lgbtq
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Fane traipsed out of the ship and through the dark machinists field into the middle section of the warehouse. He made his way down to the infirmary where he peeled off the electrodes speckling his skin and tossed them in the bin. He dug around in the first aid kit and found antiseptic spray, gauze,…
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“Aggressive fear and anger, followed by meditation, and then – let’s just call it joy shall we? You need a graph similar to that,” Fane pointed at the paper in disdain as the group stood around him on the jump deck in the ship. He was stripped down to little more than a pair of…
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It was late in the afternoon. Lunch had been simple and fast. Sophia had made sure of that. Fane and Bern sat on the bed on either side of the white wolf. Yeller sat in a chair facing them, worry creasing his expression. Ishan leaned up against the wall next to the door. Sophia had…
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Corbin, Sophia, and Bern showed the young man with the wolf and Hana to a room that was being used as the medical area for the facility. They left Fane and Ishan to attend to the other wolves in the cafeteria. The group regarded each other with unease.
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“You sure you want to do this?” Ishan sat next to Fane on the firing range. Fane had made sure the prince had been outfitted with a pair of mufflers. The bodyguard flicked a glance at Bern. The highlander pulled in a breath and shrugged a little. “It’s up ta him,” Bern nodded at the…
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Breathing hard, the three found themselves back on Bern’s beach. Bern wasn’t ready for it when Ishan barreled toward him, catching him in the jaw with a hard left hook. It threw the connection and Bern, Fane, and Ishan tumbled back onto the grass outside of the warehouse.
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“We’re dragging in a pair of men from New Punjab this time, Bern.” Corbin prepared the machines. Bern, leaning against the door of the lab, nodded his head indifferently. He had been present for over four hundred and fifty pulls so far. Most had gone down with a tranq and been put into their tanks…
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“What do you mean you’re not Eoin of the Fyskar?” Corbin yelled. The hell. Who was this man? White hair hung limply to the man’s thighs. A massive gold torc circled his thick neck. The kilt had been changed for a pair of jeans, and very little else remained to cover the bulk of him. …
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He arrived at Portree on the Isle of Skye and found a rather welcoming lady that was only too happy to have a visitor willing to pay for a stay at the tiny house that was the town’s hotel. He was able to borrow her landline to call a Dr Dubhe McCloude, native to Isle…
Chapel Orahamm 