Resisting Tamaki

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stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of
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An Excerpt From: RESISTING TAMAKI

Copyright ? SHELLEY MUNRO, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.

Chapter One

The bastard had left!

Cimmaron Zhaan
stared around the empty transport bay, shock kicking her in the gut. She
strode a tight circle to survey her surrounds?just to make sure. Her
footsteps resounded in the cavernous spaceport. A worker droid scooted in
front of her, and she snarled under her breath, sidestepping to dodge it.
Empty. The echo of her boots mocked her, underlining her stupidity in
trusting anything the captain said. The phrullin? male had taken off early, leaving her stranded with minimum
possessions and even fewer credits to her name.

Stranded.

Anger burned through her and
her hands fisted then squeezed as she imagined wringing the captain?s beefy
neck. The weight of stares from the maintenance crew jerked her from pissed
to controlled and inscrutable. Yeah, she?d known the arrogant bastard had
expected her to act grateful when he?d suggested they while away the long
voyage from Risches to Stavek
by sharing a cabin. She?d turned him down flat, and he?d transferred his
attentions to one of the lesser crew. But Campbell hadn?t forgotten her
slight. In fact, he?d gone out of his way to make life difficult for her.
Leaving her stranded on isolated Marchant was the
latest in a long line of Campbell-created annoyances.

Cimmaron
stalked past the maintenance men and their droid workers with her nose in
the air. Inside she seethed. What the hell was she gonna do now? Campbell
had told her to wear mufti while on leave, so she didn?t even have a
uniform to prove she was a pilot. All her papers were on the Intrepid.
She stormed down a long corridor to the communication center. One hour
later, the telecommunications tech put her through to command on the Intrepid.

?Ah, Officer Zhaan.? Campbell sat at ease in the pilot?s chair, his
tunic blindingly white while his dark eyes bore a trace of smugness.

Bastard. ?Captain
Campbell.? Cimmaron jammed the tip of her tongue
behind her teeth instead of blurting the obscenities she wanted to level at
him.

?You were late. We had our
allocated time slot to depart.?

Cimmaron?s
eyes narrowed, but she refused to react any further, giving him the
leverage to land her in even deeper crap.

?This will go on your
record, Officer Zhaan.?

Too late. It seemed the
situation was already beyond mere apologies and groveling. ?You told me we
were leaving at second moonrise.?

?First moonrise,? he
countered. ?Officer Zhaan, I have noted on your
record you are AWOL.?

?You lied. You told me
second moonrise.?

The tinge of red on his prominent
brow warned her she should?ve held her tongue. His pointy ears twitched?a
sure sign of impending displeasure. ?None of the other crew was late back
from leave.?

Cimmaron?s
nails dug into her thighs, and the heat of temper crawled across her cheekbones.
Phrull,
she was probably flashing gold with her emotions, sparkling like the
backside of a glow bug?an unfortunate side effect of being a Dlog. ?Are you going to come back for me??

?Return for one female. I
don?t think so. Officer Zhaan, I?d say you?re
officially screwed.? A smirk formed on his lips, echoing in his sly eyes.
?Over and out.?

The phrullin? bastard. The need to scream swelled inside her. She wanted to
punch and kick and exert bodily harm on the slimy male. He might have
screwed her chances of flying with the Coalition again, but she?d exact her
revenge. One day, when he was least expecting it. She exited the
communications room with precise steps, her back stiff with pride. The five
staff manning communications had heard everything. It was obvious by the
silence that even now spilled out of the room after her, taunting and full
of ridicule.

Desperate to outrun her
fears, the panic threatening to overwhelm her, Cimmaron
stormed from the spaceport and pushed into the crowd thronging the narrow
alleys outside. Market day. Locals shopped and hustled. Visitors purchased
supplies to fill dwindling reserves on their short stopovers between
destinations. Traders and hawkers shouted at the tops of their voices,
trying to attract customers and extract credits. No doubt thieves trolled
the alleyways, looking for the green and unwary who carried purses full of
gold for the taking. She had no idea where she was going or what to do.
Blindly, she attempted to control her blooming panic, the knowledge that the
captain?s petty revenge had left her vulnerable and in big trouble. Her
record would reflect the transgression unless she could prove her
innocence. She?d have to travel to Coalition headquarters on Bezant.
Somehow. It wasn?t going to be easy with no currency to pay for her
passage. The rumors of space pirates and abductions in this galaxy meant
people were wary of giving strangers rides.

Deep in thought, she bumped
into a short, blue female, almost knocking her to the ground.

?Sorry,? Cimmaron
said.

?Hoy, watch it.? The female
struggled to maintain her footing on the slick cobblestones.

Cimmaron
grabbed the female?s upper arm, holding her upright when the crush of
humanity behind threatened to push her over. ?My apologies,? she said in a formal
tone when the danger was past.

The female righted the white
cowl covering her shiny, pale blue head and glanced at the splotches of mud
decorating the hem of her robe. ?I look like a low-caste.? A trace of alarm
flickered over her face. ?Phrull, I need this job.?

?Job??

?They?re hiring at the club.
I must go. They?ll close the doors when they have enough applicants.? The
female darted through a gap in the crowd before Cimmaron
could question her further.

The female?s words kept
reverberating through her mind. A job. A job. A job. A rumbling
sound punctuated her thoughts, and she bolted after the female, elbowing
her way through the alley crowded with market goers as she tried to follow.
No currency. She would starve, and she had to eat. A job was the solution?the
only alternative she had if she wanted to leave this goddess-forsaken
planet and exact revenge from that phrullin?
bastard Campbell.

In desperation, Cimmaron increased her pace, managing to keep the
female in sight, despite the throng in the marketplace. The woman turned a
corner, disappearing from sight. Cimmaron
sprinted around the bend in the street. Where was she? Ah! She caught a
flash of white as the female entered a nondescript stone building. With an
extra burst of speed, Cimmaron raced toward the
building, fear dogging her heels when she noticed the door closing. In
desperation, she shoved at it, muscling her way inside even though the
bulky Maxiom security guard attempted to slam the
door in her face.

?Just a phrullin? second. Let me in.? Cimmaron kicked
his shins, gaining precious inches when he stepped out of range. ?I want to
come in.?

The door opened a fraction
more, and the Maxiom sneered at her, his forehead
caste mark glowing and underlining his contempt. Cimmaron
stiffened, knowing what he saw?mud-speckled trews
and a unisex tunic that hid every hint of feminine curves. If she?d worn
her uniform, he would have treated her with respect, but his doubt was
clear as his gaze traveled down her body and back up again. ?You? Behind a
bar.? His single brow rose halfway up his bald head to emphasize his
skepticism.

Phrull, this job was bar
work? Crummy bar work. Having her ass pinched and her breasts grabbed was
not Cimmaron?s idea of a good time. But it was
better than the alternative.

She inhaled, trying to drag
life force into her lungs after her sprint through the marketplace. Her
chest heaved under her brown tunic, each breath coming with a wheeze.

?Take a number,? the
security guard said, his tone off-putting as if he thought she was wasting
her time. Cimmaron scanned the room, her breath
squeezing halfway up her throat in sudden consternation. Maybe she was wasting her time. For a start,
the rest of the applicants were clean. Well-groomed. Cimmaron
eyed the nearest one, trying to quell her tension. And they were
little?compared to her at any rate. Feeling conspicuous, even more than she
had earlier, she accepted a white card bearing a number from the security
guard and slinked away to find a wall to lean against in the hope of appearing
smaller. In her work as a pilot, she downplayed the natural good looks of
the Dlog as much as possible. It made things
easier on the job, although it hadn?t stopped Campbell from propositioning
her and taking enough offense at her refusal to leave her stranded.

Cimmaron
scowled, guessing the captain?s next move would be to pronounce her
transgression officially. Everything she?d worked and striven for ripped
from her grasp because one bloody male couldn?t keep his gonads under
control. She had to get to headquarters first before the Intrepid finished
its voyage and returned to base.

The rest of the females and the couple of males in the
group took a collective breath and straightened. Cimmaron
slouched lower against the wall, hoping she wouldn?t stick out like
pustules on an underling?s face.

All for naught.

The man was tall. He prowled
into the bar like a sleek tigoth beast from the planet Dalcon.
His piercing blue eyes scanned the faces in the room, taking his time,
before they came to rest on her. And lingered. A frisson of awareness shot
through her body and gathered on her lips. They tingled insistently until
she broke down and moistened them with her tongue. The expression in the
male?s eyes intensified, making them darker, more compelling. Finally, his
gaze moved on, leaving Cimmaron weak and panting.
What the phrull
had that been about? In confusion, she stared, trying to analyze the sheer
need coursing through her body, tugging at places that hadn?t seen light
for a long time, let alone reacted to a male in this way before.