Defiler (Preyfinders #3) by Cari Silverwood
Age Group: Adult
Genre: Romance, Science Fiction
Release Date: July 28, 2015
Amazon ♥ B & N
Our Earth is on the edge of destruction, our cities are pocked with missile craters, and beneath the surface the alien factory queen lurks.
Four women of power may be our saviors. The last is Talia. Gifted by earth magic with a mastery of edged weapons, she’s a katana-wielding, geek chick with a loathing of alpha men.
Although mating enhances magic, she knows bonding with aliens must surely be wrong. Besides, her destined bond mate, Brask, is an Igrakk warrior of the caveman persuasion. One dominant male is bad enough. Dassenze, the alien man-god in the flesh, also desires her.
As they near their target, Talia’s man problems become the lesser of many evils, for the factory queen awaits them with her nerve chewers and her drills. The price for being avenging, kickass heroines could be a messy death.
Ally was helping dry the dishes when she felt him coming, walking through the cane field, the stalks rasping as they brushed his armor. It was a novel experience, having an alien warrior coming for her.
When she looked through the kitchen window, the sun was burnishing his shoulder armor a bright lollipop red. Not a good camouflage color. Maybe in space it worked but in the middle of green cane? Not so great.
She hurried to the door and opened it. The outer fly-screen door squeaked on its spring, as she toed that open too and held it there with her shoulder. No one with him, though the click of Mrs. Stewart arming her pump action shotgun said she wasn’t so sure.
“He’s okay, Mrs. Stewart, he’s a good guy.”
“You sure, love?” Then she stepped out from behind Ally and onto the porch. At times like this, when she wore apron and dress, the contrast between her prim and proper appearance and her no-nonsense armament both awed and amused. Ally swung her gaze back to their visitor.
The man had his helmet off. Man, he was a sight. Like some prince from a fairytale story or one of the badass soldiers from an online MMORPG game. How many nights had she dreamed of a fair-haired warrior arriving on her doorstep to whisk her away? Many...too many lonely nights trapped in her house. She’d been Snow White in her glass coffin, Rapunzel in the tower, Cinderella cleaning the house while the ball raged on at the castle, only without the abundant hair or the dwarves or the kissing prince.
As a late afterthought, she tugged down the cloth of her white Minions Rock T-shirt, where it had caught up on her boobs, then the hem of her shorts. Twenty-three and her boobs still did stuff she didn’t expect. Sucked.
But back to the kissing prince. He was leaving dents in the dirt from his weight. She could totally see this alien guy ripping off the lid of a glass coffin.
What a pity the Bak-lal were here as well and aiming to take over the Earth and enslave and bioengineer everyone. What a pity she had some motherfucker nerve chewer in her head trying to make her a Bak-lal soldier or something else she hadn’t figured out yet. Kind of took the shine off the good days.
“Hellooo!” She waved and grinned then gestured sideways. “This is Mrs. Stewart. She won’t hurt you.”
The grumble from Mrs. Stewart gave the lie to that. The woman was remarkably protective considering they’d only known each other three weeks...ever since she’d teleported in that day – with her foot missing a toe and her screaming from the head pain. Mrs. Stewart had barely blinked.
At her words, the man had kinked an eyebrow, then he stopped before them, his own weapon still holstered across his back. His heavy boots stirred up dust. Only a little machinery whine from his back begged one to question how fast he could draw that weapon and shoot. Pretty fast, she bet. His gaze had stayed on her the whole walk in, except for a microsecond when he assessed Mrs. Stewart. As if she, Ally, was all he wanted to look at. This alien man was an Igrakk warrior. He had the same facial markings, resembling parallel claw marks, as some of those who’d visited her and Willow’s house just before the Bak-lal burned it down.
Cari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she's spent staring into the night. She has an ornery nature as well as a lethal curiosity that makes her want to upend plots and see what falls out when you shake them.
When others are writing bad men doing bad things you may find her writing good men who accidentally on purpose fall into the abyss and come out with their morals twisted in knots.
This might be because she comes from the land down under, Australia, or it could be her excessive consumption of wine.
Freaking out readers is her first love and her second love is freaking out the people living in her books. Her favorite hobby is convincing people she has a basement...though she really doesn't. Promise. If it existed it would be a terrifying place where you would find all the dangerous things that you never knew you craved.