Sigil by Addison Cain & Michael Manna

Author:Addison Cain & Michael Manna [Cain, Addison & Manna, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Erotica, Action & Adventure, Bdsm, Horror, Science Fiction
Amazon: B01LZ0J815
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-09-28T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Sovereign had called her perfect, but to think so was foolish. Nothing, no creature that had ever lived or would ever live, was flawless. Quinn’s greatest defect was in the single-minded way she could behave. She wanted food, she took it. She found something pretty, it became hers. Life never mattered to her, only the false ideal of survival.

Que had taught her better, though it had not been easy for him.

After Condor, she hibernated in cryo for years, her ship drifting through space. It was brought down, the child waking in her shell to pound on a flight console she hardly understood. Crashing in the jungle had been painful, tending to her mother before what was coming for her arrived, soul crushing.

Human males had found her. Sigil’s foot faced the wrong direction, an arm broken, the remaining damage extensive. They had put a leash on her as if she were a dog, dragging her through the mud as she refused to limp, refused to feel anything outside of grief for what she’d buried in the damp earth by the river.

What came next was nothing. Penetration had hurt; the laughing she had not liked. But so long as they fed her, she hardly noticed. It was three days before her bones mended and she could began the slaughter. Something clicked, and while a heavy body rutted her, Sigil ripped out her assailant’s throat with her teeth. She’d laughed, as they had laughed at her when they’d taken their turns.

A few tried to escape on their ship. Flaring her psionics, she ripped the fleeing vessel from the clouds, pulling it closer as if she’d lassoed the moon. It crashed into the bandit’s only shelter, both objects rendered useless.

The order of her murder was an art; they suffered in sequence of who touched her first. Her last kill—months later, as she had to portion her food and fun—was a boy on the cusp of manhood, hardly old enough to warrant attention.

But the teen had touched her, even if it was under pressure from his peers.

He’d tasted the best.

He was also the most terrified when the monster crawled from the jungle in the night, when she came for him when he was alone, weaponless, and stupid.

But then she was alone, with no human boy to taunt for weeks as she ate his petrified friends.

On Condor her greatest wish was to be left alone, but true solitude on that unknown planet, it took from her.

She ran wild, she screamed at storms, she challenged animals large as mountains for sport. She cried… often.

Mostly she missed the way her mother used to whisper almost constant sweet music into her mind.

By the time Que discovered the emergency signal the bastards had set up in hopes someone might save them from her, Sigil had been reduced to a mindless nothing.

The Axirlan had shot her on sight, no hesitation. Later she learned he’d carried her bullet ridden body onboard after seeing her filthy cheeks were grimy, marked, by old and new tear stains.

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