Firestorm on ETerra

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I would really love to win these books! If I win anything I will be delighted! For Writers Coming Soon. Lisa Paitz Spindler. Author will ship internationally. Comment by Yvette Davis on December 20th, at pm Comment by Stephanie N on December 20th, at pm Comment by JenM on December 20th, at pm Comment by Dot Salvagin on December 20th, at pm Comment by Charlotte on December 20th, at pm Comment by Sandi Sookoo on December 20th, at pm Comment by Saya on December 20th, at pm Comment by Lisa on December 20th, at pm Comment by SandyG on December 20th, at pm Comment by Rhianna on December 20th, at pm Comment by Nastassia on December 20th, at pm Comment by Andrea I on December 20th, at pm Comment by rhapsodyinbooks on December 20th, at pm Comment by Kristina on December 20th, at pm Comment by Claire C on December 20th, at pm Comment by Adriana Barrantes on December 20th, at pm Comment by Estella on December 20th, at pm Comment by Spav on December 20th, at pm Comment by Krysta Banco on December 20th, at pm Comment by Mickie Turett on December 20th, at pm Comment by Marva Dasef on December 20th, at pm The constant, tempered blue sky dispersed around the black circle dotted with red engine lights.

Rising from the platform structures, visible from the ground, tall mansions and spires disappeared into the clouds. One of those islands held the corp she now existed to take down. Up there, another agent, a charming dark-haired one, pursued a similar mission. She snapped her chin down. A hovercraft swung by close enough for the air to push aside the flap of her jacket. She stepped back onto the moving path and kept her attention on the ground rushing by.

A pair of couriers crashed in the street next to her. One wore a shabby jacket like hers. The other, one of the special aeroweave tunics that glittered silver.

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Nobody stopped to see if they were all right. Edging her foot to the side of the walk, she nudged aside a gawker toward the exit. Before she could reach it, the two couriers were on their feet, cursing and gesticulating wildly at each other, so she stayed on the moving conveyor belt. Several walk switches, a jaunt in a subcar and a retinal scan later, she entered Mother headquarters. The long, sprawling building resembled a warehouse more than an office building. From the outside, nobody would guess this was home to a spy agency that employed agents, mercenaries and rogue scientists to keep the megacorps in line.

This early in the morning, the place appeared empty. All the better, really. Her steps echoed on the shined floor in the wide sparse corridors. Just as expected, the equipment chief, who practically lived at Mother, bustled about in the basement where the mercs got their daily rations of mechguns, lasers and a multitude of nanodevices to get them into impossible places. And out again. Dressed in his standard drab browns, the beefy man with a drooping mouth blinked at her from his desk. He smiled warmly.

Nobody called her Jacqueline. Or, for that matter, Mademoiselle Robinson. Remember those beans you told me about? His eyes lit up and he shot up from his chair, which skittered back with a loud screech. Around the desk faster than his bulk should allow, Bovine strode toward one of the cabinet-lined walls.

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Dressed in his standard drab browns, the beefy man with a drooping mouth blinked at her from his desk. She broke his heart years ago when she left to marry a Terraloft aristocrat. If I win anything I will be delighted! Comment by Teresa Thomas Bohannon on December 22nd, at pm Comment by Jolene Allcock on December 24th, at am For Harp, Jaq had been a distraction the mercenary thought he couldn't afford. Comment by Sammahel on December 26th, at pm

Without a pause. May pouted and plumped out her bottom lip. You want to be a good little wife to a good little man and live happily ever after with your hands folded in your lap. Do you ever want to kiss a man? Make him long to push up your skirts?

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My place in life is to be polite, demure, and staid. Passion is not for a wife, nor for her husband. A mistress is for passion, but a wife is to bear children and maintain the house. May waved her hand in dismissal. Have you ever had your skirts pushed up? Isabel asked, surprising her gape-mouthed sister speechless.

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Oh, I am aware that a debutante must not express passion. I wonder if your question implies that you yearn to be a wife, or a mistress? A short acquaintance for such imprudent reactions. What would happen if he kissed her? Would she lift her own skirts? Chafing to leave before she begged a murderer to take her to bride, Isabel floated across the room, paying no heed to the crowd. Despite herself, she anchored her assaulted wits on the man.

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Editorial Reviews. Review. "Firestorm on E'Terra by Ella Drake, is one of the best futuristic novellas I've ever read." -- TwoLips Reviews. From the Inside Flap. Smokejumper and former refugee Wilson Dex takes the latest in a long line of risks, a mission to quell the firestorm on planet E'terra. Equipment from his.

The lord danced with debutantes while casting heated glances at Isabel. Her heart tumbled in havoc between stirrings of desire and stark jealousy. Prompted by his unvoiced censure, she continued on her quest for punch though she longed to stay and listen.

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Within herself, she chided her eagerness for gossip. Once awakened, her curiosity overwhelmed, thoroughly heightened by the whispers and the covert conversations around the punch bowl near the curtains of the tall doors. She was gorgeous, an accomplished social climber.

Smiled when spoken to. She was perfect in dress, style, and speech.

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Perfect delivering the cut if you were beneath her notice. Rather large dowry, they say. The servants heard screams a week after they were married. Only a week. Blood-curdling begging and all manner of horrors.

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Then, the servants were all let go the next day, and his wife was never seen again. Cold, now.

Ever so cold. She put down her punch and walked the long way around the massive ballroom where the dancers talked and laughed, while on the edges pockets of darkness hid those who watched and took in the revelry. The mirrored shine of the floor scuffed by myriad Hessian boots reflected the green marble of the lower wall. She trailed along the edge with her hand sliding low against the cool stone. Assuredly Lord Hayle could not see Isabel now, for she walked behind the line of people at the tables spread with fine food and drink.

Isabel imagined kisses and more kisses upon virginal lips between the rose hedges. What was she thinking? She never had such thoughts before.

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Perhaps the fantasies overflowed now because she wished herself in such shadows with their dark, dangerous host. After hearing of his first wife, she did not aspire to tread that path with him.

Firestorm On E'Terra

Or did she? Did the danger of death add to his allure? She was demented, of course. Should be locked away. Another snippet of conversation caught her attention. Its words thrown by two chaperones between bites of food. And his second wife was just as perfect. What any man of consequence would want. The daughter of a duke, lovely enough to tempt the angels. Tinged laughter erupted in squeals. These women were pigs. She tried to be smarter than the first. She was here for two weeks while her brothers stayed to protect her.

She told them of a forbidden chamber. Her brothers tried to take her away, and she agreed to leave the very next day, but wanted one more night to say goodbye to her husband, said the first. Her head bobbed with her peacock feathered hat. Too, true. Well, she should have left while she could because her brothers never saw her again. Even searched the entire house, top to bottom. And her brothers were changed. Different men. Claimed they had been attacked and chased away by giant ravens. This action might not be possible to undo.

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