She scrambled and pulled herself out of the heavy sand covering her feet and lifted her head.
Foaming waves rolled in before her, the sea darkening as the day star slid toward the horizon.
The beach stretched before her, expansive and empty, dunes rising in pale ridges behind her.
Where the hell was her flyer?
She twisted to look around and almost fainted.
Silhouetted against a dying sun was a figure.
One larger than life and crouched atop a high cresting dune, their shape in relief bounded by golden light, making them appear somewhat divine.
Below the hillock lay the wreckage of her skimmer, torn open and scattered across the seashore, metal panels half-buried, engines shredded beyond recognition.
Fokkinhellshit.
Her eyes tracked back to the still, silent silhouette.
The profile, decidedly male, surged to his feet.
The wind caught his long strands of hair and flung them about as he descended the dune with measured strides, boots scarcely sinking into the sand.
Sheba knifed up to a seated position, pulse hammering as he rippled through the fierce heatwaves rising from the dunes.
The world was a spinning tilt-a-whirl of red dust and vertigo as the silhouette approached her.
‘Stay back,’ she croaked, the command thin and whispered, overpowered by the pounding ocean.
Whoever he was, he ignored her and just kept coming.
Each step brought him into tighter focus until the light resolved, and her breath locked in her chest.
Panicked, she scrabbled in the sand until her fingers locked around a chunk of basalt.
She pulled herself into a shaky crouch, swaying as a fresh wave of concussion-induced nausea hit her.
She raised the rock, ready to launch it at him, but her hand felt strangely heavy.
The man stopped a few paces away and arched a dark brow, his expression amused.
With zero warning, the rock in her hand dissolved, crumbling into a fine, slate-colored powder that sifted through her fingers like hourglass sand.
Sheba stared at her empty palm, her mind short-circuiting. ‘The hell was that?’
Her new companion folded his massive arms over a sculpted, sinewed chest.
Starlight over Atlas, he was beautiful.
His height alone altered the space between them, his shoulders broad and dense.
She had never seen a man built on such a scale, yet with such grace.
Her head tilted to take in all of him: a physique heavy with strength, chiseled as if by an artist, his forearms and limbs substantial, every movement carrying stored force held in check.
He wore a burnished leather vest with a stunning vista sculpted into its lapels, accentuating his wide, bare deltoids.
His bare torso was washboard flat, muscles shredded.
