Winged Victory

Other Books by

L.F. Hampton

Pleasure Dome

Winged Darkness

Forever One

One Heart

Winged Victory

by

L.F. Hampton

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-893896-40-6

Print ISBN: 978-1-893896-30-7

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2004 by Linda Gehrken writing as L.F. Hampton

Published in the United States of America.

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Cover design: Deborah Smith

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Woman (manipulated) © Viacheslav Zyrianov | Dreamstime.com

Wings (manipulated) © Areeya Slangsing | Dreamstime.com

Spaceship (manipulated) © Luca Oleastri | Dreamstime.com

Man (Manipulated) © Phototimestudio | Dreamstime.com

:Evwq:01:

My heartfelt thanks:

To God Almighty—

who blessed me with a love of writing.

To Linda Kichline at ImaJinn Books—

for this wonderful opportunity.

To my husband, Tom—

for his understanding of my fanatical ways.

To my writers’ group, Jadrien, Tammy and Robin—

for your tough but loving support.

I couldn’t have done this without any of you.

It has been a bumpy ride. Thanks guys.

Prologue

SHE IS GONE, Doctor.

Dr. Juliana Harris couldn’t see the female Valtarie who spoke in a lyrical alto, but the one acting as midwife gripped her with gentle hands, pulling her away from her patient.

No! Dr. Harris shook her head, protesting, I can feel a pulse. I know I do. She struggled briefly before sagging into the warm comfort offered. Soft, rustling wings enfolded her, encircling her with the female Valtarie who kissed her forehead before releasing her.

Dear God, they were right. She had failed them again. Her human medical knowledge wasn’t enough for the Valtarie.

But Dr. Harris hadn’t wanted to admit defeat, although hours must have passed. The purple of late evening cast somber shadows through the silk-draped delivery room. The smell of birthing-blood mingled with the various perfumes of the assembled females; the cloying scent nearly choked her.

In dull resignation, the doctor disengaged the transfer equipment that had linked the living female Valtarie’s blood with the one who had just died. She looped the tubes into an obscene one-handed mass. Primitive shit! Just like all her equipment. She blinked moisture from her stinging eyes. Cyclemintus, ruler of Valtar, was to blame for this, him and his dammed isolationism.

Centuries of closed borders had gained these people nothing. What did Valtar hide? Their recent admission into the Alliance of Free Worlds disclosed their blood drinking diets, and their race’s decline. But Cyclemintus still enforced the ancient Law of Solitude. Only a select few were allowed into their air space. Dr. Harris was admitted only because of her offer to help the females with childbirth. Not only were they dying, the birth of new females had dwindled.

She swallowed against the rock in her throat and packed the useless gauges and tubes away, carefully avoiding looking at the still, noble features of the mother who had died under her care. Even in death, the female Valtarie reflected so much regal beauty that it nearly hurt the eye of the beholder. Such waste.

Failure again, and this time the doctor had pinned so much hope on success. At least the babe lived.

Fayella, royal daughter of Cyclemintus, ruler of Valtar, stepped into view, the scent of sweet blossoms flowing with her as gently as the lavender gown that swayed around her ankles. You did what you could, Doctor, but Dijean was doomed—as we all are.

Don’t say that! Dr. Harris straightened with a jerk, her knees trembling. I will find a cure. She rubbed her eyes then massaged her forehead. I just need more time . . . and possibly more help. Her last words were spoken more to herself than to the elegant Valtarie.

We— Fayella swept her slim arm to include the other, pitifully few in number, female Valtarie that filled the room. Their delicate wings arched to touch each other in mutual solace. We are running out of time. The melody of truth in Fayella’s words held all the sadness of the world.

Then, I’ll get more help, Dr. Harris swore, smacking her fist against her palm. So help me, God, no more of you will die.

Fayella dipped her head, her silver tresses hiding a tragic smile.

Unable to face the truth of her failure any longer, the doctor fled the close room, but not before catching a glimpse of the other females, tenderly wiping blood from Dijean’s snowy breast where her newborn had fed for the first, and last, time. They would prepare Dijean’s body, dressing it in her finest silks, for a final flight from the heights of their tower. Her grave would be the depths of the cold, black sea that thundered against the base of their rose-colored crystal castle—their prison.

AND WHAT OF the fledgling? Cyclemintus, ruler of Valtar, regarded Dr. Harris through protective lenses that kept his binding gaze from entrancing her, but still left her with queasy discomfort. Just enough anger over his seemingly callous disregard of Dijean’s death made the doctor bold.

The fledgling is weak, but will survive.

Male or female? Cyclemintus’s command contained a compelling chord.

Dr. Harris swallowed hard, but forced her gaze to meet his. Male, she answered.

Ah. Cyclemintus’s great wings sagged, and he shook his head, looking out the window to the depths below. Better to give him the same rest as his mother.

My Lord! the doctor protested. How can you say such a thing? Not only did killing go against Valtar Law, denying any infant life made Dr. Harris forget royal protocol.

Cyclemintus whirled to face her, his body straightening to his full six feet, eleven inches, his silver wings arching to frame a towering bridge over his head. The aged though handsome planes of his noble face took on the look of alabaster, hard and brittle. What would you have me say, Doctor? Rejoice that I have a new male subject that I will have to control and subjugate to a life without companionship? He will have nothing of value in this life. Better that he had never been born. Already our world is filled with riots and discontent. The prison mines of Belta are overflowing with convicted males. Our mating drive is surpassed only by hunger. I cannot hold order much longer. He sighed deeply and covered his face with long, white fingers, but only for a moment, before gazing at her in quelling accusation. Have you made progress? Any at all?

My Lord, you have no records, medical or otherwise, for me to go on. I’ve only been here a short while, and your world has been isolated for centuries. Research takes time, she protested.

Time is what we do not have, Doctor. He still regarded her with condemnation. Damn him, this was his world’s fault, not hers. If they hadn’t shut themselves away from everything in the universe, perhaps this dilemma wouldn’t have occurred.

I need help. She tilted her chin, meeting his gaze with as much courage as she could summon.

He pursed his lips. "I stretched the Law by allowing you to stay here. We are a closed world, closed to all outsiders. I seriously doubt I can justify allowing another to enter our borders."

I’ll ask for a female. Surely she’ll cause no harm. I know of a med-tech on Kasara. The doctor held her breath, waiting while Cyclemintus turned to face the arched window again, gazing into the darkness. The sound of distant surf striking the rocks below wafted on the night wind. At least, Dr. Harris hoped it was only surf hitting the jagged reefs.

Fine, Doctor. Perhaps, I can justify another alien female if we keep her isolated. We certainly have all the males we need. Bringing another male, even an alien, here would only enrage our populous. He didn’t turn to face her, but the doctor knew by his melody that she had been dismissed.

In the deserted quartz hall outside the council room, Dr. Harris paused to steady her trembling breath. New sweat joined the dry, soaking her back and running between her breasts. Being near the massive ruler always made her feel as if she’d just run a mile, but when she had to confront Cyclemintus over another female’s death while under her care, she was never sure when she just might join the newly departed.

Damn, she hoped Abbie would come.

Chapter One

TRAVEEN, PILOT emissary of Valtar and second son to Cyclemintus, the ruler of the planet, smelled the sharp tang of fear from the tightly controlled human female. His lips curved, and he quickly composed his betraying features. Valtos, his navigator, caught the slight facial expression and arched a silver brow in question. The lilting, musical language of the Valtarie played softly between them.

She is well?

So she says, but she fights fear. Adhering to the strict Valtarie Law of Conduct, Traveen watched the female from the corners of his lowered gaze. She struggled to maintain a calm composure.

Her strange, dark beauty called to Traveen. Her warm coloring was so different from Valtar’s cold, alabaster-tinted females. She presented a mystery that he had never experienced. The little human was even different from the pale Dr. Harris who worked on Valtar. This one was like no other female he had ever seen, small, but possessing such vital life force. All colors of the spectrum reflected in her dark hair. The ship’s holographic lights glowed in the loose strands, so alive. And her sad eyes were so compelling.

Startled, Traveen rose to his full height. His wing feathers fluttered. He struggled to overcome unnatural desire. He was not allowed this mating urge.

Quickly, he focused on the ship’s flight plan . . . strange how her slight presence disturbed him.

AT LAST, ABILENE Brown, better known to her few friends as Abbie, took one more deep breath and opened her eyes to gaze on the endless colored lights, whirling and spinning away like Fourth of July rockets.

Don’t look. Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe in and out, in and out. Finally, the internal noise of her own jagged pulse pounding in her ears slowed to match the rhythm of her controlled breathing.

Right next to her, looking as if she could reach right out and touch them, stars sped past like sparkling jewels set on a collision course with everything in their paths.

Who in their right minds traveled in crystal ships? Barely a light year into the journey to Valtar, the squat Valtarie ship transferred to space speed. Solid gray walls melted away like magic, and the ugly vessel evolved from a battered transport, becoming a surrealistic bird of crystalline beauty in the shadowy confines of cold space.

Exposed by the crystal flight, stellar displays raced straight toward her, and Abbie closed her eyes again while tasting the sour bite of fear. She gave in, but only for a moment. She hated fear. It was such a useless emotion, but one that she had battled against ever since leaving Earth, more than four years ago.

Get a grip, she told herself. There was more to overcome here than her natural phobia of interplanetary space flight.

The Valtarie frightened her more than her mode of travel. Such secrets! Vampires—really! Abbie didn’t believe such things existed . . . even if their diet did consist of animal blood.

She clutched Dr. Harris’s vid-notes tighter in her hands. The warnings were explicit. The Valtarie possessed the incredible power of compulsion in their melodic voices. The notes cautioned that the males could even bind the females to their wills with just the intensity of their gaze. No records existed to show if that power affected foreign females, but Abbie wasn’t about to test the theory. A shudder passed over her. Imagine being enslaved with just a glance from a male. Barbaric.

But the beings were beautiful; far beyond her imagination, and Abbie had one hell of an imagination. Covertly, she studied the two males. The one at the controls somehow paled when compared to the leader. His sense of command gave him a subtle power over the other, although they were similar in appearance. Both had luminous silken hair flowing loose around broad shoulders, and their high cheekbones accentuated deep-set, slanted eyes. Despite their large wings, they moved with fluid, natural grace of movement, and no steroid-driven gym workouts had blessed them with such body tone.

But both seemed totally unaware of their attractiveness, going about tasks while always keeping their glances properly lowered. Abbie analyzed the sketchy facts regarding their race and mentally shrugged.

If the regression couldn’t be stopped by normal means, then why not allow selected species interbreeding and see if the decline stopped? Dammed politics. Why keep closed borders when they so clearly needed help? Dr. Harris was granted a limited stay on Valtar, and, only because they so desperately needed her medical help. Now she asked for Abbie, and the doctor’s notes relayed the main reason for acceptance was that she was female. Yes, Abbie would be very, very careful.

Like forbidden angels, the Valtarie were the most fascinating of beings. Tragically few in number, the females of Valtar were zealously guarded in their locked tower like the great treasure they represented. No wonder that so many of the males were rebelling against their ancient, selective breeding laws.

Abbie felt the hidden gaze of the leader. He watched her through lowered eyelashes. Maybe it was his near defiance of Valtar’s Law that attracted her. Butterflies danced again in her stomach, but not from fear. Somewhere in her observation, she had forgotten her fright.

Lady? Without her noticing, he now stood next to her, offering a thin, crystal glass of foaming liquid that smelled like rotten oranges. His lyrical question echoed in the quiet, but his gaze remained respectfully lowered.

No. No, thank you. I’m not thirsty. Abbie waved away the Valtarie’s gracious offer without even considering it. She didn’t dare. Her stomach did another threatening roil against the drink’s odor.

She gritted her teeth until her jaws ached. The being, with a dry whisper of heavy wing feathers, finally turned away. Very well. His hummed acknowledgment of her refusal, and the harmonics of his noncommittal expression sent a shiver up her spine.

Scaredy cat! Scaredy cat!

Her brothers’ childish taunts echoed in Abbie’s mind, bringing back bittersweet memories filled with teasing laughter. Their dare you’s of sibling ridicule strengthened her backbone. Her meager success of today she owed to their childhood competitions.

Her heart stuttered. She felt so alone without them; her brothers. Born thirty years ago as triplets, the three of them had been inseparable, like the Three Musketeers—all for one, and one for all.

In the nightmare months following their deaths, she had moved through life in a numb haze—eating, sleeping, and even working. But a part of her had died with them. And the guilt . . . ah, yes, the awful guilt that haunted her. She had fled from Earth to live on Kasara. Four years, and the pain still lived.

Dr. Harris knew which buttons to push to get her to come to Valtar. But, perhaps, the doctor was right. A challenge, that’s what she needed. She’d do anything to forget. Abbie closed her eyes.

TRAVEEN MARVELED at the sweep of dark lashes, fanning the female’s flushed cheeks. Whatever was she dreaming? He shouldn’t watch her. Valtarie Law was specific.

He was nothing more than a pawn, existing to do his father’s bidding. His half-brother, Zurellius, would rule, and Traveen would be little more than the trusted pilot who flew the royal Phaeton, the only ship allowed off Valtar except for the prison ship that carried the convicted males from Valtar to its moon, Belta.

Oh, yes, Traveen knew the Law by heart, and the reasons for it. But that didn’t stop his peculiar response to the pull of the female. He couldn’t look away. Captivated, he watched until her tight grip loosened. Her short fingers unfolded like the petals of soft pink flowers, blossoming in the heat of the morning sun.

"She should have taken the dagous." Valtos intruded on Traveen’s forbidden thoughts.

The navigator’s skillful hands played over the flight controls. Lights flashed. Colorful data blinked important information, but Traveen’s mind failed to register. He could only contemplate the truth of Valtos’s statement.

Dagous would have helped her.

The female did not know the value of the drink. Traveen could tell. The little human did not trust them enough to take dagous. The Valtarie natural drug had helped the few foreign ambassadors, who’d briefly visited Valtar from the newly joined Alliance, through the rough adjustment of the Valtarie open space travel.

Traveen had not pressed the drink upon her. At the time, he thought she was just another arrogant alien, repulsed by a lowly Valtarie worker. But now, he could see how much he had misjudged her. Her trembling hands betrayed her.

Abbie opened her eyes and watched the Valtarie return to his station. His only garment, a thin, nearly transparent cloth, barely covered the essentials of his lower body. The fabric swayed dangerously when he glided back to rejoin his partner at their ship’s controls, and such strange controls, too.

Seamless plastine columns, grouped in an ugly beige circle, displayed view screens and data grids into thin air. They rose like an island in the middle of the vessel while the dark vistas of space flowed around them. So odd to see the ship’s interior while the exterior’s shell remained invisible, as though the ones inside were encased within a bubble.

The Valtarie pair stood in the center, observing vivid holographic readouts that lit up around them. Rainbows of color played over their white skin. Abbie bit her lip, unaware of her attraction until the sudden pain to her mouth forced her acknowledgment. She shrugged away her disturbing thoughts. Perhaps not looking at the Valtarie would be the best idea. Outside seemed safer.

Lady, would you like to get up for a few moments? The sweet melody of the Valtarie intruded again on Abbie’s tightly constructed sanctuary.

She shook her head then realized that the well-mannered male wouldn’t look at her to see her mute gestures. This male was not Cai, the ruling class, and did not possess shielding lenses for his eyes. He would not see her head movement. She would have to speak with her unattractive, flat human voice.

The musical range of Valtarie speech was a thing of galactic legends. Abbie didn’t like the comparison.

No, thank you. I’m fine. Her voice didn’t sound fine. It sounded thin, reedy. And there was no way she was going to get up and walk on an invisible floor. She shouldn’t even look at the colorful sights that passed beneath her feet. Vertigo threatened again.

As you wish, the Valtarie hummed, leaving her to take his place again.

Abbie turned away, hoping the grand Valtarie wouldn’t notice her trembling hands. She clasped them together and looked back outside. Stars flashed past.

Wrong move. Abbie’s thoughts and stomach swirled. She fought her rebellious body and struggled to remove her suddenly too-warm uniform jacket. Her red, silk blouse, her one concession to femininity, felt chilly after the rush of heat that dampened her skin. She drew a calmer breath. The ship’s cool, filtered air cleared her head. She dared not look at the luminous silver wings that swept past. She was sure that he thought she was inferior with her human weaknesses.

Traveen noted the female’s distress but hid his frown. Odd that he wanted to do something for her comfort. He had never been attracted to an alien female. Was his natural drive for mating finally overcoming his defenses? He let out a long sigh. He might be tired of living under the endless dominating rule of Valtar’s strict laws, but he was not ready to end his existence just yet.

Nature would take care of that soon enough.

But lately, forbidden thoughts tormented him, lustful, craving thoughts, along with nagging jealousy for Zurellius, his older half-brother.

After living all these years knowing he would never be allowed even a single touch of a female, perhaps his body had finally rebelled. Perhaps, he was becoming one of the teeming masses of irate males who would be sent to Belta, Valtar’s moon, to mine crystal in order to rid them of their dangerous desires, but, more importantly, to rid Valtar of the danger of their rebellion.

Traveen glanced at the female again through his lowered gaze. Her successful struggle against fear drew him as strongly as her strange allure. Her face reflected every emotion that passed through her mind. Her warm features were so much more alive than the cool, unreadable beauty of the Valtarie. This female’s honesty and her depth of emotion brightened his otherwise dull life with new stimulus.

A deep sigh pushed her front against the soft material of her clothing, straining the buttons of the opening. Traveen sucked air over his incisors. His lower body ached. His tight control wavered, nearly slipping beyond reach.

She was forbidden! He had to focus on other things. Quickly!

Ignoring his body’s demands exactly as he had done his entire life, Traveen began a ship’s systems check, even though the time for the diagnostic hadn’t been reached. He’d do anything to keep busy.

He watched the holographic images reflect from the crystal matrix that drove the ship. The crystalline data grids darkened oddly in one view screen.

Something about the strange cloudy obscurity in the distance troubled him.

A chill passed over his shoulders and wings. Something was wrong. An invisible threat hid in the dark vastness of space.

Chapter Two

ABBIE BREATHED a tired sigh. She clutched the vid-scan, displaying the Alliance’s many histories, and rubbed her itchy eyes. She had discovered no new revelations. Too many centuries of mysterious prejudice against the Valtarie existed. No recorded history of them. In fact, all races of the Alliance avoided this one as if they were diseased. Didn’t they care if the Valtarie disappeared from existence? Perhaps, for some reason, they hoped extinction would occur. Abbie’s fists tightened.

Traveen noted every emotion that passed over the strong features of the restless alien. Fear then bitterness filled her expressive eyes. The female with her vivid colors stirred him far more than he imagined. He shifted, uncomfortable at the senior officer’s post. Suddenly, he wished for more than the drape of diaphanous white oacha. The Cai always watched the thin material for any signs of offense from the lowly males. Traveen would be guilty of offense now.

He flexed the muscles of his thighs, willing the telltale hardness away, wishing he could just pull his shoulder cape down without Valtos noticing. He slid an anxious glance at his navigator.

Valtos did not question his leader’s unusual restlessness, only looked on, one silver brow again lifted in silent inquiry.

As pilot and senior officer, Traveen refused to explain himself. He felt