Ebony Strike, Xin Dell, Vahsoon-ya, all different identities of the one infamous martial artist. Seventeen years after she left, the people of her home-planet manage to track her down. They are desperate and starving and need her help.
All she has to do is win the most notorious fighting tournament in the galaxy, run by a corrupt sector administrator.

Things are looking good, until she has the best sex of her life with one of her co-competitors–and is in danger of losing the competition, as well as her heart.

Restricted–18+ only

PUBLISHER: Samhain Publishing
ISBN: 1-59998-714-7
LENGTH: Novella
COVER ARTIST: Anne Cain

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.: Chapter One :.

This is the first chapter is from COMBAT!, available now from Samhain Publishing!

The sound I heard was a bone snapping. Thankfully, it wasn’t one of mine. I knew I shouldn’t have thought of following through with further destruction and, at any other place in any other time, that elbow snap would have been enough for me. But I hadn’t fought dozens of opponents in elimination round after elimination round, only to underestimate my enemy at this point. So, I carried through with my strike, whipping my enemy’s useless arm out of the way and hitting her–hard!–in the cheek with a backfist.

Another crunch, then she was down, her head bouncing once on the hard sandy floor. She would have a headache the size of a small sun when she woke up but at least she was still alive. It was a luxury but I couldn’t help stopping to take a look around while I drew some much-needed breath. There were originally eight of us in the arena. And now we were down to three–another flurry of dust–make that two.

I didn’t have any specific plans when the fighting began–just battle my way through whoever came at me and be one of the two qualifying contenders left standing–so it was very convenient when our group spontaneously broke into two groups. Although, as I steadied my breathing and looked around, it seemed that one independent pair had managed to knock themselves out completely.

I had skirmished with three of the usual suspects, a hulking male from a low-gravity planet, an unnaturally flexible asteroid belt inhabitant and a slim pale female humanoid. The rules stated that all contestants had to belong to the same basic class. This meant that my competition was bipedal. But I heard things would change if I managed to qualify.

A deep bell-like tone carried through the air just after someone else hit the ground and I knew that I and one other person had survived to the next round. Now that we were standing still, I had the chance to size up my future opponent.

Oh, he was delicious. If there’d been men like him in Vahsoon-ya Province where I came from, I wouldn’t have left Vahsoon City, much less the planet. His fists still clenched the rags of his tunic, expertly twirled around his hands to fend off any attacks, leaving his chest bare. And what a chest! He didn’t have the overgrown musculature of the low-grav native I’d fought, but was perfectly in proportion. I knew without touching that those muscles would be hard and warm. The ripcord effect extended down his torso, down his arms. I let my gaze drift lower, hesitating briefly over the suggestive bulge in his skin-tight trousers and felt my groin kick in reaction. The musculature extended down his legs, too, which I knew would be as hard as the rest of him. To my surprise, his feet were bare, indicating a street-fighter rather than a professional.

He was a moving art form, already beautiful with his brown skin, made dramatic by the shock of white hair on his head, cut just short enough to avoid getting into his eyes but long enough to reward any inquisitive fingers wanting to run themselves through its silky length.

I shook my head. No, I had to focus. It may have been a long time since my last sexual encounter but I had more than myself to worry about. The future of Vahsoon-ya Province depended on me.

We turned to face the platform at one end of the arena and walked towards it. This whole place was a monument to overweening ego, and we were approaching that ego now.

My clothes, wet with sweaty exertion, stuck to my body as I walked. Sundi’s World. Just two days after landing on it, I already hated it. The air was humid and still, not offering one iota of cooling comfort to my dark, overheated body. And the sun was hot and high in the sky. I’d read that most of the planet’s continents were ancient and low-lying, the result of millennia of rainfall erosion. All that rainfall and soil meant swamps, and lots of them. Cold ones, warm ones, hot ones; Sundi’s World was paradise to scientists who specialised in swamp-morphology. And one of the contestant-helpers had told me yesterday that, beyond the dry of the camp where we currently lived and fought, waves of sticky mud rippled apathetically against a gentle worn-down slope.

If it wasn’t for my birth-province, I would have left the planet without a backward glance–but the smiling official on the chair above us–Prefect Dinoh of Sundi’s World–beaming at us as if distributing largesse upon grateful subjects, had too much power in his soft, slender hands. And I had none.

“Such energy, such valour,” he declared and looked around. There were perhaps five or six thousand people seated in the covered pavilions that ringed the arena, but I knew from the fly-cams whizzing around us that he was playing to a larger audience–people on the rest of the planet, maybe even off-planet.

“This is the sixth annual series of tournaments and I’m happy to see that the quality of our contestants has not lessened. You two have fought bravely to qualify for the second round. And I’m sure you would have heard rumours about what’s to occur. Let me lay such rumours to rest and tell you directly what you want to know.”

I didn’t understand why Dinoh was so surprised by us. The Rewards Series of tournaments on Sundi’s World was one of the most famous underground events of the sector. Hundreds, if not thousands, had already been eliminated on their way to this dusty piece of ground beneath an unforgiving sun. Some fought for themselves, but most fought for their community. As did I.

And he wasn’t wrong about the rumours–they circled whispered updates of the Series like vultures around carrion. I didn’t know what they said in the insectoid, aquatic and drone series but in the humanoid series, there were rampant fables of group orgies and sex. I tended to discount such innuendo but, eyeing the smarmy smile on Dinoh’s face, I wondered if I was surrendering to an unjustified prudishness.

“Up till now, you have fought bravely and with skill. But now, things will start to get more interesting.”

Loud clapping broke out from the audience.

“Tomorrow we begin Round Two of the humanoid series.”

Finally, this was what I’d gone back into training for. Beside me, I could feel rather than see the male tense.

“You will be presented with four levels, each level containing a different species opponent.” A roar from the crowd indicated they’d been waiting for this moment all day. I would have exhibited my contempt for them but the truth was, I’d asked to be here and so had nobody to blame but myself.

“You will need to defeat the opponent on each level to reach the next. And, if both of you survive the four levels, you will need to battle each other for the supreme prize. But that is not enough.” He paused. “As you know, the Rewards Series offers significant sums of money to its winners.”

He was a sleazy piece of work but he was right. The “‘Rewards Series”, as Dinoh had termed it, was not only famous but also one of the most lucrative of the underground martial arts tournaments. If I won, I could buy Vahsoon-ya Province another year of life. If I lost– I tried hard not to think about that part.

“So, if you both manage to defeat your opponents from each level, you will pleasure each other that night.”

What?!

I thought I’d been paying attention to what the little rich upstart was saying but his last sentence came straight out of a wormhole.

What?!

The crowd was going wild around me, stamping their feet and hooting their approval. My opponent and I looked at each other for the first time and I knew we were thinking the exact same thing–had we just walked into some kind of surreal parallel universe?

“And if one of you is defeated, then I’m sure I’ll think of something else. Refusal,” Dinoh hissed in a soft voice that carried to every corner of the arena, “is not an option.”

Two contestant-helpers appeared at that point, leading my unresisting form away. Thankfully there was a small door just below where Dinoh was seated. I didn’t think I could have stood the leers of the crowd if I’d been led along the length of the arena again, as I had this morning. Now, I was just exhausted, and undisciplined enough to climb the stands and strangle one of the paying customers to death–just on principle.

We disappeared into the cool blessed darkness of the underground chambers, although I lost sight of my male opponent as we were guided in different directions.

Sex? With someone I was destined to defeat at the final level? Not that the thought itself was repulsive. My opponent was strong, skilled–and decorative enough. But I never liked the idea of being forced into something, even if it was ultimately a pleasurable activity, especially with someone I would eventually have to beat in the final round.

I thought I knew where I was being led, back to the habitat quarters, but I was wrong. When I emerged once more into the sunlight, we were far north of the arena and heading towards a stepped pyramid surrounded by verdant greenery that assaulted my nose with its uncontrolled fecundity. I counted six levels on the pyramid. Six obvious levels, each one only slightly smaller than the one below it. I wasn’t surprised when the helper gestured to me to enter the first one. And was only resigned when I heard a door slide smoothly shut behind me.

So this was it. Welcome to Round Two of the Series. And may the best fighter win.

I walked the dark corridor until I came to a door. It slid open at my approach.

The quarters were expansive and lush. I’d stayed at palaces with fewer flounces. And it didn’t take a genius to figure that Dinoh the Prefect had ordered the specifications according to his own tastes, as distasteful as they might be.

Dominating the room was the bed, huge and octagonal, fully covered in a patchwork quilt of exotic furs. The theme continued to the rugs below my feet and the hangings on the wall. Only one long featureless wall was bare right next to the bed. On the other side of the room was a large bathroom, elaborately tiled but–as I looked around both rooms–no tables or chairs. Did Dinoh really design these quarters to hold just a bed with adjoining bathroom and not even a footstool in sight?

I still had my boots on and so I couldn’t feel the soft fur beneath my feet, but was sure my barefoot opponent would enjoy it.

Looking up at the ceiling a little more closely, I frowned and stretched one hand as high as I could reach. I’m not an exceptionally tall person but the roof was only a fingernail’s length out of reach. Together with the furs, the low ceiling contributed to the atmosphere of a cave. As did the silence. It’s not true that silence is the absence of sound. To me, silence has its own sound, the muted quiet telling its own tale as much as any small noises. And right now the silence was telling me that my quarters were very well insulated and near vacant.

But I wasn’t fool enough to believe that vacancy meant nobody was watching. In the arena, I’d become used to the screeches and whizzes of the fly-cams as they circled about, trying to find the juiciest action from multiple angles and feeding it to the central mixer to create holographic images that could be beamed across the sector. Just because I didn’t hear those screeches and whizzes here didn’t mean nobody was watching.

So, after circling the quarters twice, unable to relax, unable to even sit on the edge of the bed, I fidgeted with my dusty clothing and was about to take a much-needed shower when the wall moved.

The bare one, of course, and if I wasn’t feeling so jumpy I would have thought of it earlier. The wall was bare precisely because it slid away. I watched the block of material slither to one side and confronted–him.

My opponent. My masculine, decorative-as-hell opponent. Without the distractions of the sun, crowds and assorted bipeds trying to knock the consciousness out of me, he looked even more delicious than I’d given him credit for.

He wasn’t especially tall, maybe half a head taller than me. He must be good–after all, he had probably fought through just as many opponents as I had–but he was too tall to be an excellent fighter. It always amused me that people were intimidated more by the giants than any short wiry guys. Giants were usually slow with little awareness of their surroundings and the short guys were quick and explosive, but people continued to pick the wrong villain.

Not that he was wiry. Tall enough, good build, broad shoulders but not over-muscled. It was the shock of white hair on his head that drew attention, dramatically contrasting with the deep bronze of his skin. His eyes were a mix of amber and green, changeable and beguiling. I knew I’d have to watch out for them. Yet another weapon in his armoury.

We stood that way, mirroring each other across the divide where the wall once stood, before he moved. I must have twitched, because he put up a placating hand.

Behind him I saw a small kitchen, a table and a variety of chairs. So Dinoh hadn’t been an idiot after all–the design was all part of his master plan of violence and sex. I’d have to remember not to underestimate the sleazy dictator again.

“We’re obviously meant to get to know each other,” he said, taking in the bed behind me, and his smooth voice held a thread of dry humour. I felt the edge of my lips quirk in response. Humour was always one of my vulnerabilities.

Still, I tried to maintain my indignation. “Dinoh can hurl himself into the nearest abyss if he thinks I’m going to perform for his pleasure.”

“It’s not just him though, is it? I’m sure he has thousands of willing voyeurs strewn across the galaxy, all paying for the pleasure of seeing us screw each other. Several ways.”

Handsome was right. I was just wriggling on the hook of inevitability. The fact was, I’d read through the so-called fighter’s contract before signing on for the Series and, effectively, everything I said, did or excreted (yes, it really did get that specific) ceased belonging to me once I put my mark on the entrance form. I’m sure the only reason Dinoh didn’t include thoughts in the contract was because he didn’t have a dependable enough army of telepaths. Yet.

“You could be right.” The words were light but my stance stayed defensive.

“So it could be that this is the only night we have some privacy before the second round of the tournament begins.”

“Why do you say that?” I frowned. “Do you know something I don’t?”

Yes, of course it was my fault that I hadn’t followed the previous series more closely. I was only interested in the tournament results–who won, what style, in which environment. I didn’t believe in living vicariously and crowding the underground clubs, watching black-market vids of last season’s maimings and deaths. Besides, I’d had my own battles to win across the known galaxy.

Yes, I’d fought long and hard to stay away from my home world but, after seventeen years, the call had been too great. And so here I was. Again. Against the odds. Again. Except, this time, I couldn’t just get up and walk away. This time, my home world had lured me with images of broken people, starving children, and I didn’t have the heart to turn them down.

Heart. One day, despite my reputation, it was going to get me killed.

“It doesn’t make sense otherwise.” It was a skill how Handsome put all his persuasion into his voice, keeping his body as low-key and non-offensive as possible. Slowly, I felt myself relaxing. “We’ve finished the first round so Dinoh is going to milk it for all he can get and dangle the excitement of the second round in front of his loyal fans. And,” he added with a grin, showing teeth as blinding as his hair, “his fans wouldn’t want it any other way. They’ll probably drink or inhale themselves into a stupor, reliving past fights before the next stage begins. It’s a breather for them–and a breather for us.”

Smart and handsome. Somehow that made him more scary rather than less.

“So what do you suggest we do for the rest of the evening?” I asked. “Stay in and grab a vid?”

“Perhaps we could get to know each other.” He gestured to my half of the expansive, yet still claustrophobic, quarters. “I see you have half the amenities. I’ve got the chairs. Care to sit?”

It may have been my upbringing but I hesitated. My parents, now dead but–I was sure–still disappointed with me, brought me up to respect other people’s property. Right now that meant not trailing my dust and sweat over someone else’s upholstery. Until I remembered that this entire complex belonged to Dinoh. I threw myself into a soft, low-slung chair with enthusiasm.

“So what’s your name?” I asked as I watched him fill two tumblers with chilled water at the kitchen sink. He brought them back and I accepted one, downing the contents in a handful of gulps.

He set his own glass on the table and spun an upright timber chair around, straddling it with those muscular thighs of his. I tried very hard to keep my thoughts above waist-level.

“Aldanen. What about you?”

Privacy was an outmoded concept when each move I made was plastered across every illegal gambling venue in the sector but, still, a girl had to have her principles.

“Call me Vahsoon-ya.”

He frowned. “Vahsoon-ya? That sounds familiar. Isn’t it a planet or something? In the seventeenth decime?”

“Something like that. What about you? Where are you from?”

“Third decime. You probably haven’t heard of it. Onn Tertiary IV.”

He was right. I hadn’t heard of it. “What do they do on Onn Tertiary IV?”

“It’s mostly an agricultural planet. Farmers, cultivators. We’re the grain bowl of the Greater Onn System.”

“But you didn’t want to farm?”

He grinned again and I had to think of unpleasant topics to stop my mind from falling under his spell. “I wanted excitement.”

“And have you found it?”

He sobered but the hint of a smile still lingered on those sensuous lips. “I think so. What about you? What do they do on–Vahsoon-ya?”

“Die of starvation mostly.”

My estimation of his character rose when he didn’t gush meaningless platitudes. He just nodded. “That’s why you entered the Series?”

“That–and it’s always good to benchmark yourself. Any good cause behind your entry?”

“No. Just me. And a juicy retirement if I win.”

In my game, I came across a variety of people who fought for a variety of reasons. Here, in the Rewards Series, Dinoh had kept things as quiet as he could in a noisy galaxy by opening entry mostly to the desperadoes. When someone is dangling at the edge of a precipice, they’re not about to complain if the helping hand they’re offered happens to be slippery. And that’s just what Dinoh’s little competition was–as slippery as they came. No guarantees, no appeals, just a few consolation prizes along the way that were big enough to keep communities coming back for more the next time, and for the winner, as Aldanen pointed out, more than enough to fund either a community for a year or a retirement beyond imagining.

I was in it for the children. He was in it for the money. But it could easily have gone the other way and I was in no position to judge another being.

There was a small silence before he indicated the bed with a jerk of his head. “I see the sleeping arrangements have been pre-arranged.”

“We can take a bet on who gets it for the night.” My suggestion made it clear that sharing the space was out of the question. I already knew he was going to invade my dreams but I drew the line at him invading anything else. Dinoh wasn’t going to find me a willing partner in his perverse side-entertainments.

His eyes crinkled and I concentrated on the empty tumbler in my hand. Then the rug beneath my feet. Then the scuff marks on my boots. Anything, in fact, except his face.

“I’ll move a couple of chairs together. I’ve slept on worse.”

“Thanks.” I bent down to massage my calf, pretending it was to rub away a nagging ache. At least it stopped me looking into his eyes.

“We’ll have to agree on use of the bathroom as well,” he continued. “How about I use it first then return to my side of the quarters?”

“All right.”

I couldn’t avoid his smile as he rose, my eyes following him as he took his glass to the kitchenette sink.

“They left us some prepared food.” He indicated a tray next to the sink.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then I suggest we get as much rest as we can.”

I nodded and only breathed a sigh of relief when I heard him disappear into the bathroom.

Usually I was more scintillating company. But this situation was far from usual. I’ll admit I wasn’t forced at blaster-point to enter the tournament but the dull and pained gaze of children’s eyes are often more dangerous than mere energy weapons. So, even though I wasn’t coerced, nobody could say I was here through one hundred percent free will either.

As for men, well, Aldanen was handsome enough. And appeared relaxed in my company. Which was a plus. I tended to intimidate men so they either avoided me or tried to prove how much more macho they were. But once they knew my name, even those hormone-driven idiots tended to drop off.

Except, even my name wasn’t my name. Back in the early days, when I was young and full of fire, eager to knock the impoverished and conservative dust of my home from my heels, I came up with what I now regard as a ludicrous show-name–Ebony Strike. To my youthful mind, it was a multi-layered pun, indicating the colour of my skin, the image of darkness, my slim build and perceived fighting prowess. Later, I cringed whenever I heard it. It reminded me of every gauche implausible fantasy I’d held about the rest of the galaxy. But by then it was too late. I was too well-known, the name stuck and the fans seemed to love it. Now, it’s like an old favourite jacket–battered and perhaps not one to wear to every social occasion, but comfortable enough. And, from time to time, it even gets me into those exclusive restaurants and venues I used to eye enviously when I was younger.

I came back to the present when the sound of running water stopped and, minutes later, Aldanen strolled past, smelling tantalising and inviting. With a grunt, I levered myself off the chair and, with one tight smile in his general direction, headed to the bathroom myself.

Nothing–not sonics, not sand, not scraping after a steaming–gets a person as clean as water. Sweet water, not salty. It clears the body and brain. Which was why it occurred to me, while I soaped myself, that Aldanen must be ex-military. Only the military put such emphasis on sleep, as though every impending situation is a combat one. If I was holed up with a fellow martial artist, I would have ended up talking the night away, reliving past wins and injustices and arguing finer points of technique.

But Aldanen, like a military man, wanted sleep. Which gave me one insight into his character–he fought dirty. All military personnel do, it’s one of the enduring truisms of the universe.

Still deep in thought, I dried myself and dressed in one of the utilitarian one-piece outfits I found neatly folded near the bathroom door. I was sure the fabric was impregnated with nano-sensors, all the better to gather information on exactly what I was feeling and doing during the next few days of fighting.

Military opponents were tough but not invulnerable. When I emerged again in the quarters, the lights on the kitchen side were off and I could see a lump inhabiting two pulled-together chairs. Silently, I shut off the one side-light next to the bed and slipped underneath the covers.

In the absence of any insight into what I would face in the morning, I went over my fights with ex-soldiers, trying to pin down commonalities between them. Images of white hair and amber-green eyes intruded but I fell asleep before I could give in to them.

Click to buy. And thank you!

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.: News & Reviews:.

There are some interesting ideas here, but the contrived sex scenes really get in the way. This could have been good, but the author decides to aim below the reader’s belt one time too many where her priorities are concerned and everyone ends up losing sight of the track, so to speak, after a while.

64: Mrs Giggles, with my worst score yet!

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The fight sequences were tight and easy to follow. There were no unbelievable moves, no angst-filled heroes or heroines thinking out every move, and no yakky dialog … [T]he sex scenes were incredibly primal and deliberate … The heat is palpable and you can’t wait for these people to tear their clothes off.

Maria Zannini, MariaZannini.blogspot.com

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In Combat the range of creatures … was pretty fascinating. K. S. Augustin wrote this story in first person, so as you read along you’re actually experiencing all of Ebony’s fears, excitement and shots of adrenalin … Some what of a dark shadowy story, Combat makes the pulse zing and the heartbeat race …

Indy, Joyfully Reviewed

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This hot read will keep you on the edge of your seat, as these two lovers determine which is more important: the survival of their plans, or the opportunity for love?

4 KISSES : Alisha, Two Lips Reviews