Sight Beyond the Sun (Love Beyond Book 2) SciFi Romance by Melody Johnson ➱ Book Tour with Rafflecopter
Sight Beyond the Sun
Love Beyond Book 2
by Melody Johnson
Genre: SciFi Romance
Separating truth from lies is impossible in the game of spies…especially the lies you tell yourself.
A prison break.
Adrenaline junkie and explosives specialist Kinsley “Switch” Morales had a chip on her shoulder long before being caught in what she suspects is some sort of intergalactic human-trafficking ring. Aliens not only exist, their reptilian bodies are stronger, their honed reflexes faster, and their shiny scales nearly impenetrable. But nothing will curb Kinsley’s resolve to commandeer their spaceship and return home to Earth—even if that means crawling behind enemy lines and cozying up to their uncompromising captain.
An undercover mission.
When Raveno Hoviir catches Kinsley outside her cell, wreaking havoc in his control room, he sees more than just her strength, resolve, and courage. He sees a golden opportunity to finally root out the traitor under his command and prove his brother’s loyalty before the coming revolution. After so many years undercover, Raveno is finally one mission away from saving his planet from its tyrannical ruler. He’s sacrificed everything to protect his people—his love life, his anonymity, his left leg—but in his efforts to right his father’s wrongs, has he inadvertently become the very monster he plans to overthrow?
An unlikely alliance.
As Kinsley and Raveno each attempt to exploit the other, they find more than just leverage for their separate missions. Inexplicably, they find common ground in their mutual devotion to family and service. Kinsley knows all too well the grief and guilt of making the wrong decision in the field, but will Raveno keep his word to send her home if she flips loyalties? Is Raveno’s softening heart compromising his judgment, or is Kinsley’s intelligence accurate? Separating truth from lies is impossible in the game of spies. Seeing beyond their surface differences and trusting in love again may be the only way to save both their people—and each other
Beyond the Next Star
Love Beyond Book 1
An intolerable order. A desperate charade. A deadly secret...
Before Commander Torek Renaar can return to active duty, he’s ordered to purchase an animal companion to help relieve his PTSD symptoms. But having been a caretaker for and lost a loved one, keeping even one little human alive is a challenge he feels doomed to fail. It doesn’t help that his animal companion is the newest, most exotic breed on the market, demanding constant attention, daily grooming, and delicate handling. If she doesn’t die first in his incompetent care, she’ll be the death of him.
After witnessing the murder of her domestication specialist, Delaney McCormick allows her new owner to treat her like the pet he believes her to be. If anyone suspects she’s more intelligent than a golden retriever, her murder would be next. She endures the humiliation of being washed, the tediousness of being trained to “sit” and “come”, and the intrigue of hearing private conversations. But in Torek’s care, she finds something unexpected on this Antarctic planet, something she never had in all her years on Earth while house-hopping between foster families: a home.
As companionship grows to love, must Delaney continue the charade, acting like an animal and hiding from the murderer waiting for her misstep? Or can she trust Torek with her secrets, even if the truth threatens everything he holds dear—and both their lives?
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Sight Beyond the Sun Excerpts
Excerpt 1:
Raveno Hoviir didn’t suffer incompetence. He didn’t suffer anything without consequence, a policy his crew was testing time and again lately and without any perceivable sign of becoming more competent. His reputation, carefully cultivated over a long and brutal career, was usually incentive enough to inspire obedience. He couldn’t let that reputation crack, not for anything: not for his morals as he punished decent soldiers for mistakes that didn’t warrant such severity; not for his soul as he led abominable missions to maintain alliances with Bazail, Iroan, and Fray; not for his body as he’d gone to unmatched extremes to prove his loyalty to Cilvril s’Hvri Josairo.
He played the villain in service to his people, a role as necessary as it was revolting.
During Josairo’s early reign as Cilvril s’Hvri, the killing hand of Havar, he’d been the strength and armor their planet had needed to survive what historians now referred to as the War of Wrath’s Will. After bolstering their military forces and gaining the autonomy to wield them as he deemed necessary, Josairo achieved what four previous Cilvrili s’Hvri had died failing to accomplish: He’d secured Havar’s independence from her sister planet, Haven, and ended years of oppression and tyranny.
Or so the historians claimed and the schools taught. Based on Raveno’s first-hand experience, he often wondered if Josairo hadn’t simply murdered historians until he’d found one willing rewrite the war to his liking.
Nevertheless, however he’d managed to wrest unilateral control of their military and judicial systems, Josairo’s unmatched combat skills ensured he kept it, even as he modified their fleet of luxury destination ships into prison transport vessels. Even as he ordered the abduction and trafficking of innocent, sentient people. Even as the peace and prosperity he’d supposedly achieved following their victory against Haven soured into fear-filled obedience. In earning their independence, the havari had traded a foreign tyrant for a domestic one, and every warrior brave enough to challenge Josairo to a frisaes and legally end his rule had thus far lost.
When Raveno ended his rule, it wouldn’t be legal. But he would win.
Until then, the weight of Raveno’s sins were his to bear or be crushed by. Which made confronting the horrific results of his own undercover operation insufferable, knowing his reputation would demand he deliver swift and harsh punishment when faced with his crew’s greatest incompetence to date: a human outside her room and tampering with the equipment in their control room, of all places.
Dellao and Tironan were asleep in their seats, and the woman, cry mercy, the woman was fierce as only a mother could be, all snapping eyes and straining muscles. Some people withered from the poison of oppression, but not her. She seemed fueled by it. She gritted her square teeth with determination. Her soft cheeks flushed a deep crimson from her efforts, and her scent—Raveno sealed shut his nostrils, cutting short that disturbing thought before it could fully form.
“Who do you work for?” Thev sa shek, a traitor on board Sa Vivsheth was the last thing he needed.
Her jaw fell slack. “Y-y-you speak English?”
“Obviously.” His English was rusty and not quite as good as his Mandarin, but still good enough for interrogation. “Who sent you?”
“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” She licked her lips, and deep indents on the corners of her mouth dipped into her cheeks. “My name is Kinsley Morales, but my friends call me Switch.”
He stared at her a moment. Had she just introduced herself? Didn’t she realize she was being interrogated? To death, if she didn’t cooperate.
Please, just cooperate.
“My mother named me after my paternal grandmother. An ‘apology’ name, I always said, because she’d named my sister in honor of her mother, which caused quite a stir on my father’s side of the family. But everyone’s ruffled feathers settled after she named me. The only time my presence had settled anyone’s feathers.” She ran out of air and inhaled a deep, trembling breath. “What’s your name?”
Ah, he might have believed her composure if not for that tremble. She knew her predicament precisely and was attempting to save herself by appealing to his compassion.
The man he’d become to overthrow Josairo couldn’t afford compassion. “Did my brother recruit you with the promise of freedom? What are your orders?”
The woman flinched. A pained whine escaped her clenched teeth.
Svik, was he hurting her? Raveno loosened his hold, just in case. It might come to that, but not now and certainly not by mistake.
Yet, even beaten down, in pain, and defeated, the gleam of calculation sharpened the woman’s gaze.
Strong in mind if not in body, he thought warily, knowing the terrible efforts it took to break the strong of will. His own physical wound had long since healed, but the muscles of his residual limb often pained him as if his left calf still remained, twisted foot and all.
“Must I repeat the question?” he asked. If not Tironan, someone on board had released her.
The furry tuft above her right eye lifted. “How should I know if I know your brother if I don’t even know you?”
Ha! Fine. He spoke his full name and rank for her in traditional Hvrsil, just for the pleasure of matching her obstinacy with his.
“I…I’m not sure I can pronounce that,” she admitted.
“Considering the deficiencies in the form and function of your tongue, I expect not.”
She narrowed her eyes, clearly unsure if she should be insulted. “Do you have a nickname too? Something less, er, taxing on the vocal cords?”
“No.”
“What do your friends call you?” she tried.
“I have no friends.”
“Something I can call you while I beg for mercy, then,” she snapped.
A laugh overtook him at that, as swift, unwanted, and jarring as a seizure. Oh, this woman was a little firework: all sparks and fierce light wedging lethally beneath his scales.
“When you beg for mercy, you may call me by the modern Haveo version of my name,” he relented. “Raveno Hoviir.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Raveno Hoviir.”
He was certain it wasn’t.
Excerpt 2:
Kinsley kept a wary eye on Raveno and his sudden smugness as she turned toward the control panel, but he merely crossed his arms again, a spectator to her mission.
Just what she’d always wanted: an audience.
Even under Raveno’s scrutiny, the orange button called to her. Press me, it taunted with each glowing pulse, and now that she knew it would begin a countdown, her body sang with longing. She might be in space over four months from Earth with the captain of an alien criminal enterprise watching her, but she could still press a button and watch the sparks fly.
Kinsley resisted her natural impulse to blow everything up and instead reached to press the blue buttons on the bottom quadrant of the control panel. She’d already successfully steered the ship left and right utilizing those directional blue buttons. Might as well experiment with driving this bad boy in reverse.
Raveno choked back what sounded like a protest.
Kinsley peered over her shoulder, hand hovering. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
She raised her eyebrows. “Then what was that noise?”
“Nothing.”
“Sounded like something.”
He shook his head, but the spines around his neck separated from his collar, rubbed together like sandpaper, tsh tsh, then slapped flat against his neck.
Definitely something. Kinsley refocused on the control panel—the only way to learn was to do—and moved to press the buttons anyway.
Raveno lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, her fingertips inches from the blue buttons. “You cannot engage the forward thrusters. The stern thrusters are still on.”
Kinsley grinned. “So, there was a problem.”
Raveno glared down at her.
“What happens if I don’t disable the stern thrusters before engaging the forward thrusters?”
“The redundancy alarm will sound, warning the pilot, you, that fuel and energy are being wasted. Some of my crew might come to help, so we should avoid that kind of attention.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll disable the stern thrusters first.”
Raveno released her wrist.
Kinsley reached up to press the blue buttons on the top quadrant of the control panel.
“Ah!” He snatched at her wrist again. “Not at random.”
She rolled her eyes up at him. “I’ve done it before without an alarm sounding.”
“Correct, but you need to disengage the thrusters with parallel equality to maintain our trajectory. Otherwise, we will veer off course.”
That’s the point. Chaos, remember? Kinsley thought, but when she opened her mouth to say as much, she found herself saying, “Show me,” instead.
He released her arm and pointed to the blue buttons in the top quadrant in pairs. “Starboard and port forward thrusters, mid-forward thrusters, mid-stern thrusters and stern thrusters. Press them in pairs, forward to stern.”
She did. “And to fly in reverse, I do the same, but opposite, to the bottom quadrant of blue buttons? Stern to forward in pairs?”
“You are quick to learn,” he murmured.
She pressed the bottom quadrant’s blue buttons in pairs, as directed. Then, while Raveno was still nodding his encouragement, she entered the combination to cancel autopilot and flipped the switch for manual override.
Raveno tensed. “Wait, what are you—”
Using the joystick, she set the medial movement of the ship into a counterclockwise tail spin. “Just having a little fun.” She jerked her head at the wide-open space of, well, space featured in the backup camera. “We’ve got room for it.”
“Careful. The blue buttons. You see how that one turned yellow? You need to—”
“I have it.” She pressed the yellow button, turning it blue again, but the one next to it flashed yellow. “I just need to—”
An alarm sounded. Shit.
She peeked back at Raveno guiltily, but he didn’t seem angry. He’d covered his mouth with his palm, and his shoulders were bouncing.
He was laughing!
“Well, how do I fix it?” she asked.
“Do you not, as you say, ‘have it’?”
Kinsley released the joystick and pressed all the yellow buttons, five now, but the more buttons she pressed, the more turned yellow.
One of them flashed red.
“Eventually, someone is gonna care about these damn alarms and come investigate,” she warned. “What happened to avoiding this kind of attention?”
“I am finding your panic more enjoyable than anticipated.”
Men—whether they had skin or scales, they were all the same. Impossible!
She’d maneuvered all the yellow buttons back to blue, but another three bypassed yellow, flashing red.
Raveno eyed the instrument panel. “Cease fiddling with the thrusters. Take the yoke in both hands and reestablish control of your rotation.”
The joystick, yoke, whatever, was what had gotten her in this jam to begin with! She ignored him and flipped three of the silver switches instead.
Raveno lunged forward and flipped the switches off. “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Kinsley snapped. “I don’t know!”
“Releasing three of our solo cruisers will not help you regain control of the ship,” he said dryly.
All the buttons suddenly flashed red.
“Fuck. There’s no time.” She shot a look at the doorway and then up at the incineration shaft. “I’d better beat it now while I still can.”
She tensed to run.
“The door is locked. There is time.” He snatched both her hands in his and slapped them to sandwich the joystick. “Like this. Now, ease up and out of the spin. Slowly.” He encouraged softly, guiding her pressure on the controls. One of the buttons flashed back to blue. “There. Now increase the backward throttle, so we’re not just spinning in place. That’s why those two are still red. They’re working against each other. Good.”
He loosened his grip, so she was the one in control. Although his hands still hovered, ready to swoop in again if necessary.
“Keep it up. A little looser now. Let the ship steer itself. There.” The last button turned blue, and the alarm cut to silence.
Kinsley grinned, feeling the rush of success and adrenaline ignite her blood. “We did it!”
“You did it.”
“Yes, I did. Ha! That was awesome!” She glanced back at him, and suddenly, his face was inches from hers. His arms were still wrapped around her, had been ever since he’d forced her to grip the yoke in both hands, but she hadn’t noticed until now. His hard front flush against her back. His muscular arms surrounding her arms. The glowing dot in his right wrist illuminating his steady hands over her hands.
His nostrils flared wide.
Yes, something did smell rather good. Fresh and clean, nearly like eucalyptus, but bright. It made her mouth water.
Without thought, her eyes dropped to his lips.
Raveno’s bifurcated tongue slipped out and flicked between them.
She could pull away if she wanted to. His grip was loose as he stroked a knuckle across the inside of her wrist. The way his finger was bent, he was being very careful of his claws in such close proximity to her veins. His touch was light. It should have been barely imperceptible, except the texture of his scales was foreign and unfamiliar. They looked cold, but felt warm. How could something so warm raise goose bumps across her skin? A shiver shot up her arm, across her collarbone, and her unmentionables clenched.
His eyes closed for a moment on a shuddering inhale.
Citrus. That was the smell. Somehow, his scales smelled like eucalyptus and citrus. Oranges, specifically.
To match his blood-orange irises, she thought as they opened to meet her gaze.
He swayed toward her.
Was that longing in the strain of his expression?
Worse, was she swaying toward him?
Oh, this was not happening.
Excerpt 3:
Is there a problem?
Kinsley’s words echoed in Raveno’s mind as his bedroom door slid shut behind her. Was being alone with her a problem? Was sharing a bed with her a problem? Was the possibility of becoming intimate with her a problem? Because he knew for a fact that humans often slept together in the same bed while intimate, a custom his species didn’t share, but Kinsley had just claimed to not know her feelings.
Yet here she was, in his sleeping room, fluffing and positioning one of his pillows as he removed his boots, turning down the covers as he unstrapped his uniform and untied his ornamental circlet, and—cry mercy, there she goes—slipping into his bed as if she belonged.
His mind, as unhinged now as his hopeful body, imagined the parts of him that could slip into her as if he belonged.
Raveno clamped his vresls tight to his chest before they rattled.
Although Kinsley had slept in his bed aboard Sa Vivsheth, he’d deliberately separated their shifts, so they’d never slept together. He thought she’d appreciated that privacy. He certainly had—although, he suspected, for very different reasons. Now, he didn’t know what to suspect.
Her scent told him yes.
Her words told him she didn’t know.
Her actions…
The backs of his eyelids didn’t have the answers. Nor did the ceiling nor the closed door when he studied the surrounding room for inspiration. Even more baffling, she was still fully dressed, uniform and all. He donned a robe, knowing full well the fabric would only twist around and strangle his torso in bed, but he couldn’t rest naked with her fully clothed beside him and still remain true to his word that she controlled the pace of their deal.
Raveno rubbed the frown between his brows, fearing his forehead was becoming permanently creased in her presence.
Your will by my hands, he thought and turned down the covers on his side of the bed, resigned.
She stiffened. “Wait.”
Raveno froze, the covers pinched between his claws.
“Maybe we should, I don’t know, sleep head to feet,” she suggested.
“Head to feet?”
“To keep it from getting weird.” She snatched his pillow from the head of the bed and tossed it to the other end, beside her feet.
He dropped the covers and stared at his newly positioned pillow, unsure what was happening or how resting with his head beside her feet would prevent anything from getting weird.
Kinsley tucked herself under the covers, giving him her back.
Unless Zethus’s research was incorrect—doubtful, but possible—this was not the beginning of an ill-advised intimate encounter.
He didn’t know what it was the beginning of, but he suspected it wasn’t the beginning of sleep either—which, if intimacy was beyond the sight of possibility, he most definitely wanted to achieve.
He held his breath, lifted the covers at the foot of the bed, and stiffened his vresls against her scent. Feeling the full weight of the “weird” she’d been hoping to avoid, Raveno sat, removed his prosthetic leg—gah, why were his ears burning?—and tucked himself into bed with both of Kinsley’s feet inches from his chin.
And suddenly, he was holding his breath for an entirely different reason.
Not that his unwashed foot wasn’t ripe—it probably was—but this hadn’t been his idea.
He scowled at her feet and then leaned in. Were those scales on her heels?
He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculous curiosity. He was not doing this. The only thing he was doing, his most important mission at this very moment, was pursuing sleep. Not answers. He knew very well from experience that pursuing answers about Kinsley led inevitably to more questions.
He rolled away from her, and his robe instantly hitched up to strangle his torso. As he’d known it would.
“What”—Kinsley pounded both fists into the covers—“are you doing?”
“This is insufferable,” Raveno muttered, tugging but failing to free himself from the grip of his twisted robe.
Kinsley peered over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Just close your eyes and relax,” she said, but as she curled onto her side, her scaley heel struck out and kicked the back of his head.
“Oussss,” he hissed, rubbing his bruised skull. “If I fail to fall asleep, you intend to knock me unconscious?”
“Sorry,” she claimed, but the hiccup in her voice sounded suspiciously amused. “That was an accident.”
“Only truth between us,” he growled. “That hurt!”
“You know, the last time you accidentally hurt me, you dislocated my shoulder.”
Some sins, it seemed, would never be forgiven. “That was an accident.”
“So was mine.”
“You said it with sarcasm!”
“Oh, now you have the ability to detect sarcasm?” She waved a dismissive hand. “My kick barely knocked your crown askew. Deal with it.”
“Ornamental circlet,” he gritted out. She knew this. “And why would I wear it to bed?”
She bobbed an unconcerned shoulder. “You wore a robe to bed.”
“What would be more ‘weird,’ sleeping head-to-head or sleeping naked while you remain clothed?”
Her heel connected with the back of his head again.
“Kinsley…”
She flipped over to face him. “That was an accident. I swear.”
Raveno narrowed his eyes. “You did not swear the first time.”
Kinsley’s eyes slid sideways.
He inhaled, ignored the insanity of his still-quivering vresls, and gave his robe a mighty tug. It gave with a sudden rip, and his fist jerked sideways into Kinsley’s calf.
“Ow! That hurt!”
His turn to lift a shoulder in unconcern. Ha! “We are even, then.”
“Not nearly! I’ll definitely have a bruise!”
“And I won’t?”
She rubbed the sting from her leg. “I think you underestimate the hardness of your scaly knuckles.”
“As you underestimate the hardness of the scaly heels on your stinky feet,” he muttered in Haveo.
She made a choked noise in the back of her throat. “I may have trouble speaking and writing in your language, but I understand it just fine!”
Raveno released an exhausted groan and flopped onto his back. Her feet were so close, he could feel the heat of them against his shoulder through the robe. “Humans truly sleep under such ridiculous circumstances?” He lifted his head and pinned her with a glare. “I will check with Zethus.”
She snorted. “Zethus doesn’t know everything. It’s me you should rely on for Earth intelligence.”
“He knows most everything.”
Kinsley crossed her arms. “He didn’t know that human women develop breasts during puberty, not pregnancy.”
“Well, no, but—”
“And he was convinced that corn had the ability to hear.”
“That intelligence had some merit.”
Kinsley raised a skeptical brow. Just the one.
“They call them ears of corn, do they not?”
“Plants can’t hear!”
“Plants on Havar do.”
“He’s not on Havar, now, is he?”
Raveno dug his palms into his eyes. “I need sleep.”
“I wasn’t the one disturbing the peace with my robe yanking.”
He let his hands fall to his sides, defeated. “If we are not going to share the bed properly, then why are we sharing it at all?”
“You didn’t want me on the couch.”
“You could have used the guest sleeping room.”
Silence. When she spoke, her voice was strangely monotone, every word distinct. “You. Have. A. Guest. Sleeping. Room?”
When the lorienok abducted Delaney—after she’d finally accepted that she wasn’t dreaming, in a coma, having a mental breakdown, or in hell—she’d given them a fake name: Jane Smith. Not an exceptionally creative or unique pseudonym by any stretch of the imagination, but having come to grips with the fact that she’d been literally abducted by aliens, her imagination was stretched dangerously thin. Intergalactic kidnapping wasn’t a chronic illness, but for a time—a longer time than she was comfortable admitting to now—wasting away had seemed a preferable fate.
She didn’t accomplish much by hiding her identity. She didn’t have any blood relatives to protect, a criminal record to hide, or a trust fund to safeguard. Delaney Rose McCormick had about as much value associated with her name as did the fictional Jane Smith and left nearly as small a void on Earth. But all Delaney had in those early days directly following her abduction was her name and the hope that everything—the abduction, the tests, the training—was just a big mistake. Which, as it turned out, it was. Her abduction had been the biggest technological mistake in lorienok history, but that didn’t change her circumstances. Days turned to weeks turned to months turned to the abandonment of tracking time. Hope died. She had nothing to her name, but her name, at least, was her own, and she would keep it for herself.
By the time her domestication specialist, Keil Kore’Weidnar, discovered Delaney’s capacity to learn and taught her Lori, his native language, the issue of her name had become moot. He’d already renamed her Reshna, a spiral-shaped handheld tool used to drill into ice. He’d shown her a hologram of it, pointing to the spiral and then to the wild frizz of her unconditioned curls. They had a similar-looking tool on Earth, but they used it to open wine bottles. He’d named her “corkscrew” for her crazy hair.
She’d been called worse names in high school.
She couldn’t say she’d lived in worse places, though. Most of her foster families, with the exception of the Todd household, had been decent people who’d given her clothes, a bed under a roof, and regular meals. Besides clothes, those basic necessities were still being met, so a little gratitude was probably in order. But only just a little, because she also had a cage. And a collar. And if she’d just translated the words and growls of the pet store manager correctly, she had a new owner.
Like most lor, her owner had thick, curved ram horns jutting from his head, and like all lorienok regardless of gender, he was covered head to toe in brown fur. Sasquatch did exist after all; he just wasn’t native to Earth. He was roughly the same size and shape as a human bodybuilder, and in addition to the horns, his nose and mouth protruded slightly into a blunt muzzle, two rows of sharp predator teeth filled his overly large mouth, and pointy bearlike claws tipped each finger and likely each toe on his boot-shod feet.
Unlike most, this male wore his hair long. His locks were tied back from his face in a messy bun with a forest-green elastic band. His beard was also long and came to a point at the end, hanging a few inches below his chin. But his eyes were his most striking feature, assuming that one had already become accustomed to the ram horns, claws, abundance of muscle, and close-cropped body fur. His left eye was the same doe brown common to all lorienok—a smidge rounder and larger than human eyes, like calf eyes with those thick lashes and soul-deep stare—but his other eye was ice blue. A thick scar bisected his right brow, eyelid, and upper cheek, slicing directly over that unique, penetrating gaze.
His bearing was regal and confident, the sharp cut of his jawline proud, but his eyes betrayed him. He was sad—horribly sad—and he glowered at Delaney through the wire door of her cage like he was the Greek king Sisyphus and she his boulder, resigning himself to an eternity of labor over an impossible, futile undertaking.
Or maybe Delaney was just projecting because she couldn’t imagine anything more impossible and futile than her current existence. I am not a pet! she wanted to yell. But after witnessing Keil’s cold-blooded murder, she knew to keep her mouth firmly shut. If anyone suspected her more intelligent than a golden retriever, her death would be next.
Accomplishing impossible feats while enduring debilitating injury and sensory deprivation were challenges both expected and anticipated by the young cadets training to enter the combat and strategic intelligence division of the Federation. Qualifying exams were brutal. Training was rigorous. But for the few who didn’t fail, drop out, or obtain an infirmary discharge, the rewards were astronomical. Torek Lore’Onik Weidnar Kenzo Lesh’Aerai Renaar had certainly reaped those rewards many times over, as evidenced by the four property titles bestowed to his name. He’d never been one to flinch when facing a challenge, but this order—the court-mandated appointment of an animal companion to “facilitate mental recovery”—was the challenge that finally made him flinch.
Torek stared at the human—at the beautiful, riotous hair that sprang like coils from its head and would obviously need continual cleaning and grooming, at its tiny stature and lean form that probably couldn’t lift its own weight, at the lovely gray eyes and smooth, bare skin that would need layers upon layers of protective coverings to keep it warm—and he seriously considered the merits of simply retiring from the Federation.
No one would blame him after what had happened. He could return to his home in Aerai and resume the quiet, peaceful, unappreciated toil of plant cultivation he’d abandoned so many seasons ago along with his dreams of filling that home with a family.
The store manager hefted a bound book from the counter and plopped it into Torek’s unwilling arms.
“What’s this?” A tingle of cold dread crept across the back of Torek’s neck.
“Why, it’s your owner’s manual, of course.”
“Of course.” The Federation’s policies and procedures manual was the thickest book Torek had ever had the displeasure of memorizing, and it wasn’t even half the size of this tome.
“You’ll be the envy of all Lorien. The first to purchase a human, our newest species. She’s the pilot for her breed, of course, but her domestication is progressing fabulously. They dispatched a harvester while she was still in transit, so until the next shipment arrives, she’s the only human we’ll have for a while yet, six kair at the least. You must be thrilled.”
As Torek flipped through a few of the manual’s pages and skimmed the table of contents, the tingle of dread that had started at his neck devoured the rest of his body and intensified to nausea. An entire chapter was dedicated to heating and insulating the human’s living quarters. If her rooms dipped below a specific temperature—Torek brought the book closer and squinted, but no, his eyes didn’t deceive him—and the human didn’t have tailored, fur-lined coverings to retain heat, she would sicken and die. If he didn’t provide her with private sleeping quarters, she would become lethargic and depressed, then sicken and die. If he didn’t feed her three meals a day, complete with a cooked protein, vegetables, and some grain, she would sicken and die. She was even allergic to ukok, a simple seasoning. If consumed, her throat would swell, cutting off her air supply, and she would immediately die.
He would kill her.
Not intentionally, of course, but despite the wild popularity of owning foreign domesticated animals, he’d never even owned a zeprak let alone something as exotic, delicate, and temperamental as this human. She wouldn’t survive a week in his care.
His throat tightened. His breath shortened. His chest ached, and suddenly, black starbursts shadowed his vision.
Not now. Not in public. Not again.
Blog 1 – Playlist for Sight Beyond the Sun
The Music of Storytelling
Music is the universal language. As a former flutist (I played for twelve years, from fourth grade to senior year of collage!) I can especially appreciate music without words or in other languages. Being an avid dancer at the club with my girls, I also love a great pop song with a heavy beat and angsty lyrics. And the 90s emo girl in me still turns up the volume for Avril Lavigne and Evanescence.
To say the least, I have a broad range of favorite songs.
During my hour commute to and from work, I listen to a lot of music. Finding new to me artists and creating playlists to help pass the time is essential, and when I make a playlist specific to the book I’m writing, it helps me better understand the characters, their personalities, and the general “vibe” I’m trying to create with my story.
As you listen to my playlist for Sight Beyond the Sun, you’ll hear songs that represent my heroine, Kinsley, and her fierce determination and confidence. You’ll hear my hero, Raveno, and his struggle with morality, his pursuit of justice, and his longing for a better life for himself and his people. You’ll hear them as a couple, resisting the strength of their own feelings, their distrust (in themselves and each other) and eventual slide into passion. You’ll also hear a few notes from side characters, like my hero’s ex-wife, Cresha, and the paralyzing sting of her regret.
But most of all, I hope that what you hear, you enjoy!!
Sight Beyond the Sun: Soundtrack
No Giving Up
Crossfade
Bad Blood
Taylor Swift
Can’t Be Tamed
Miley Cyrus
Confident
Demi Lovato
All I Want
A Day to Remember
Those Who Slay Together, Stay Together
Chiodos
Headstrong
Trapt
Whisper
Evanescence
My Head & My Heart
Ava Max
Assassin
John Mayer
Cut
Plumb
Consequences
Camilla Cabello
Fire Breather
Laurel
Teardrops
Bring Me the Horizon
Shivers
Ed Sheeran
Breathe Again
Pop Evil
Melody Johnson is the award-winning author of the “out of this world” Love Beyond series and the gritty, paranormal romance Night Blood series published by Kensington Publishing/ Lyrical Press. She graduated magna cum laude from Lycoming College with her B.A. in creative writing and psychology.
Earning the 2021 Maggie Award of Excellence, Beyond the Next Star (Love Beyond, book 1) is an exciting branch from Melody's paranormal romance roots, keeping the dark grit from her Night Blood Series and taking it to new worlds. Her first published novel, The City Beneath (Night Blood, book 1), was a finalist in the “Cleveland Rocks” and “Fool For Love” contests.
When she isn’t writing, Melody enjoys swimming, hiking, reading, and exploring her new home in southeast Georgia. Stay in touch with Melody on social media or her website: authormelodyjohnson.com
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