Fighting Syndrome by Viola Grace
English | 2020 | Romance, Science Fiction | ePUB | 1.4 MB
Viola Grace (aka Zenina Masters) is a Canadian sci-fi/paranormal romance writer with ambitions to keep writing for the rest of her life. She specializes in short stories because the thrill of discovery, of all those firsts, is what keeps her writing.
Trained in an abbey, she is finally out, married to a vampire, and looking for a fight within a day. Whatever will she do on day two?
To protect herself and those around her, Ebra has spent the last twelve years at an abbey, training to be a good wife and mother… and assassin, commander, warrior, spy, and interior decorator. It was a full education that helped her manage the syndrome that made her so deadly.
Assigned to the man her parents decided to give her to, she trusts her family not to do anything stupid. The offer to cure her is a surprise as there is only one cure. Death.
The treatment that is offered is a cloned body without her flawed DNA and transfer of most of her consciousness before they destroy the original body. She would like a second opinion.
A convenient attack on the space vessel she is on gives her the chance to escape her fate with minimal bloodshed. Getting caught by the man she proposed to is a bit of a surprise, but she is nothing if not adaptable.
Changing from one suitor to the next is easy enough, but is the vampire going to be happy with the lady in his embrace, or will he have second thoughts?
Sister Weller approached the door where two guards rushed in. She struck them both with pinpoint accuracy. The men dropped to the ground. “Well, you are here now. You could be the draw.”
Ebra snorted and began to lead the way down the hall, her bag draped across her body. “They could have tried to get me from the abbey if they wanted to.”
“I dunno. We were pretty well supplied with weapons and personnel. Maybe it was just when you had been transferred. A fuck you to the Urnet family?”
They kept their casual conversation up as they disabled the guards that charged them. Sister Weller used her pressure-point technique to good use, and Ebra used speed and rage.
“I don’t know. It seems rather contrived. Maybe they were after the transfer equipment.”
They made their way down and out to the shuttle bays in about twenty minutes. Some of their victims were no doubt up and moving, but they would just have to hit them again. These guys seemed to think that a weapon in the hand was the only dangerous thing coming toward them.
Ebra looked around and found the shuttle that suited her purposes. It was long-range enough to get her where she needed to go but small enough to go fast.
She walked toward the shuttle when four men emerged from it. Sister Weller muttered, “Oh, damn.”
One of the men was a Sandman, another a Kiidar, a third was an elf, and the last was the one that fixed his gaze toward Ebra. He smiled. “Huh. Sisters. You called it Mathon.”
The Sandman inclined his head.
Ebra looked around for any place to hide, and her senses started to riot.
Sister Weller stepped in front of Ebra. “We don’t have any issue with you. We will choose another vessel and go.”
The man stepped toward them, and his voice was low. “Oh, but we want you to come with us. That has been the point of this exercise, after all, Sister.”
Ebra listened to his voice and saw the men approaching them. “Sister Weller?”
“Bank it, there will be time later.” Sister Weller knelt with her hands behind her head.
Ebra growled, but she followed her bodyguard’s order. She knelt and put her hands behind her head.