging to my shoulder as the ship disappears into darkness.
“No!” El-len screams into the night sky.
Ilia holds her, her sobs clearly chipping deep into him, but he keeps moving. He intercepts Gara on his way to me, and then Gara converses with his mate. With a quick exchange of glances, they rush straight to her studio, repurposed from the orange shuttle that crash landed and brought us here.
“What the fuck?” Law-rah repeats over and over, scrubbing the acid off my scales with a brush. The burning fades as my nanites slowly reverse the damage, clearing my head. I tend to Nevare and Arik, urging their nanites to heal them faster. My mind keeps snagging on the new clone type.
A Samarastock. A clone derived from and named for Samara, the Prif herself.
I never knew such a clone existed. Clearly they have the ability to take on aspects of other clones, to disguise themselves. To make us think he was a fellow crewmate. But why?
To deceive, to infiltrate. To spy.
The perfect clones for Samara indeed.
Something bangs next to the barn, and I flinch, bringing Law-rah into my arms to protect her. But it's just Arra-bellah throwing her canvases out of the back hatch of the shuttle.
“What are you doing?” Law-rah calls to her. My mate's voice is as broken as I feel.
Arra-bellah tosses out armfuls of paint cans to clatter to the stone flagons. “Making space.”
We stare at her, unable to think of anything to say in return. Exasperated, she throws her hands up, rushes inside, and returns with another armload to dispose of.
Finally El-len wipes her face and gives Ilia a nod.
They stride together into the shuttle; with nothing else to guide us, Law-rah and I follow.
Ilia and I fill the small corridor, turning sideways to make our way down and ducking under several beams. Law-rah and El-len don't have this problem, but even they look cramped.
“Excuse me,” Arra-bellah says, weaving at our waists toward the door with another armload of paints. “We've got a lot of work to do, so all hands on deck.”
Once we get to the cockpit, we confront more chaos. Gara's thrown open all the panels, wires and crystals and chips scattered on the floor.
He mumbles, “If I reattach this… make a new connection here—”
“Can you print more plascrete?” Ilia barks at him.
“We've developed a few new grades since we've been working on the barn.”
“Good.” Ilia’s scales harden. Gara’s are already smeared with oils and lubricants.
‘Does this mean what I think it does?’ Law-rah’s gasp fills my chest, as if I can breathe again.
Ilia says, “We need to rescue Nic-coal.”
Hope thrums through me. I sit up. “I'll refuel the engines with water.”
“Once you've healed, yes,” Gara says with a scowl at me. “Sit, before you fall down.”
I open my mouth to protest when Law-rah tugs my arm. “This way.”
Following orders, I sit on the bench outside the cockpit. It's bent and burnt, with holes for the hooks our chains were attached to. I'd ripped them out what felt like years ago, when we had to escape the rogue robots.
I put my arm around Law-rah, her firm hand on mine grounding me. So much has changed since we were condemned in here, thrust out into the cold of space and expecting an unforgiving planet to eke out the rest of our pathetic existence. Never would we have imagined finding our hearts’ partners.
But now their friend is lost.
“It's time to finally fix our shuttle,” I tell Law-rah. “We’re going after her.”
Law-rah’s hand tightens. “And we’re going to arrest that piece of shit.”
“Arrest? No.” My mind sets on an irrevocable course. “I’m going to euthanize him myself.”
Find out where Arture took Nicole in Under the Radar, the final instalment in the Outcasts of Oloria series!
KEEP CALM, NICOLE. YOU’VE ONLY BEEN ABDUCTED BY AN ALIEN. NOTHING TO FREAK OUT ABOUT.
Trapped aboard a ship hurtling through deep space at god-knows-what speed, Nicole does what any sensible horse therapist would—plans her escape.
She has no map, no plan that actually works, and zero patience for the arrogant alien who took her.
But she’s not giving up until she’s back on Earth, with her friends and her horses.
ANY OPPORTUNITY. ANY OPENING. SHE’LL TAKE IT.
Arture's got himself a handful of trouble when he abducts Nicole, but he's determined to get her to his home planet in one piece for his mission. What his mission is he can't remember, nor can he recall a lot about his past... but that doesn't matter, he has orders he can't disobey.
When their ship is attacked, survival forces Arture and Nicole to work together… and the line between enemy and ally starts to blur. The more they pretend to trust one another, the more real it becomes.
BUT THE CLOSER THEY GET, THE MORE DANGEROUS THE TRUTH BECOMES.
Because when Arture finally remembers who he is—and his deadly mission—Nicole’s heart will be the price of his obedience.
One impossible truth remains: He was never meant to love her, but now he can’t let her go.
A sizzling sci-fi romance dripping with slow-burn tension that will leave you breathless, featuring a caring, exiled alien and a determined human heroine.
Perfect for fans of Ruby Dixon and Honey Phillips (for fast-paced plot) with Emma Hamm vibes (angsty slow burn with lots of tension and adventure).
Featuring a cocky alien, forced proximity, DV survival rep and boss babes who refuse to back down.
Trigger warnings: Domestic violence discussed, torture flashbacks, strict culture, mention of suicide, death and execution, fantasy peril, on page sex. No cheating.
Contains: Lots of longing looks and alien appendages ;)