Title: The Lightbound Saga Trilogy
Author: S.G. Basu
Publisher: Dreamwater Press
Genre: Middle Grade/Young Adult

Series Blurb:

13-year-old Maia is a land-dwelling Solianese living on the planet of Tansi. She has been raised by her doting grandfather. Her mother, Sophie, supposedly deceased, is accused to be a traitor who fought for the Xifarians who have subjugated Tansi. Loathing her family’s history, Maia has put herself into self-exile, vowing to steer clear of the temptations that led her mother astray. But when she is drafted into a peace summit by the Xifarians, she must walk into Xif, the planet she has always wanted to avoid. Here she meets loyal teammates Kusha, Dani, Nafi, and Ren, as well as Miir, their Xifarian team mentor who is as accomplished as he is temperamental. As Maia and her teammates thwart a plot to harm the underwater settlements on Tansi, she also discovers that her mother, Sophie, was not what she seemed. Sophie sacrificed herself to save Tansi before the Xifarians could destroy the Tansian system.

Maia visits the Jjord nation in their underwater colonies on Tansi. More of Sophie’s secrets come to light while she is in the colonies as well as more of the Xifarians’ plots to rebuild the dark heart of Xif. As Maia’s link with Sophie becomes apparent, Maia soon finds herself in the crosshairs of the Xifarians who kill her family and send her running for shelter across the dead lands of the Solianese. Chased by the Xifarians, Maia barely manages to stay alive with the help of her teammates.

While on the run across Tansi, Maia meets a mysterious man who unlocks a power within Maia. When her mighty Xifarian foes corner her, Maia unleashes the power on them, overpowering everyone, including her former mentor, Miir.

Maia struggles with her newfound power. The team is on the verge of fracturing when Maia reveals she might have killed Miir. Meanwhile, the R’armimon, an ancient and powerful enemy of the Xifarians, are on the way to the Tansian system, seeking vengeance from the Xifarians. On finding this, the Xifarians grow desperate to resurrect the dark heart that would enable them to leave the Tansian system. Maia narrowly escapes the Xifarians’ trap with a mysterious ally but her new alliance takes a toll on her friendships.

Maia is alone and hopeless but she forges on to regain the trust of her teammates and tries to convince the Tansian leaders of the impending threat of the R’armimon fleet. With help from her allies, Maia continues to uncover more of Sophie’s past. Together with her friends, Maia rushes to find the artifacts needed to thwart the R’armimon as the massive Execution Fleet of the R’armimon appears next to Tansi.

Purchase Information for Series

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3Tb71xt

Chapter One

Among the desert plains that covered the Second Continent of Tansi in its lifeless spread, Appian shone like a precisely cut emerald. Beautiful enough to be on a picture postcard, the settlement nestled cozily at the flat bottom of a valley surrounded by rolling hills, with a few cottages and farms peppered here and there on the lush slopes. Little brick houses and their brightly painted rooftops filled the center of the village; its paved roads crisscrossed the valley in flawless symmetry; its trees, dark and ancient, enveloped the dwellings in their pampering shade; its pastures, trimmed and tidy, wove a soft-hued tapestry across the dale. 

The morning had been warm and blissful. As the day aged, the sky turned a dull and stifling gray, and the air grew thick. A patch of sunlight escaped through a crack in the clouds and fell squarely on Hen’s Beak, the tallest hillock overlooking the village. 

Thirteen-year-old Maia sat hunched on a rocky platform jutting out of the sharp inclines forming the western façade of Hen’s Beak. Her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face into a pair of pigtails that fell a little past her shoulders. A bunch of dull freckles dotted the bridge of her nose with a few splattered on her cheeks. Locks of stray hair lying across her tanned forehead partially hid a frown that bunched her hazel-green eyes. 

Today was her thirteenth birthday, a significant day for any child on Tansi, a day of feasts and celebration. But Maia was far from happy. She had tried to impress Dada yet again, and yet again she had failed. Now as she stared listlessly at the horizon, spent and utterly hopeless, tears welled up in her eyes. It was as if she was back in the middle of winter, trapped, housebound; when the charm of the season’s first snow had long dulled, the blooms of spring were only a distant dream, and all that seemed to linger forever was the unending brownness. 

Maia hugged her knees tightly and rocked herself as she stared at the weary mass of trees skirting the base of the hill. Hope was something one rarely came across around here, and Maia wondered if there was a reason left to keep trying to escape this misery. 

We are a doomed lot, this planet, its people. 

Maia’s hands reached for the ends of her pigtails, twirling them in a never-ending nervous rhythm. And she was more ill-fated than most because she did not even have a parent. 

Maia preferred not to think about her mother too often, fearing the rage that always followed. She would not even call her “mother,” but rather by her name—Sophie. She figured the woman who could abandon her infant did not deserve a loving name. At one time, Maia believed in the other possibility, the one Dada liked to talk about, that Sophie did not choose to leave her newborn child but tragically perished in the battle of Second Surrender. But the doubts barged in, and not without reason. The way Sophie disappeared felt odd, staged almost. She did not leave behind as much as a memento to remember her by, no clue about Maia’s heritage, nothing. It was as if Maia’s life with Sophie had never existed, and as if Sophie had never existed either. Maia learned to accept the implication that always left her feeling hollow inside—Sophie had deserted her. And given what Uncle Alasdair had said, Maia knew Sophie was capable of such an act. Sophie had done other things, shameful things that Maia struggled to keep hidden from the world. 

Sophie was, in one word, inexcusable. 

On the other hand, Maia fondly wondered about her father sometimes, and in the deepest corner of her heart, she nurtured a hope that someday she would find him and maybe, just maybe, he would love her back with all his heart.

As a deep sigh coursed its way out of her, Maia realized her mistake. She had let the hurt in, once again. A painful lump throbbed in her chest and inched up her throat like thick, vicious quicksand, drowning her from inside. She gulped a few times, hoping to make it go away, but the pain persisted. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and her insides crumpled. 

Maia’s fists curled. She couldn’t cry. She wasn’t going to let her tears show. No! 

A sound—the muffled clatter of approaching hooves—came just in time to pull Maia out of her gloom. She turned, smiling at the heavyset, gray-haired man leading Bander and Jolt, a pair of bay horses. 

“Herc!” 

Herecule, or Herc, as she liked to call him, was guard, farmhand, groundskeeper, and Maia’s martial arts teacher, all rolled into one. Above everything—in a world where almost everyone her age had already left for ThulaSu and its lesser-known alternates, when every other adult was overly cautious of her movements—Herc remained her only friend and confidant. 

“Hullo, miss.” Herc smiled as he set the horses to graze and sat down next to Maia. “Emmy’s upset and very worried,” he said, chuckling indulgently as Maia grimaced. “Maybe you oughta run back home now.”

Maia knew Herc was teasing, but she was not amused. Her nose crinkled. Emmy, the housekeeper, always fussed over her. From the moment the tiny motherless Maia had been placed in the grieving housekeeper’s hands, Emmy had constantly worried about her ward’s well-being. She wanted to wrap Maia in a cocoon of protection, failing to understand that Maia needed her freedom. Herc, on the other hand, was different; he let Maia live a close-to-regular life. But it was a constant tug-of-war between Herc and Emmy, one that seemed to have no end. 

Maia cradled her forehead in her palms and leaned forward to rest her aching head on her knees. “I’m never going to leave home, Herc, unless they find me and drag me to Ti.” 

“Don’ you worry, miss, you’ll get to ThulaSu.” 

Herc’s words were meant to comfort, but they did nothing to cheer the young girl. She had just turned thirteen, old enough to be drafted for the Xifarian labor camps on Ti, from which no one ever returned. Only the Clause of Scholia—the ancient honor system across the galactic settlements that included Tansi—granted immunity to children enrolled in educational institutions. Just like any other land-child of Tansi, Maia had hoped to take her Undertaking vows, enrollment at a center of higher learning, before she turned thirteen. Yet, here she was—thirteen and still without a pledge, unprotected.

Maia had done her part to avoid this situation. She had dreamed of going to ThulaSu, the brightest beacon of hope among the crumbling Solianese universities. She had trained hard, excelling in swordplay since she was barely eight. Her dedication was rewarded when two summers ago, the traveling scouts from ThulaSu were offered to have her pledged. But then, her grandfather had to deny her permission. The following year was no different. And now that the annual caravan to ThulaSu was due to leave Shiloh in two weeks, the thought of being left behind a third time made Maia want to scream.

“I don’t know, Herc. Dada still can’t make up his mind. Why can’t he just let me go?”

“Your grampa’s ’fraid of losin’ you, miss,” Herc replied, drawing random patterns on the dust with a stalk of grass. “You’re the only fam’ly he has left.”

Maia scoffed.  “Does he realize I’m thirteen now? And unless I take my Undertaking vows right away, the Clause can’t protect me. What if Xifarians find me, huh? Doesn’t he know that he’ll lose me forever then? And what’s with the show every day? Why train me if he’s not planning on letting me go?”

As always, Dada had watched today’s training session with Herc, his keen eyes studying her moves, strikes, and parries. Although Maia did not win the mock-up, she was satisfied, having taken her formidable trainer by surprise quite a few times during the fight. It was no mean feat that she had been close to besting Herc, whose stout build was nothing but a deceptive cover for his extraordinary agility. But then, this was nothing new. She had been repeatedly surprising Herc over the last few years. Only her grandfather never seemed content. 

Maia clenched her fists, struggling to keep from screaming. No one could deny her ThulaSu. She would do whatever it took to get a place in this year’s caravan.

“Tell me about it one more time,” she pleaded.

Maia loved Herc’s stories of ThulaSu. She had heard them a hundred times over, but they never grew old; they simply strengthened her will to see the land with her own eyes someday. Once again she was mesmerized by the legends of misty mountains and forgotten lands, of mystical monks who could foresee the future, of swordplay so fast and intricate that only those with the mythical third eye could master it in its entirety. 

“Time to go, m’lady,” Herc said, breaking Maia’s reverie. 

It was close to sundown, and Maia halfheartedly trudged home behind Herc and his horses, along the red brick road that wound past the hilltop and climbed down toward the valley floor. A gigantic oak adorned the bulging middle of Hen’s Beak, and next to it sat the pudgy, green-roofed farmhouse that Maia called home. She was just a few steps away from the front porch when a tantalizing aroma of roasted seafowl drifted out through the open doors and held her in its intoxicating grip. 

Maia’s pace quickened as she walked up the porch steps, through the dimly lit sitting area to the small dining room in the back. Her stomach let out a low, pitiful growl when she gazed at the table; the sight certainly melted away all of Maia’s grievances. A handsome basket cradled freshly made bread rolls, and next to it a tray held the grand specimen of Emmy’s masterful culinary skills: a seafowl cooked to a perfect golden red. Her grandfather sat next to the dinner table, hunched over a thickly bound book. He looked up and smiled as Maia stepped into the room.

“You’re back, I see,” he said in a sing-song voice. “You didn’t wait to know my answer about ThulaSu?” 

Dada was a tall man with a short gray beard and wispy white hair, soft brown eyes, and a kind face. Maia knew that hidden behind his rather calm and spiritual demeanor was a fortitude that had withstood the brunt of terrible tragedies and survived the aftermath of the Scarcity. His body bore the scars of frightful times of long ago, as did his mind, yet his eyes never failed to twinkle and shine. Maia had inherited his characteristic kindness as well as his courage, and as gentle as she could be, she was neither timid nor docile. 

“No, Dada,” Maia replied. Still not looking at her grandfather, she toyed impatiently with a plump teapot that sat on the painted sideboard. “I stopped hoping,” she muttered under her breath, trying her best to mask the annoyance fomenting inside. 

Dada leaned back, his eyes crinkling with amusement. 

“Oh, really? Well, I was thinking you could hop on the caravan this year if you wanted.”

Maia simply stared as her heart skipped a few beats. Then she took a few tentative steps forward to face her grandfather.

“So . . . I’m allowed to leave for ThulaSu?” 

“Yes.”

Maia flung herself on him, her trembling arms wrapping around his neck.

“All right, all right, take it easy,” Dada said, panting between chuckles.

“Managed to convince him then?” Emmy walked in with a steaming pie, and Herc peeped through the doorway with a grin so large that it barely fit on his face.

“Yes . . . finally!” Maia yelled. 

Herc promptly broke into loud, hearty laughter while Maia twirled and skipped spiritedly around the table. Emmy set the plate down and suppressed a sigh of worry. Patting Maia on the back, she said in a mock gruff tone, “Hmmm . . . that’ll do. Remember your trip to Shiloh tomorrow. Better eat and rest up.” 

Oh, yes. Shiloh!

Until this day, the monthly visit to the neighboring town of Shiloh was the biggest event in Maia’s mundane life. But in her excitement of Dada’s announcement, she had forgotten all about it.

“I will, Emmy, I will,” Maia replied. “Be right back,” she added. 

With a final whoop of joy, Maia sprinted up the stairs to her room. She closed the door behind her, twirled giddily on her toes a couple of times, then crashed onto her bed. Her eyes swept across the walls of what had been her private sanctuary for the last five years, the reassuring familiarity brought a smile to her face. The last traces of daylight filtered through the wide-open windows but failed to reach the far corner of the room. There, a row of shelves stood lined with books thin and fat, short and tall; and the small writing table next to it teetered with scrolls, journals, and knickknacks. And Bellator, glowing as usual in the feeble light. Maia lay there for a while, looking at everything, and nothing, savoring the joy of a long-awaited dream coming true.

About The Author

Find out more about the futuristic worlds she creates at sgbasu.com. She can also be reached at sg@sgbasu.com.

Books by S.G. Basu:

The Lightbound Saga series (YA Dystopian Science Fiction)

Maia and the Xifarian Conspiracy

Maia and the Secrets of Zagran

Maia and Regency Protocol

The Lightbound Saga 3 Book Bundle

The Firefly League-A Lightbound Saga novella

Elementals-The Serial Thriller (Paranormal Science Fiction)

Population Morpheus (Near Apocalyptic Science Fiction)

Jumpers (Paranormal Thriller)

You can visit the author’s website at www.sgbasu.com or connect with her on Twitter, Facebook and Goodreads. 

For me, this is personal. From 1971 to 1973, I was a POW; and now, ten years later, I work for the CIA under the fake identity of John Sims, Field Expert for Crop World, an international firm run by the agency.

While in my hotel room, the unthinkable happens. Bangkok may end up being my greatest challenge as my courage, patriotism, and honor are on the line, and I find myself in the toughest physical and mental battle of my life, wondering if Operation DFC will be my first, and last, covert mission.

Release Date: December 10, 2022

Publisher: Georgia Girl Press

Paperback: ‎ 979-8366909396; 360 pages; $15.99; Kindle $5.99

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3BKSodF 

Rescuing American soldiers out of grimy pits in Vietnam is my life’s mission, yet I’m fully aware it is also a sensitive issue for both governments. Bartering for their return costs money, and the source of the rescue funds and the intent of the mission are both unknown to the American public. They will remain a secret until someone with a higher paygrade releases the information.

No one wants to endanger this crucial operation with loose talk or create an uprising against the VC that could lead to another invasion. If anyone outside the circle of trusted players learns what we are attempting, it will create a stink bigger than Watergate or the Pentagon Papers. Worse, leaked knowledge of our covert op could blast the whole deal to smithereens, and those brave, broken men might never taste freedom again. They would vanish permanently, just as I could have a decade ago if someone hadn’t risked his life to liberate me.

I will not let that happen.

The soldiers, and their loved ones, deserve better.

Pulling out the next piece of paper, irritation rushes over me as I read the typewritten words:

When WM meets with RL and supplies the code, RL will then give LAT/LONG coordinates to the exchange location near Paracel Islands to WM, who will return to BK and page team leader, RD, at 202-555-1717, and send LAT/LONG intel. Ocean transport of the rescued cargo will begin the journey, and the cargo ship, Triumph, which contains the physical funds, will head to location. Exchange of cargo and funds will take place on board.

“What the hell? Now we’re giving these monsters cash? Why did they tattoo the banking code on me? Why did the plan suddenly change this late in the game? I’m bypassing Carter and giving info straight to RedDog? I don’t like this. Not at all.”

On instinct, I re-read it twice, imprinting RedDog’s pager number before flicking the lighter. The ashes flutter to the floor. Rubbing the remains out with my foot, irritation morphs into anger at this last-minute shift of important details.

Reaching inside the bag again, my fingers touch a familiar object—the grip of a pistol. Before I can make sense of why a firearm was provided and how I can sneak it on the plane without getting arrested, burning pain shoots up from my palm and straight to my brain. Dropping the gun, I look at my hand, noticing several tiny needle pricks in the palm milliseconds before my vision blurs.

The room spins as my throat locks up.

Collapsing to my knees, I gasp for air, wondering what kind of poison courses through my veins as a vortex of dizziness overtakes my mind, followed by ebony darkness.

About the Authors

Award-winning and International bestselling author, Ashley Fontainne, has written over 25 books, including the short thriller, Number Seventy-Five, which took home the BRONZE medal in fiction/suspense at the 2013 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards. The paranormal thriller entitled The Lie won the GOLD medal in the 2013 Illumination Book Awards for fiction/suspense. An indie film based on this book, entitled Foreseen, is currently available on video-on-demand. Ruined Wings is about a young woman’s descent into drug addiction and is currently a short film. The movie is free to watch and share with others in hopes of starting a positive dialogue regarding addiction. https://ruinedwings.com/

Fatal Agreements won the 2019 Independent Audio Awards for best female narrator, Andrea Emmes.

Connect with Ashley to learn more about all her works:

Website: https://ashleyfontainne.net 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ashley.fontainne/

 

Janelle Taylor has 9 NY Times Bestsellers and many awards along with over 65 million copies in print worldwide, plus ebooks. She is known as one of the “pioneers of the romance industry,” and one of the “legends of romance.” She is also listed on the Top 100 most famous Georgians. She has won many awards for her books.

Follow Janelle on Twitter @TaylorJanelle6 and Facebook.

Check her out on Amazon Author Pages: https://www.amazon.com/author/janelletaylor

Make sure to visit her official website https://www.janelletaylor.com/ to learn more about all her amazing titles!

 

 

 

Ashley Fontainne and Janelle Taylor are giving away two Kindle copies of Operation DFC!

Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
• Two winners will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one copy of Operation DFC.
• This giveaway ends midnight December 15.
• Winner will be contacted via email on December 16.
• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Title: To Catch The Setting Sun
Author: Richard I. Levine
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Pages: 320
Genre: Suspense/Thriller

Blurb:

There’s a killer loose on the island of Oahu. His targets? Young, native-Hawaiian women. But it also appears that he’s targeting and taunting Honolulu police detective Henry Benjamin who knew each victim and whose wife, Maya, had been the first name on that list. In addition to battling his personal demons, this New York transplant’s aggressive style didn’t sit well with his laid-back colleagues who viewed Henry’s uncharacteristic lack of progress in the investigation as evidence that fueled ongoing rumors that he could be the killer. Was he, or could it have been someone within the municipal hierarchy with a vendetta? As it was, after thirteen years on the job Henry had been disillusioned with paradise. His career choice long killed any fantasy of living in a grass hut on a wind-swept beach, being serenaded by the lazy sounds of the ocean and a slack key guitar. Instead, it had opened his eyes to a Hawaii that tourists will never see.

Book Information

Release Date: August 22, 2022

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

Soft Cover: ISBN:‎ 978-1509243297; 320 pages; $17.99; eBook $5.99

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3Rl42Aw 

Barnes and Noble: https://bit.ly/3BRB0mv

Chapter One

When the rock is lifted, the light pours in and
the vermin will scurry in panic.
They always do.
The ancestors still come to me in my dreams to caution that these parasites are as unrepentant and just as predictable
as they have always been.
Yet we must not become complacent. Vigilance is the key
or we fall victim to their treachery.
We are close, we are almost there.
Each new day peels away another layer of the façade. No different than me,
you too can feel the winds of change.
So, take my hand and walk this path with me. Open your eyes and see it as I do.
When we stand tall, strong, and together,
we will weather any storm.
I take comfort in knowing you also know
the day will be soon that the clouds will part,
and our hands will once again be free
to catch the setting sun.

The reflection from scattered tiki torches competed with the moonlight flickering off the rhythmic ripples rolling across the black velvet lagoon. Gentle trade winds, carrying the sweet peach-like scent of plumeria, teased the palm fronds as easily as they tickled the torch lights—clearly a welcomed reprieve from five straight days of stifling temperatures. A catamaran and a couple of small outrigger canoes, their artfully painted fiberglass hulls made to look like the wood of ancient Koa trees, were pulled up along the sandy shoreline. The heavy beat of drums reverberated off the tall palms and set the tempo for a half-dozen pair of grass-skirted hips dancing on the main stage while vacationers laughed, ogled, and stuffed their faces with shredded pork, scoops of lomi salmon, steaming flavored rice wrapped in Ti leaves, thick juicy slices of pineapple, papaya, mango, and freshly roasted macadamia nuts that were all artfully displayed on wide banana-leaf- covered centerpieces. They sat cross-legged in the sand, sipping mai tais from plastic cups made to look like hollowed-out coconut shells, lost in a tropical fantasy that came complete with a souvenir snapshot taken with an authentic hula girl—the perfect paradise as portrayed on the website. The noise from the music, chanting, and laughter drowned out the frantic noise of the nearby kitchen, and it drowned out the desperate pleas and painful cries of Makani Palahia from the far side of the beach at Auntie Lily’s Luau Cove and Hawaiian Barbecue.

****

The hardened steel of the polished blade sparkled when slowly turned a mere few degrees from left to right, back and forth, as if part of an ancient ritual. Makani’s teeth clinched against the foul-tasting cloth that had been forced into her mouth and tied tight behind her head, each time the knife circled back toward her face, each time passing closer, each time pausing for effect. When rested alongside her cheek, she arched as far as her restraints would allow—the plastic zip ties cutting deeper into her wrists. She let out a muffled cry, begging for the whole ordeal to stop. A sadistic laugh from the shadows made her pray to Jesus for the long-lost comfort of her mother—a comfort stolen by the alcohol and drugs that flowed through West Oahu as easily as the tides that washed away the sandcastles from its beaches. To watch her struggle not to gag as her eyes pleaded for freedom fueled an adrenaline rush that fed the flames of her assailant— strong and powerful now, like a sovereign over all that was to be ruled and judged. The blade was pulled from Makani’s golden-brown skin long enough for her back muscles and her bladder to relax, only to make her arch and plead again when it was returned to her tear-stained cheek.

“This is on you, Princess! Brought this on yourself, yeah? It’s a shame, too, because you’re so young and pretty. Of all the others, you’re the one who looks the most like royalty. The ancients would’ve been proud of you. But they’re not, are they? No, they’re not, and you know they’re not. You’ve disappointed all of us with so many of your sins. Are you ready to confess?”

She struggled to reply, but the rag pressed hard on her tongue.

“What’s that? You say something? You look like you got something to say.”

A faceless phantom-like figure stood tall above her, causing her to squint from the intermittent sparkle of what she thought was a pendant. Makani nodded while she strained to make out the image that seemed so familiar to her.

“I’ll loosen the bandana, but I warn you right now, if you scream…” She saw the knife dance again. “But let’s not think about that, okay? We calmly talk story a little, yeah?”

Again, she nodded, almost afraid to speak now that her lips could move freely. A rush of fresh air filled her mouth and intensified the pungent taste that covered her tongue. Her stomach muscles tightened as she gagged.

“P-please, let me go. I d-don’t know you. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Let you go? I think, I think maybe after you confess. I think maybe I can let you go after we finish our business, yeah?”

“C-confess? What business? Who are you? What d-do you want from me? Why are you d-doing this to me?”

“Why am I doing? I didn’t pick you, Princess. You made that choice. You made that choice when you picked him and rejected our own.”

“P-picked who? Reject you? I d-don’t even know you. How did I…”

“You judged us!” A heavy hand landed across her mouth. “You judged me and our bruddahs and sistas when you chose an outsider. Judge not, lest ye be judged, and today is…today is your judgment day.”

****

Reece Valentine had a hard time keeping his eyes off the third girl from the left—diverting his attention long enough to down another piña colada or attempt to calm the concerns of his fiancée that he wasn’t going to run off into the bush with a native girl. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying the fantasy. With constricted pupils locked onto toned abdominal muscles gyrating within grabbing distance of his imagination, he laughed at the memory of frat house Polynesian-style parties that never came close to the evening’s entertainment.

“Reece, stop staring. It’s embarrassing.”

“Come on, Jules, I’m trying to enjoy the show. We’re on vakay. Where’s your island spirit?”

“I’m trying to enjoy the show, but that’s your fifth drink since the luau started, and you’re beginning to put on a little show of your own. At least stop howling at those girls. People are starting to look at you.”

“Jules, please. I’m just having some fun. It’s not every day we get to enjoy something like this, is it? Seriously, when was the last time we saw a show like this back in Portland?”

“Look, I’m not trying be all salty, but when you ran up on stage to do the hula, did you have to grab that dancer’s waist? And the way you started rubbing on her…geez!”

“Okay, now you’re exaggerating.” He grabbed her and nuzzled her neck.

“Really?”

“It was part of the dance.”

“Okay, so when the male dancers come out and I go running up there, are you going to get mad when I start rubbing myself all over those well-oiled muscular bodies?” She smiled.

“Now you’re the one being silly. Have another drink and chill.”

“Chill? You want me to chill? I think I’ll go for a swim…a naked swim.” She got up and raced down the beach toward the far end of the lagoon.

After a brief moment, as well as a few envious looks from other revelers, Reece went after her.

“Jules! Julie, wait up!” he called, but the alcohol had hindered his ability to maintain a steady balance over the soft uneven contours of the sand. When he fell, he scraped his knee on a piece of coral buried just below the surface. “Damn it! Jules, wait up. I just…damn, I just cut myself.”

Halfway between the luau and the end of the lagoon, about thirty yards from a thicket of Kiawe bushes, she turned to see him sitting on the beach, nursing his knee, and quite possibly his ego. Julie Chow started to head back when she heard some rustling and what she thought was a grunting sound coming from the direction of the bushes. She stopped to listen, only to hear Reece call out again. She tried to listen once more but heard nothing.

“Jules! Come back.”

“Why don’t you come over here,” she said and took several steps toward the bushes. “It’s dark and deserted down this way.”

“I hurt myself. Come help me.”

With a few glances over her shoulder, she slowly made her way back.

“Serves you right. I think the ancient Hawaiian gods were punishing you just now because of your disrespectful thoughts about one of their daughters.”

“Stop it, will you? My knee is killing me.”

“Such a baby!” she teased. “I’m surprised you can feel anything with all that native juice in you.”

“Stop scolding and come help me,” he begged. She came close enough for him to grab her arm and pull her down to join him on the sand.

“You’re not hurt that bad, you faker!”

“I know, but I had to do something. I couldn’t catch up to you.” He laughed.

“Because you’re drunk, and when you get drunk, you’re horny as hell.”

“You can say that again.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Listen, I got carried away, and I’m sorry. But you’re right, Jules, I’m horny as hell, and you know I’m not interested in anyone other than you.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she pulled away at the last moment. “Hey!”

“There’s a lot of bushes down there.” She pointed. “Wanna go fool around?”

“What? Get naked here on the beach in the middle of a luau? There’s tons of people here.”

“It’s dark. There’s bushes. No one will see us. No one will hear us. Come on, you afraid?”

“They won’t see us, but they’ll definitely hear us.”

“You mean they’ll hear you. I’ll have you screaming so loud they’ll think you’re being murdered.” She jumped on top of him, and they passionately kissed in a long embrace.

“I’ve got a better idea.” He pushed back to catch his breath. “Let’s go back to the hotel, and I’ll show you what going native is all about.”

“And give up a chance to get my hands on all those sweaty, muscular Hawaiian men? Race you.” She took off back to the festivities with Reece in hot pursuit.

****

Makani gagged at the smell of the dirty hand that covered her face—removed only when the couple from the luau got far enough away from the thicket.

“That wouldn’t have ended well for those tourists. Too bad. Would’ve made the night a little more interesting. So, where were we? Oh yes, about your choice, Princess.”

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about. What ch-choice did I make?”

“You are one very pretty wahine, a very pretty woman, you know that? Yeah, you know you so nani, so beautiful, don’t you? I’ll bet you tease men to get things you want, yeah?”

“If you’re g-going, if you’re going to rape me, then j-just do it already. Just do it and g-get it over with. I won’t tell anyone. Just do it and, and let me go. Please? Please, just let me go.”

Save for the low sadistic laugh she had heard before, there was no immediate reply. Her breathing, fast and shallow now, seemed to make the few stars that had been visible through the branches spin wildly and caused her hands, legs, and feet to feel cold—making the hand that inched its way down the outer portion of her thigh feel uncomfortably warm.

For her tormentor, however, there was pleasure in feeling the gentle contours of muscles toned from many hours of hula as rough callused fingers crept over her thigh, past the knee, and down to her ankle. A brief pause to take in the tremble that was felt moving like a wave through her body, watching her lips press together, and her eyes squeeze tight, elicited a child-like giddiness that had long been forgotten.

Makani tightened again from the sandpaper texture of a tongue across her cheek and a heavy breath in her ear. She realized the warm antiseptic scent now lingering on her face was the smell of whiskey. The hand with jagged fingernails carved a return path up the inside of her leg to her knee, then slowed while continuing up the inner portion of her thigh—teasing, threatening. She cried a little harder.

“Did that hurt, Princess? Take it from me, a true warrior princess doesn’t cry. She’s strong, very strong, and she likes it rough.”

“Please, don’t…”

“What, make love to you? You make me laugh. I’d never soil myself on a sinner.”

She felt the grip tighten around her upper thigh, and in equal response her athletic body tightened just as much.

“I like this. I like how your legs feel. So smooth, so soft. I like how they feel in my hands. It’s so…comforting. I bet the boys like touching them too, yeah? I bet you’d really like me to do more, don’t you? I can tell the thought excites you. I bet you didn’t expect my hands to be this strong and powerful, yeah? Do you feel how strong my hands are? It makes me feel so powerful to hold you like this.”

A low-pitched hiss, then a crackled voice momentarily interrupted. “Central to Detective eight- one.”

“You almost tricked me, Princess!” The anger was as sudden and sharp as the sting she felt from the three- inch welt created when those hands were quickly withdrawn. “You almost tricked me. You were trying to confuse me. Deceitful women like you do that all the time, but I know better.” Again, the blade came into view. “You tried to tempt me with your makeup. I bet you do it to make yourself look young and innocent. But we both know better, don’t we? You tried to deceive me, but you’re not innocent, not innocent at all. You do it special for him, don’t you? Yes, I think you did it to please him. You make me angry. You make the ancestors angry.”

“I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about. I don’t have a boyfr—”

“Liar!” The voice rose, triggering a shooting glance through the branches, down the beach toward the festivities, afraid they might have been heard. “Don’t make me gag you.”

Again, a radio transmission crackled. “Central to Detective eight-one, do you copy?”

“Who are you?” she asked, again getting a glimpse of the pendant, focusing on the letters H O N O L U L U across its face. She realized it wasn’t a piece of jewelry, but a badge. She tried to narrow her focus— her tears making it difficult to read the number. The radio crackled again.

“Lieutenant Kim to central dispatch, be advised eight-one’s radio hasn’t been working properly. You can reach him on his cell.”

She strained to see the face hidden in the darkness, the voice now mocking the radio call.

“Central to Detective eight-one. Where are you, eight-one? Come save the day, eight-one.”

“Dispatch to Kim, copy that, Lieutenant,” came the static-filled reply.

“I d-don’t know you. I don’t know you at all. I don’t kn-know what you’re talking about. Are you HPD? What do you want from me?”

“You know me,” came the whisper, this time placing the sharp edge of the blade across her costume, cutting just enough material on her shoulder to expose her breasts. “Very pretty.”

“You said you were g-going to let me go. I should be d-dancing at the show. I should be there. They’re going to m-miss me. They’re g-going to come looking for me.”

“Nobody’s going to come looking for you, Princess, nobody.”

The blade methodically moved across her flesh— circling, teasing, drawing blood from a shallow incision across her shoulder. At first Makani felt the sting before the warmth of liquid snaked into the creases of her underarm. Her tears flowed freely now. Adding one more indignity to her suffering, the grass skirt she had always worn with pride was ripped aside, and one more time the knife came to rest across her cheek.

“You know who I am, and you know exactly why we’re here. We all must face judgment for our sins.”

“I don’t know….” She stopped mid-sentence—a dirty index finger pressed to her mouth. She gagged at the vile taste—a cross between a lack of hygiene and her own urine. The finger was forced farther into her mouth and pressed against her tongue. She reflexively bit down, drawing blood and a painful slap to her face. “I don’t know you,” she cried out. “Why are you doing this? P-please let me go! I won’t say anything. I won’t t-tell anyone, I promise!”

“Let you go?” came the angered reply. A vise-like grip squeezed her cheeks, preventing her from speaking. “Not now, damn you! Not after you bit me! Not after you refuse to confess your sins. Do you see how you’ve forced my hand? Now you have to be purified.” Again, her face was slapped.

“I’m sorry, I am. I didn’t mean to bite you. Please? I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” Her eyes, blurred from tears, tried to follow the figure as it moved about— finally catching a glimpse of a face lit by the glow of a freshly lit cigarette. “Oh my God!” She was repulsed at the sight, gagging as the bandana was forced back into her mouth—arching, straining, and kicking against the nylon cable ties when the cigarette was moved closer to the side of her face.

“I know you don’t understand. Nobody does anymore, and that’s the problem. In the old days the people needed to make their peace with the gods so they could be blessed and have a harvest, take fish from the sea, and be protected from evil, from the night marchers, from Pele. Those gods and the ancestors are deeply saddened how our way of life, our history, our culture, and our future have all been dishonored. You, and others like you, have dishonored all of us by mixing pure blood, and there’s only one way for you to be forgiven. You will serve as a message, a warning to others. And with your purification, with your sacrifice, the gods and the ancestors will grant you redemption.”

Makani’s heartbeat pounded in her chest and in her head, making the drums, the laughter, and the applause for the fire-eaters disappear. And just as another cold stinging slice was surgically carved across her throat, she thought she heard her killer recite an ancient prayer while she watched the flickering lights of the luau fade away.

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