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  The Sun Sword

  TheSunSword

  She has the power to bring new life…or utterly destroy it.

  Torin Kerridon, the last warrior from an ancient order, is drawn to an abandoned, dying Earth, where he finds a forgotten young woman. A woman forged by the Immortals to wield the ultimate weapon—the Sun Sword. A woman capable of commanding the power of the suns. A woman with no past and no memory, the body of an angel and the spirit of a demon. He will train her. Prepare her.

  Hunted all her life, Kala Rei has endured more than one woman should. Sheer grit, and a dangerous skill with a lead pipe, are the key to her survival. But nothing threatens her sense of safety more than dominance-oozing Torin. He wants her, but not for what’s between her legs. For what he believes her to be—some ludicrous savior from some absurd prophecy. No matter…his offer to take her away from Earth is too good to refuse.

  But when a savage desire begins to burn between them, both Torin and Kala are in danger—and so are the worlds of man.

  Warning: This book contains an ancient prophecy that can’t be denied, a brooding hero tormented by desire, a stubborn woman who hungers for his touch, a villain so vile you’ll want to kill him yourself and sex so hot it’ll melt the suns of the known universes…and then some.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  The Sun Sword

  Copyright © 2009 by Lexxie Couper

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-832-1

  Edited by Heidi Moore

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2009

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  The Sun Sword

  Lexxie Couper

  Dedication

  For Dags. Who made me watch Dr Who when I should have been watching Sesame Street. Love you, Bro.

  To Jessica Russell. Thank you for letting me chase the sun with you. You are, as I’ve always said, gorgeous.

  The old gods, the Immortals, looked at what the worlds of man had become and wept. Their tears extinguished the burning hearts of the universes and for eons there was only cold. Darkness.

  Millennia passed. The Immortals watched the worlds of man turn heartless and violent. Their grief turned to rage and their rage turned to resolve.

  The Eldest reached into the very heart of existence and forged a blade from its simmering core. A blade of infinite light and never-ending dark. A blade to end life and begin it.

  The Youngest saw the fates of the worlds of man and stole the blade, hiding it in the twin souls of life. The Youngest then placed a seed in time and the seed would be the true wielder. When the worlds of man balanced on the cusp of self-destruction, the lone warrior would find the hope and the hope would be the One Who Burns and the One Who Burns would be the end and the beginning.

  The Eldest saw the seed and, furious at its possibility, perverted its form. The One Who Burns would not be alone. There would be another, one who burned just as fiercely. A fire of infinite rage. The False Fire.

  And the worlds of man would suffer.

  Or rejoice.

  The Sol Edict, Book One. Author unknown.

  ***

  The One Who Burns will walk the grounds of despair, soul empty of peace, heart ripe with hate.

  The False Fire will walk the grounds of despair, soul empty of peace, heart ripe with hate.

  Both shall be destroyed. Both shall be victorious. Both will bring death and darkness when the lone heart bleeds and the stone weeps.

  The Sol Prophecy. Book Fourteen. The Oracle.

  ***

  “The Oracle told us the Sun Sword will bring new life to the hearts of man in the hands of the One Who Burns.

  The Oracle also told us the Sun Sword will bring brutal death to the hearts of man in the hands of the False Fire.

  What the Oracle failed to tell us, the irritating old crone, was how to tell whom was whom.”

  An Account of the Failure of the Oracle. Cai of P’helios

  Prologue

  Earth calendar 2445

  Torin Kerridon walked down the rubbish-strewn street, studying the derelict buildings, stunted fauna and polluted sky. So, this is Earth.

  He curled his nose, moving his right hand closer to his disruptor. He didn’t expect anyone to attack him—he doubted anyone still living on the once-prosperous planet was healthy enough to pose any threat—but that didn’t mean he relaxed his guard.

  You relaxed your guard, you died. That was the way of the Sol.

  Besides, somewhere on this forgotten hunk of dying rock was a warrior of supreme force and skill. A warrior more deadly than the entire Sol Order combined. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

  Stepping over a fallen tree, the leaves long dead, the branches withered and twisted as though tortured, Torin scanned the immediate area. The Old Seer had sworn the One Who Burns could be found somewhere in this vicinity. He’d been quite adamant about it in fact, almost having an apoplexy when Torin had voiced his doubt.

  The old man had refused to listen to reason and, invoking the Sol Edict, had commanded Torin leave P’helios immediately for the abandoned planet.

  Casting a dubious look at the closest building, boarded-up windows doing little to hide its desolate decay, Torin shook his head. The Old Seer was never wrong. If he said the One Who Burns was here, he was here. Somewhere. The southern hemisphere of the planet had survived the Third Global with the least destruction, the planet’s ailing weather patterns saving it from the initial bio detonation. Torin looked up at the sky and scowled. Polluted storm clouds boiled and rolled above him. The Old Seer had drawn the constellation under which Torin would find the One Who Burns, sightless eyes staring at the parchment as he’d inked the angled five-starred cross. The map however was useless.

  Returning his attention to the buildings around him, Torin continued forward. He didn’t need to see the stars to know he was in the correct location. The sensors on his ship, Helios Blade, indicated a significant number of life signs in this quadrant. The only sign of life on the eastern coastline of the large landmass to be exact—a paltry four hundred and forty-two souls. According to the Old Seer, the One Who Burns was among them.

  Torin frowned, looking at the empty, desolate dwellings around him. How are you going to find him, Kerridon?

  He let out a silent grunt, his skepticism pushed further by his bleak surrounds. The Old Seer had told him the One Who Burns would find him, but he couldn’t help wondering how.

  “The One will come to you. Walk through the streets of dismay with want in your soul, belief in your heart and the One will come to you. This you must do. Or the hearts of man will be—”

  His proclamation had ended there. The Old Seer’s sightless eyes had rolled back into his ancient head, he’d hitched in a sharp breath and died.

  Torin clenched his fist, the memory of his Sol guide’s death still jarring. The Old Seer had charged him with a task and he must obey. He was the last of the Sol Order. The last warrior charged with the protection of the Sun Sword, the ultimate weapon in the known universes. A weapon
forged by the Immortals and discovered by the Oracle. A weapon created to end all life and begin it. He needed to find the one who was born to wield the blade before the False Fire did. If he failed, the worlds of man would cease to—

  A ball of solid steel smashed into his chest, hurling him backward. His heels tripped, his feet tangled and, before he knew it, he was on his back staring at the bruised, polluted sky. Pain radiated through him. Syunna, what was that?

  He flipped his body from the filth-strewn ground, disruptor drawn.

  And found a tiny slip of a girl no taller than his chest standing before him, green eyes burning with golden fire, short black hair a spiky crown of mess. She glared at him, a long, rusted steel pipe clenched in her small fists. “Whoever you are, you’re not welcome here,” she growled, her voice husky. And angry. Very angry.

  Torin frowned, resisting the urge to lift his hand and rub his chest. By the gods, what had she hit him with?

  What do you mean, she? Surely you don’t think this whelp put you on your arse, do you?

  He returned his disruptor to its holster. “I have no issue with you, girl.” He began walking forward. “Move aside before I put you across my knee and—”

  She threw herself at him. Feet first.

  Her bootless heels struck his gut like two small balls of steel. He stumbled again, dumbstruck.

  She swung the pipe, smashing it against his jaw as he fell.

  White agony detonated in his head. He let out a shout of rage and indignation. How could a scrap of a child move so quickly? And hit so hard?

  Before he could contemplate the answer, she straddled his chest, the steel pipe rammed under his chin. Choking him.

  She glared down at him, the fury in her eyes seismic. “I will not let your kind touch me again.”

  Torin stared at her, teeth clenched. “I’m not going to touch you. Now get off me before I give you a damn good—”

  She didn’t let him finish. Fear flooded her eyes, turning the rage there to icy terror. She smashed the pipe against his face, his jaw, his shoulders, her tiny body trembling, her face set.

  Pain erupted in his head. He let out a shout, more of surprise than agony, and grabbed at her wrists.

  She was quick.

  He was quicker.

  Before she could strike him again with that cursed steel pipe, he yanked her body forward, threw her to ground beside him and rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath his weight.

  “Get off me!” she screamed, thrashing and bucking like a wild animal.

  He dodged another attempted blow from her right hand, fighting to keep her wrists in his grip.

  Syunna, she’s strong for a scrap.

  “Get off me, get off me, get off me!”

  Her scream grew louder with every word, her eyes wider and more terrified.

  “Stop it!” he roared, smacking her wrists to the ground beside her head and staring down into her muck-smeared face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Ha!” she barked. “I’ve heard that before. Right before one of your kind shoves his dick between my legs.”

  Cold fury rolled through Torin. His gut clenched at the implication behind her words and he fixed her with a steady look. “I, Torin Kerridon, last command warrior of the Sol Order and keeper of the Sun Sword’s truth, swear I will never bring harm upon your body.” He relaxed his hold on her wrists. A little. “Nor shove my dick between your legs.”

  She glared up at him, green eyes flashing golden chips of rage.

  He loosened his hold a fraction more. “This is my word and I swear it to you on my honour.”

  She stopped fighting against his weight, expression guarded. Wary. “I swear I will rip your dick off and shove it down your throat if you break your word.”

  The words were full of promise and Torin didn’t doubt—if given the chance—she would be capable of doing just so. He frowned, his gut still tight. “What is your name, child?”

  Her jaw bunched, defiant strength glinting in her unusual eyes, and she shifted beneath him. “I’m not a child. I’m almost twenty-one.”

  Torin suppressed the urge to smile. Almost twenty-one made her a child by his reasoning, and by his own advanced age. “What is your name, child?” he repeated, the need to know growing heavy in his gut.

  Green eyes glinted. “Kala Rei. Now get off me.”

  But Torin couldn’t move. He stared down at the dirty, skinny girl, every muscle in his body locked frozen with disbelief, his heart a thumping beat, his blood roaring in his ears.

  Kala Rei.

  The name whispered by the Immortals. The name he’d known all his life.

  Kala Rei.

  The One Who Burns.

  The Sun Sword

  Chapter One

  Six Earth months later

  Kala opened her eyes and gazed up at the low, metal ceiling. It hung above her head as it had for the last six months, a solid plane of dull grey that reflected no light and radiated no life. Closing her eyes again, she stayed stretched on her hard, narrow bunk and began a slow count of one hundred. With each number, she flexed and coiled the muscles in her body, the process beginning with her toes and ending with her fingers.

  Heat flowed through her, the meditation routine waking her body, preparing her for what was to come.

  What? Another day spent covered in sweat and blood? Your body aching, your muscles bruised? The bloody great big sword he makes you sleep with tearing your shoulders from their joints every time you swing it? This has to stop, Kala. The man is as crazy as a cut snake.

  Opening her eyes again, she stared at her quarter’s ceiling and saw the God-cursed bastard who’d taken her from hell.

  He was never far from her thoughts, Torin Kerridon. Not a minute passed during the hours she was awake when she didn’t think of him—curse him, wish he were dead. Pictured the massive sword he’d thrust into her hands the second she’d boarded his ship plunging into his hard, flat gut. Pictured the life fading from his storm-grey eyes.

  Not a minute passed during the brief hours she slept when she didn’t dream of him—of his hands skimming her naked legs, his mouth brushing over the small swells of her breasts, his lips closing over one nipple to suckle on its puckered tip as his fingers caressed the other.

  A tight dampness knotted in the pit of her belly and she let out a sharp growl. She snapped upright on her bunk, swung her legs around and dropped to the floor, punching out an endless number of pushups in an effort to rid her mind of those tormenting nighttime images.

  It was an exercise in futility. It always was. Every morning she went through the same routine. The realization, the meditation, the memories, the wanting. Every morning she punished herself for her weakness with an absurd amount of pushups.

  And you think Torin is the crazy one? You desire a man you long to see dead.

  Letting the strength evaporate from her arms, back and shoulders, Kala slumped to the floor. She pressed her flushed forehead against its icy metal surface. Nothing made sense anymore. Six months ago she was fighting to survive on a long forgotten planet, a lone female with no family or connections, forsaken as a child by a person whose face time had erased. A young girl forced to grow up by the harsh brutality of her existence, raped, assaulted and bashed repeatedly because of what was between her legs. A young girl praying for death to find her every night, fighting it with every molecule in her body when it came in the form of vile men with hard dicks and black souls. Six months ago, she knew the meaning of her existence—pain. Lots of pain. Now…

  What would it be like? To be held by someone, loved by someone who didn’t want to hurt her? To be cherished and worshipped, not used and abused. Someone who touched her to bring her pleasure, not take it for himself?

  Someone like Torin?

  Flattening her palms against the chilly floor, she pushed herself to her feet and crossed the confining space of her quarters. A shower. She needed a shower. In exactly thirty minutes she would be covered in sweat again, the ba
stard Sol warrior pushing her body to its limits in that damn torture chamber he called a training room, but she needed to cleanse herself before the pain began.

  A cold shower also afforded her the briefest moments of privacy. Torin Kerridon did not balk at walking into her quarters any time of the day or night—when he deemed training had begun, it began, regardless of the hour. When she stood inside her shower cubicle however, the cold water streaming over her flesh, through her tangle and dirt-free hair, over her lips and nipples, he respected her privacy.

  And don’t you wish he didn’t. Don’t you wish he would storm into your quarters, smash his fist against the shower’s door control, wrap his fingers around your wrists and yank you from under the water, pulling you against his body and doing everything he could to make you feel—

  Kala ground her teeth. “Stop it!”

  She was just as insane as the man who’d taken her from Earth. He thought she was some long-prophesied warrior, destined to save the worlds of man from some unspeakable evil, and she thought he was—

  Kala yanked the minimal clothing she wore to sleep from her body and stepped into the shower, shutting the thought down. It was lunacy. She didn’t desire him. He was an insane man with delusions of grandeur from a planet she’d never heard of, let alone been to. She was only going along for the ride because what he offered was better than what she’d spent the first twenty-one years of her life living. The dreams and fantasies stemmed from the simple fact he’d saved her from that life. That was it. Nothing more.

  Yeah, right. You keep telling yourself that, Kala.

  Punching the hydro stream control, she lifted her face into the cold blast of water, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Two minutes later—skin like ice, centre like fire—she stepped from the tiny cubicle, dripping wet and still just as angry. She’d had enough. Today was the day she ended it. She’d let the insanity go on for too long.