Stars At Dawn (The Sable Riders #9)
Chapter 1
Never a Fool In Love
Once upon a lifetime ago, Sheba Munene witnessed the undying love of her parents.
It thrived in their quiet devotion, the shared passion, and carefree laughter.
They proved that their vows, ‘in sickness and in health, in good times and bad,’ were closely held.
They weathered miscarriages, political firestorms, and a final battle with cancer without resentment or the need for applause.
Theirs was a bone-deep loyalty, a commitment lived out daily in giving of themselves to each other.
Sheba craved that substance for herself, dreaming of an everlasting love with the same fire and dedication.
Instead, she became a magnet for men who vanished the moment the fairytale hit the skids.
She attracted narcissists who lacked the stomach for the unglamorous work real love demanded.
They expected perfection from her while offering nothing but empty gestures in return.
A sucker for romance, she yearned for a connection deeper than a virtual holo series, the kind that wasn’t ‘pretty’ but endured without entitlement or selfishness.
She prayed for it daily, yet life only offered her endless disappointment.
She was tired of the loneliness and the dark, and she often wondered when the dawn of her real, enduring ‘ever after’ would finally rise.
What she never imagined was that when the universe listened, it would tear her world apart to give her what she asked for.
‘We’re done.’
The words echoed in the perfumed air of the sumptuous glass-walled hotel suite.
Outside, silver rays from the twin moons of Zanyria danced over the inviting surf.
Sheba stood by the window, her skin flushed and her heart fracturing as months of suspicion finally solidified into three ugly truths.
Her boyfriend was a bitch-ass douche clown scumbag.
Her first romantic getaway and intimate tryst in years was a disaster.
Her only option was to escape being trapped in a luxury hotel with a creep.
She shifted her gaze to Leon, who lay sprawled on the couch, a sardonic glint in his eye and a beer in one hand.
It freakin’ enraged her to look at him, but for a second, she appreciated his beauty.
He was a masterpiece of manufactured charm: dark curly hair styled to the millimeter, a perfect beard, and teeth that flashed a blinding, artificial white.
He spent hours in the gym building a frame that strained against clothes far too expensive for a man with an intergalactic courier job.
She also swore he’d recently had some bio-modding done, reforming his jawline and narrowing his nose.
The result was a version of handsomeness that rang hollow, a symmetrical lie carved into his skin.
What had she seen in him?
His good looks and sweet, raspy nothings had so overwhelmed her that she never questioned what lay behind them.
It was clear now that Leon was more in love with himself than her.
After months of a long-distance relationship, spending time with him in person was almost stomach-turning.
His self-absorption and leering energy were exhausting.
She died inside every time his attention drifted to rake over every pretty woman who caught his eye.
She had to practice brutal restraint, pretending not to notice his leering gaze straying toward servers’ curves or gliding over the backs of random females at the bar.
She hated his wolf whistles at beauties on the beach, ogling at their bikini-clad bodies, all the while ignoring her.
Until now, their long-distance affair consisted of holo calls and extended conversations. During which he showered her with love bombs and told her how special she was.
However, on holiday together, he could not hide his obsessive voyeur character from her, laying bare his despicable behavior.
After yet another slobbering incident in the spa where she found him with his hands all over a curvy attendant, her respect for him died, as did any desire to remain in a relationship.
‘You’re overreacting,’ Leon growled from his lean into the lounge. ‘It was just fun. Relax, woman.’
‘I won’t calm down. I’ve seen enough. We’re over.’
She caught her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
She wore a jeweled kaftan, the fabric a gorgeous cascade of silk that captured the moonlight.
Her dark curls tumbled over her shoulders, and her hazel-green eyes flashed with defiance.
Damn, she was far too good for this man.
She should never have doubted her worth, not for a second.
Sheba reached for her hover case, her resolve a cold knot in her chest.
She turned to make a clean exit, desperate to leave with her dignity intact.
However, as she marched toward the door, her white-hot resentment dissolved her spatial awareness, and she misjudged the hallway.
Her shoulder slammed into the mahogany door frame with a heavy thud.
The impact sent her reeling.
Her sandals tangled, and she teetered on the threshold.
She stumbled into the corridor, her gait disjointed and clumsy, more like a drunk than a woman in the middle of a power move.
Her arm throbbed, but the heat in her face was worse as she sensed Leon tracking her awkward retreat with a smug smile.
‘Fix your fokkin’ feet, Sheba,’ she hissed under her breath.
She tossed her hair and forced one wobbly foot in front of the other, fighting a surge of dizziness; her freakin’ majesty flayed.
She descended the stairs in a lurch, loathing the fact that her final stand had been sabotaged by a piece of timber and her own treacherous balance.
Hours later, as she sat in her designated crash couch on a transport back to Dunia, Sheba stared at her reflection in the plexiglass windows of the passenger ship.
She winced, fighting back overwhelming sadness.
The truth was brutal: She’d misjudged charm for love, again.
The irony of it all was that she spent her days diagnosing pain and injury in others.
Yet she missed the freakin’ gospel in her face, mistaking his snake oil salesman glam for commitment and his sweet-talking for eternal promises.
Talk about being blind to his game.
This hard fact stabbed at her heart deeper than the breakup.
Before Leon, she’d endured three disastrous relationships.
Back then, Sheba swore she would never be that woman again, the one who fell for the instant high of a love-bombing handsome man.
She’d vowed never to waste months of energy on a man who didn’t respect her enough to keep his hands to himself.
Her soul burned, scorched by yet another failed attempt at finding her forever love.
She pressed her forehead to the plexiglass as the cruiser soared, banking over a glittering dark blue sea, slicing through the clouds.
Sheba wiped the hot, angry tracks of tears from her cheeks.
She swore one last oath, a promise to her broken spirit: never would she be a fool in love, and never would she let her guard and her heart down again.