Take Her to HeVan Read online

  Take Her to HeVan by Lucy Kelly

  Take Her to HeVan

  The Nephilim

  Book Six

  by Lucy Kelly

  © Copyright June 2015 JK Publishing, Inc.

  ISBN#978-1-311-5-28254

  All cover art and logo © Copyright June 2015 by JK Publishing, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Jess Buffett

  Published by JK Publishing, Inc.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Books by Lucy Kelly

  Excerpt for Laura’s Secret

  JK Publishing, Inc.

  Chapter One

  The Class C interstellar runabout shuttle stolen by Councilman Hend was still hidden in the Indian Peaks wilderness area of the Roosevelt State Park. Days after he had left him for dead, the body of warrior Darvik lay still and unmoving in the rear compartment. With stealth mode engaged, the shuttle couldn’t be seen by the naked eye. Help from his brother or other Nephilim would be a long time coming as any rescuers, or warriors sent to recover the body, would have to perform a grid search and get within a hundred yards in order for their tracking devices to register the cloaked ship.

  A groan echoed through the shuttle, breaking the silence. The warrior, who’d lain still for so long among the wreckage at the rear of the craft, began to stir. As a sign of life, the flick of a finger was minor. As proof of life, it did the trick. In increments, he regained consciousness. The auxiliary engines hummed, circulating the air as it had done regularly since landing.

  Navigator and pilot Lieutenant Karlo Darvik was fully awake. Unfortunately, his eyes seemed glued shut and his mouth was as dry as the sands of Azuma.

  He could feel the hard deck underneath his body and he took a deep breath to fill his lungs. Even with his lips closed, he could feel the air hit the back of his throat. Moving his tongue, he tried desperately to work up enough saliva to speak. Knowing he had to speak in order to get the help he needed, he tried harder. When he did speak, the condition of his cracked lips and dry throat produced only a rasp.

  “Computer,” he finally croaked. “Status report.”

  “The shuttle landed on the planet Earth nineteen hours ago,” it replied in a chilly monotone. “Stealth mode has been activated. I will run a diagnostic on all systems. Your life signs show distress. Do you require assistance?”

  “Yes,” he wheezed. “Send out a distress beacon.”

  “All communications are found to be inoperative,” the voice responded instead of the beacon verification he had been expecting. “Do you have further instructions?”

  “No,” he sighed. “Continue diagnostic.”

  He was on his own for the time being. Unfortunately, not expecting to travel near Earth, his pack didn’t include one of the modified satellite phones, so he couldn’t call for help that way either.

  Thank the Goddess that Suzanna had required all shuttle pilots to wear survival suits under their uniforms, even for short flights. In the event of loss of cabin pressure, ejection into space, or extreme physical distress, the suit would put the wearer into a type of stasis—though it wasn’t a true stasis, since they were maintained with minimal life signs. He knew it took between seven and eight days to travel to Earth. His suit would have healed his injuries, but it must have run out of juice. When the suit’s power supply died out, his semi-stasis halted and he awoke. No wonder he felt like shit; he probably needed to be seen by a medical. He might not be fully healed after all.

  He rolled onto his side and felt blinding pain. His suit only protected from the neck down, and he’d been struck in the head. Grimacing, he forced his aching body onto all fours. His knees and palms protested as he crawled over the hard decking. He let himself collapse against the bulkhead then he reached into the compartment holding the emergency medical supplies. He groped for a ration of water to relieve his parched throat. As much as he wanted to drink deep, he knew it would make him sick. Slumped against the steel wall, he took small sips, allowing the parched tissues in his mouth to soak in the refreshing liquid. After he’d slowly consumed one emergency water ration, he grabbed the medical scanner to check himself over.

  It was obvious from the scans that Hend, the traitor, had used Karlo’s own disrupter weapon against him. He also had a concussion. Karlo grasped onto a shelf and pulled himself upright, then knocked over several bottles of medication in his pursuit of the right pills to counter the effects of a disruptor blast. He swallowed two tablets with more sips of water and then slowly made his way into the small cleansing cham
ber.

  After taking a sonic shower, he felt his stomach could withstand a liquid protein supplement and began to feel somewhat better. He would have to wait longer for solid foods. Opening another compartment, he took out a plain shirt and trousers made to be worn for sleeping on longer flights. He had a spare set of clothes in his carryall but didn’t feel like wearing anything heavy against his skin after removing the uniform and survival suit.

  His head continued to throb and it felt like his whole body had been bruised. Not to mention the small amount of water he had wasn’t enough to cure his dehydration, but it was a start. Deciding he had had enough of the floor, he lowered one of the sleep beds. While he waited for the computer to complete its diagnostic, he wanted to rest his sore head and body…on something softer than the floor.

  The dehydration was a major concern. At six-foot-one, he was considered short for a Nephilim warrior. It had turned into a plus when considered for a tour of duty in the Earth sector, as he could blend into the human populace. His brother, at six-foot-six, would stand out and be remembered more. Karlo’s body must have burned a lot of calories in the last few days, he normally weighed in at two-twenty, but he figured he must have lost nearly twenty pounds, even to himself he looked on the thin side.

  Having spent the last hundred or so years surrounded by men and no women, he didn’t consider his looks as anything special. The light brown hair, hazel eyes, and chiseled planes of his cheeks and jawline seemed ordinary to him. His naturally dusky skin tone had paled after so many years in space. The combination was arresting and any female with a pulse would notice.

  “Diagnostic complete,” the computer announced a little while later.

  “Report,” he said, then listened carefully while the computer went over all the systems as he left the bunk and made his way to the front of the shuttle. Both the communications unit and the emergency beacon had sustained damage. Everything else appeared to be in working order, but he was low on fuel. He tapped the control board and the navigation system blinked onto the screen. The anxiety gripping his chest loosened. If he were lucky, he would have just enough fuel to get to the Nephilim property in Wisconsin known as The Sanctuary. They would be able to treat his injuries there.

  He checked the placement of the sun. In relationship to his current planetary position, he had a few hours until daylight. By the time he finished his pre-flight checks, it would remain dark enough for a cloaked shuttle to make its way to Sanctuary. He decided to begin takeoff procedure immediately. It didn’t matter that it was in stealth mode. The longer it sat, the more visible it became, as dust and dirt accumulated and settled on the treated panels. His poor health condition was another reason not to wait.

  From the pilot’s chair, he set his course, turned on the main engines, and began his start-up sequence. He would be flying below the surface radar kept by the local government. He expected the trip to take no more than an hour or an hour and a half.

  His head still hurt and he was quite dizzy. He needed medical attention, as the scanner had diagnosed a concussion. Leaning back, he closed his eyes to take a few minutes of rest. From one moment to the next, he fell asleep. Several hours later, when he regained consciousness, he continued with his checklist, unaware of the change in time. He pushed aside the disorientation he felt to do his job. Help was available; he just needed to get there.

  After lifting off, he was preparing to engage the thrusters when alarms sounded and everything in the navigation system went haywire. The course heading and navigational controls locked him out, and the shuttle started heading back to the ground. He was going to crash, and nothing he could do about it. Looking up at his flight path, he saw he had only traveled a short distance, more than fifty miles but less than a hundred. He was still a long way from his destination.

  “Computer, landing sequence!” he shouted, trying to stop the pre-programmed flight.

  “Unable to comply. The navigation system has been locked out of the pilot’s control by orders of Councilman Hend,” said the computer.

  Karlo could see the ground approaching and ran through his options. He didn’t have many.

  “Computer, scan crash zone for life signs,” he said.

  “Life signs present,” said the computer.

  “Override navigation to avoid life signs,” Karlo shouted, hoping he’d found a way around Hend’s sabotage.

  “Negative. The course plotted by Councilman Hend is locked in. Engaging landing thrusters to avoid life signs,” said the computer.

  “Try to avoid buildings. I’d appreciate it if the pilot of the vessel were also kept alive,” he remarked to the computer sarcastically.

  “Override of safety protocols in effect. Life signs will be avoided.”

  Karlo had done all he could. He pulled his straps tight and waited for the crash.

  *****

  Marla Jones left the hay barn and slogged through the mud toward the house with her dog Rusty at her side. With so much necessary maintenance on a ranch, putting down fresh gravel had fallen to the bottom of her priority list. Her day had started before the sun rose. Luckily, she had put the porch lights on a timer, because it was now after dark.

  She walked up the stairs. After scraping off as much mud as she could, she entered the mudroom. As she removed her muddy boots, she made plans. The rains would be good for the alfalfa fields; she would have a good crop to harvest in another few months. Leaving her boots on the floor, she put on her house shoes. She then grabbed a towel and leaning over, cleaned Rusty’s paws. Once she knew neither of them would be tracking mud into the house, she opened the door into the kitchen.

  Looking into the pantry, she remembered she was out of dog food.

  “Rusty, sorry, boy,” she said.

  She took his dog dish over to the counter and scooped up half of the stew in the crockpot. After putting his dish on the floor, she scooped up the rest of the stew into her own bowl. She would have to go shopping soon; the pantry was getting really bare and the freezer was empty. Unfortunately, that meant no ice cream for dessert.

  Some people looking at her curvy figure might think it was a good idea for Marla to skip a few desserts. Marla was happy with her body image. With her short curly blond hair, wide spaced blue eyes, and dimples, she had the look of an overfed pixie. Anyone not willing to accept her as she was wasn’t worth her time; but she was bummed to be out of ice cream.

  After washing the dishes, she decided to make an early night of it. Her alarm clock would be going off at five-thirty in the morning. She was all alone now, running the ranch by herself since both her grandparents were gone. It had only been she and her grandfather for the last three years of his life and picking up a pen to mark another day off her calendar, she noticed she’d been on her own now for over a year. She made a mental note to call her matchmaker in the morning. She then shook a mental fist at her grandfather for putting her future in jeopardy.

  Turning off the downstairs lights and checking all the doors, she completed her security rounds with Rusty by her side and then headed for the stairs. Running her hand along the nicked wood, she flashed on the first time as a child she’d tried to slide down the banister. She had fallen off and broken her arm. Her grandfather had yelled at her even as he rushed her to the emergency room. It wasn’t until she overheard him talking to the doctor that she understood how much she had scared him. She never told him that after she got her cast off, she kept trying to slide down the banister until she’d succeeded. She’d always been a stubborn child.

  Giving the banister a pat, Marla went into the bathroom to take her shower and wash off the dirt of the day. She needed her stubbornness because the grandfather, who had loved her and raised her, had also screwed her over. He had met her grandmother when he was stationed in England during World War II. She had been a British war bride. They only had one child, a son, her father. Complications with the birth meant she could no longer have children.

  Her father was happy to grow up on the ranch a
nd married a local girl. Except for her college years, Marla had always lived on the ranch; it was all she knew. Her parents had died when she was three. They had left her at home with her grandparents while they took the vacation of their dreams. With another baby on the way, they had wanted to have a romantic fling before being buried in diapers again. On their way home, their plane had crashed a few minutes after takeoff. Marla had always consoled herself that they had gotten their vacation and they had been together. Because she was so young when they died, their deaths didn’t have as much of an impact on her as when she lost her grandmother and then her grandfather.

  Which mentally brought her right back to being angry toward her grandfather. Reaching into the shower, she fiddled with the hot and cold knobs trying to get the right temperature. She had to get them just right or the water would be too hot or too cold. There was something wrong inside the plumbing and she wasn’t knowledgeable enough to fix it. When she was relatively sure she wouldn’t scald or freeze herself, she flipped the knob to send the water from the spigot to the showerhead and climbed into the tub, pulling the shower curtain closed.

  Dozens of things flashed through her brain as she washed her hair. The two thoughts that stuck were—she needed to get her hair trimmed; her short blond curls were starting to get in her eyes. Of course, she now had less than ten weeks to get married or she was going to lose her land. Land that had been in her family’s possession since the State of Colorado was settled. She was going to lose it for such a stupid reason, because she wasn’t married.

  She hated that she had been a disappointment to her grandfather. She had joined the FFA and 4-H to please him, but he’d known the truth. She hated seeing animals she raised sold for their meat. She had thought he understood her dream and it had been painfully obvious for over a year now that he hadn’t.