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Chasing Kyrus

Kidnapped by the Captain

by Hurri Cosmo


I've been kidnapped by Tilbarr, Pirate Captain of the infamous Wolf, and dragged aboard his ship. Judging by the way the big, muscled, beautiful man is staring at me, he just might be thinking about keeping me.

Really not a good idea. 

Because I'm an Astral Mage, better known as a "Soul Giver", a race of beings who can attach wandering life force energies to any source. Basically, I bring the dead to life, a power the Confederated Authority, the governing body for civilized planets, want to totally control. So, for years they have been hunting down and seizing Astral Mages and whisking them off somewhere. And me? They say I am as pure as they get. The very reason the ConFed will stop at nothing to possess me. TilBarr doesn't seem to understand the incredible danger he's in by not turning me over to them.


There is something about Kyrus that deeply stirs me. I have never ever before wanted to keep a prize I've stolen. And the ConFed? While overwhelmingly powerful and hell-bent on capturing Kyrus, it's not only them I am concerned with. The threat to Kyrus doesn't only come from outside the Wolf. Well, no matter. I will fiercely protect my prize. Even if it means giving up everything. My ship, my crew and even my life. 

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Tilbarr ripped the rest of Kyrus’ sleeve away and then did the same on his other arm. Obviously not seeing bruises there, he took that elbow and steered Kyrus around back through doorways and down more corridors. Fear stabbed at Kyrus again as he was dragged toward his former captor. Even though the captain was now the captive, it did not make him feel any safer. As if Tilbarr understood, he pulled Kyrus closer into his warmth, under his arm, like he was protecting him. Gods, it felt good.

Stupid. He was not doing that. And even if he was, it was a ploy to make him talk. If he talked, this tall pirate would do the same thing as Falland was going to do—use and sell him or simply just sell him. An Astral Mage had no other purpose.

Except maybe to die.


“Yes, he brought the thing back to life. I saw him do it!”


“Fuck, you say? The kid’s an Astral Mage? Thought that was just a myth or something. You pulling my leg?”

“The cat was fuckin’ dead, man. Look at it. How the fuck is it alive right now? The thing is a walking nightmare.”

“Cat’s messed up, that’s for sure. You saying he did it?”

“You not listening, man? He was crying and carrying on that I broke its neck, you know? I simply twisted it, just like you see. Fucker was sick anyway and he goes and puts his hands on it, closes his eyes and fuckin’ presto change-o, man, the thing is walking, fuckin’ broken neck and everything! That has got to be the most messed-up thing I have ever seen.”

“Yeah, but aren’t Astral Mages supposed to be able to heal things too?”

“Hey, that’s right. They are. Do you think he can heal himself if we mess him up?”


Gods, he ran. Somehow he had broken loose from the other kid’s hold, as tired and dizzy as using his power made him, and he ran. Whether or not they would have tried to “mess him up,” he never found out, because even though they chased him, they didn’t catch him. He never went back to the house he was supposed to call home either. He was absolutely sure this was the “one more incident” that particular foster father had warned him about. It was the “last straw” that was always ready to drop no matter where he ended up.

No, he never stayed long in his foster homes. He was always found out at some point. Once he was labeled a demon and dropped off in the middle of the night at some monastery with instructions to either “kill it or cure it” and another time locked in a basement having all manner of foul-smelling men prod and poke him like he was some kind of freak show, waiting for the ConFed to show up. Luckily, he had been able to escape before they did.

But then his own so-called friends turned on him. It was too much. He was only fifteen at the time—almost ten years ago now. And not only did he not go back to his foster home that night; he never went back to the care center either. Care center! What a fucking joke. He was terribly sick of the look he received from the headmaster every time he ended up back there. As if it was his fault he was a freak in the first place.

Gods, it wasn’t.


About the Author

I live in Minnesota where I hold tight to the idea that here, where it’s cold a good part of the year, I won’t age as fast. Yep, I avoid the truth as much as I avoid mirrors. But one of the reasons I love writing is reality doesn’t always offer up a “happily ever after” and being able to take control of that is a powerful lure. Being a happy ending junkie, writing just makes them easier to find. Oh, I doesn’t mind “real life” and I do try to at least keep it in mind when I write my stories, but I truly love creating a wonderful couple, knowing they will fall in love and have their HEA. Every - single - time. And, of course, that is exactly the reason I love reading this genre, too. Give me a glass of red wine, some dark chocolate, and my computer, whether I am reading or writing, and I will entertain myself for hours. The fact I actually get paid to do it, is Snickers bars on the frosting on the cake.