For His Love Read online

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  For His Love

  Nya Rayne

  ...

  An imprint of

  Musa Publishing

  Copyright Information

  For His Love, Copyright © 2012 by Nya Rayne

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  ...

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  ...

  Musa Publishing

  633 Edgewood Ave

  Lancaster, OH 43130

  www.musapublishing.com

  ...

  Published by Musa Publishing, May 2012

  ...

  This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this ebook can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.

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  ISBN: 978-1-61937-270-2

  ...

  Editor: Tamara Taylor

  Cover Design: Kelly Shorten

  Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna

  Warning

  This e-Book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where you made your purchase. Store your e-Books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.

  Dedication

  This novel is dedicated to R. Sharpe, for editing, re-editing, and editing some more; and to my close friend R. Bishop, for dreaming big for me. This is the first step, Monkey-butt, where do we go from here? To M. Anderson, who, with each rejection I received while suffering through the querying process, cheered because he knew I was one step closer to being published. And to my mother, M. Wilson, who no matter what I write, is always the first in line to read it. Finally, to my team at Musa Publishing; without all of you, this book would not be possible. Thank you.

  Chapter One

  “I’m not doing this!” Phia turned away from the nondescript four-story office building in disgust. “I’m not this desperate.”

  She settled down on the bench situated directly across from the revolving doors she couldn’t enter, and dug the gift wafer her mother had given her from her purse.

  Sotophia Zen

  is entitled to one personomale of any design.

  Price not to exceed 500,000 credits.

  This certificate is redeemable at any certified android manufacturer.

  Date of expiration: September 19, 2110.

  “Damn her,” she seethed, shoving the wafer back into her purse. What happened to the days when mothers gave their daughters monetary CDs, paintings, or land? When did it become okay to give an android companion as a gift?

  History was filled with meddlesome mothers and their good intentions, but Phia was certain her mother was taking her good intentions to a whole new level. It wasn’t like she was single and had been for most of her adult life because she didn’t want to meet her life companion. In a world where women outnumbered human men by more than a thousand to one, what exactly did the woman expect?

  Men were a price-driven commodity, for heaven’s sake. They could pick and choose who they wanted to spend their time with and who they didn’t, and there wasn’t a thing anyone could do about it.

  A red-blooded man, with emotions and thoughts of his own, who was also caring, moral, and with eyes for just one woman was as hard to come by as the long-extinct Bengal tiger. So no, it was not her fault she was twenty-eight, childless, and destined to spend the rest of her life alone.

  Okay, maybe that wasn’t necessarily the truth. She didn’t have to spend the rest of her life alone. She could do what most of the other women around her were doing, and choose someone of the same sex to be with, if only for companionship. She could also put in an application for artificial insemination if she chose to procreate.

  Phia didn’t find anything necessarily wrong with lesbianism, especially under the current circumstances. She’d experimented with it in college, but decided it wasn’t for her. As for artificial insemination, well, there was something cold and unnatural about it, even in this day and age. Lying on a table with her legs akimbo, while some nameless woman shoved a syringe into her womb, inserting sperm from heaven knows where. There was nothing enticing about that. It was too impersonal.

  If it hadn’t been for her love of old movies, which all involved heroic, romantic, gorgeous men, she wouldn’t have known what she was missing. But she simply adored those movies and craved the feelings they elicited in her.

  Phia was a hopeless and unrepentant romantic, who wanted what her ancestors had had. She wanted to be chased and to be wooed. To be the fire burning in a man’s eyes, the blaze that awakened his carnal desires. Phia wanted him to be her reason for living and breathing, and she wanted it all to be unpredictable. She wanted what her community sisters had given up on—a real, raw, and unforgettable romance.

  But she knew, even though she hated to admit it, her wants were nothing more than the dreams of a fanciful fool. She lived in an era where romance was manufactured and sold in stores and love between a man and woman was nothing more than a wonderful, long-forgotten fairy tale.

  The soft chirp of her c-pod drew her from her musings. She pulled the device from her leather satchel. Glancing at the picture ID, she groaned and connected the call. Seconds later, her mother’s bright and cheery face filled the screen.

  “Good morning, Mother.”

  “Hello, Sotophia, how are you?”

  “I’m fine,” Phia said, trying to remain civil with the woman who refused to mind her own business when it was apparent her interference was not required. And how hard was it to call her by her chosen name? Phia, pronounced Fee-ah? For as long as she could remember, everything between her mother and her had been a battle.

  When Phia had legally changed her name four years ago, her mother had equated it to a personal snub and had vehemently refused to call her by it. Perhaps subconsciously she had meant to snub her mother, but it still grated on Phia’s last nerve that after so many years she was the only one who still called her Sotophia. Phia was certain it was out of spite and not a need for her mother to attempt to hold on to the one thing she actually gave her out of the goodness of her tiny little heart.

  Her mother shouted an order at someone Phia couldn’t see, and then turned her attention back to her. “Don’t tell me you’re still upset about your gift, Sotophia.”

  “I won’t tell you,” she said as she glanced around the lush, preternaturally green courtyard. Her eyes trailed over a sparsely filled transport glider carrying lazy pedestrians from the local tram drop-offs to various buildings lining the courtyard. Her community sisters were dressed decorously in tight, brightly colored spandex body suits and knee-high boots of varying colors. This was the required uniform for those of the working class.

  Her eyes came to rest on an android companion walking two steps behind his mistress. His chest was bare, his feet clad in black gladiator sandals, and his hips wrapped in what appeared to be a black leather loincloth. She wasn’t quite sure what bothered her more, the fact that his mistress obviously used him as a living doll or the leash around his neck. Regardless, this was one of the main reasons she had fought the desire to purchase
a companion. She didn’t want a lapdog, or a doll.

  “This attitude of yours is atrocious,” her mother observed. “Do you know how many women your age would love to receive a gift such as I’ve given you?”

  Phia rolled her eyes, but decided her mother’s question wasn’t worth answering. Had the gift not been tainted with her mother’s desperate need for political gain, it would probably be a little easier to swallow. But Phia knew her mother did nothing out of the goodness of her heart. The woman would, without a second thought, sell her soul to the janitor of the underworld if it meant a seat at the Higher Highness’s round table. Unfortunately, to get closer to that seat, her mother had to have a daughter who did not turn up her nose at their way of life, but instead embraced it. She needed a daughter who lived not in dream worlds and on archaic fantasies, but one who relished in the decadent morsels offered by cutting-edge technology.

  Her mother’s voice jumped more than a few octaves as she reprimanded, “This attitude had to have come from your father’s side. You certainly didn’t get it from me.”

  My father—or better yet—sperm donor. Her mother had been artificially inseminated to give birth to her, so had many other women of her mother’s generation, but for some reason, ninety-five percent of those women gave birth to girls. The few who had boys, who would have been her age, had given birth to sickly babies who either died early or grew up to be one of the few impotent Frehores, who widely sold their time to the highest bidder. Had it not been a political death sentence for a woman to choose not to give birth to a healthy baby girl, Phia was certain she’d never have been born. Her mother reminded her often that she was nothing more than a business deal gone awry.

  “Of course, Mother, every bad habit I have came from him.” She exhaled in exasperation. “Was there something you needed?”

  Phia watched as her mother ran her blood-red fingernails through her reddish-blonde locks as she sat back, a tight smile on her oval-shaped face. Her green eyes glinted with mischief.

  “Is it absolutely necessary for you to be so utterly ungrateful? Why can’t you for once in your miserable life just say, ‘Thank you, Mother, I love it’?” Before Phia could respond, her mother waved a hand dismissively and continued, “Anyway, today is the last day for you to use my gift. Surely, you’re not planning on letting my credits go to waste? It’s no small sum, you know.”

  Phia scowled at the screen, but did not respond, since that was the reason she had talked herself into coming to Manco, Inc. in the first place.

  Her mother, the lovely and noble Varonda Zen, was Baroness of the Carolinas. When women had truly come into power and gained control of every office, from what had been known as the presidency down to the office of manager of a corner convenience store, they had done away with the title of president and renamed the position “The Higher Highness of Serenity.” They had wanted a feminine title which spoke of the centuries of peace ahead of them, instead of a constant reminder of their war-torn past.

  Governors became baronesses, and mayors became town mothers. As for the separate sections of the government such as the Senate, House of Representatives, Supreme Court, etc., they were done away with, as there truly was no longer a need for them. The nation as a whole made decisions by way of mandatory town councils, which occurred once a month or on an as-needed basis. In this way, there were no secrets, no underhanded, behind-the-scenes goings-on, and no lies. Everyone within the Uterlined States of America, which was something else they had changed, knew what was happening, about to happen, and why.

  The Higher Highness of Serenity, as the leader of their female-run democratic society, was elected every ten years. She received referendum requests from the baronesses, who received their referendum requests from the town mothers, who received their referendum requests from the populace. Once these referendum requests were received, the Higher Highness and her court of Elites, which included the Secretary of National Security, the Secretary of Women’s Welfare, the Secretary of Agriculture, and the Secretary of Education, discussed them. Once they completed their discussion, a motion was made to the entire country and a vote was taken.

  Phia had thought on numerous occasions, the Founding Fathers must be throwing hissy fits in their graves, because the country they had created so laboriously had been remade in a matter of nine months’ time, and there wasn’t a thing they or anyone else could do about it.

  There were several wonderful things that came out of a world run by women: crime dropped to a rate of one tenth of a percent; health care was free to anyone who needed it; a free college education was given to anyone who could pass the entrance exam; respect for Mother Earth became law; and, most importantly, wars were unheard-of.

  Not to say there weren’t disagreements within the states or between countries. There were, but the Higher Highness of Serenity dealt with them in a swift, civil, and friendly manner. The ultimate goal of any disagreement was a fair resolution and the avoidance of another Thirty-One-Year War, the war which indirectly began the extinction of the male population.

  “Sotophia, are you listening to me?”

  Phia shook off her thoughts and glanced down at the screen of her pod. “Yes, though not by choice.”

  “Do I need to make the appointment for you?”

  She inhaled, then glanced at the building across from her as she exhaled deliberately. Even if she didn’t agree with it, what harm could come from viewing the showroom? She could then tell her mother she’d tried, but found nothing enticing enough that she felt she had to buy it. “No, don’t worry about it. I’ll go by there today, but I’m not making any promises.” Phia forced a smile, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And, Mother, thank you so much for such a wonderful gift.”

  “Nonsense, I’m sure you’ll find something you’ll love.” Varonda clapped her hands together in elation; Phia’s attempt at sarcasm was lost on her. “Brilliant! We’ll plan to get together this weekend, then. When I tell the girls at the club you finally bought one, they’re going to just die, I tell you. Just die.”

  Shrew. Phia frowned at her mother and disengaged the call.

  Chapter Two

  Five days earlier…

  “You lucky dog,” they shouted, slapping him on his back as he shuffled down the middle of the bay.

  The bay was an overly large, gray, open room, lined with narrow beds and steel lockers. In all, there were six of these identical rooms spread throughout the facility, each with twenty-six male residents. At the end of each bay was a large bathroom with stalls, showers, and sinks. There were no other furnishings and no windows, but it was home…the only home he had ever known.

  Xavier nodded in acknowledgment of his fellow nurturers’ praise and tried to hide his chagrin. How long had he waited and prayed for this day? How many of his friends had been chosen to pass through Utopia’s gates before him? How many nights had he fallen asleep and had dreams filled with lush greenery, glistening lakes, wild rivers, colorful birds soaring through skies painted blue, and glorious sunsets and sunrises?

  His instructors had taught him Utopia was a place into which only the good, the strong, and the chosen could pass. They’d told him permission to walk among the goddesses, to serve and live a pampered life with them, was his reward for being obedient, for listening, and for not questioning his orders.

  “Utopia,” he crooned softly as he headed to his bunk.

  He’d been chosen. He still couldn’t believe it, but out of the nearly two hundred other nurturers with whom he had grown up in the confines of this sprawling, concrete prison, he’d been the one chosen. They all knew only the best nurturers found favor. Those who scored highest on their exams, highest in intimacy, attentiveness, communication, and companionship—everything a nurturer would have to know in order to satisfy his goddess.

  “When you get to Utopia, you’d better not forget about me,” Kail, his best friend offered, unknowingly interrupting Xavier’s thoughts. Kail slipped an arm around Xavier’s shoulder and co
ntinued, “So, are you going to tell me what you did in your exam to get chosen?”

  Xavier glanced at him. Kail was getting close to the age when he would no longer have a chance at winning the favor of a goddess. At thirty-two, he was two years older than Xavier. He had only three more years to get a pass. If he didn’t, he would be made a mentor and removed from the bay altogether.

  “I don’t know what I did,” Xavier said. “I just did what the interviewer asked me to do.”

  Kail scowled at him. “All right, keep your secrets, then.”

  Xavier chuckled as he stepped over to his bunk and sat down. “Honestly, I didn’t do anything special. The interviewer told me what to do, and I did it. It wasn’t any different than any of the other times. It was nothing special.”

  A hard slap on his bare back caused Xavier to turn, and he rolled his eyes and shifted as Savior slid onto his bunk, his face set in a deep scowl. Besides Kail, Xavier would have said Savior was his closest friend, but Savior had a somewhat morose attitude. He also tended to second-guess the instructors, which was probably one of the reasons why he had never won any of the goddesses’ favor.

  Savior leaned back against the triangular block of plastic foam that served as a headboard and crossed his thick arms over his bare chest. “So, this goddess of yours,” he began, his voice gravelly, “think she’s pretty?”

  Xavier and Kail looked at Savior as if they both thought he’d lost his mind.

  Kail was the first to speak. “They’re all pretty. Some are just prettier than others.”

  Savior scoffed as he glanced around the room. “We’re all not handsome, so how can they all be pretty?” he drawled, his dark eyes continuously scanning the room as if he were a predator choosing his prey.

  “They’re goddesses, idiot.”

  Savior sneered again. “If you ask me, it’s all bull. When you get chosen, you probably end up as someone’s slave.”