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By Rebecca Royce
Kidnapped By Her Husbands (Wings of Artemis #1) is the first book in the science fiction romance, reverse harem Wings of Artemis series. Right now, there are 5 novels published in the series.
Alone in prison.
No recollection of the past.
A baby growing inside her.
In a futuristic world where women are scarce and only the wealthy can afford a wife, Melissa Alexander is trapped in a prison rehabilitation center with no memory of who she is. The unborn child growing inside her is all that keeps them from making her pay for the sins she’s committed–sins she cannot recall. But when five sexy strangers claiming to be her husbands kidnap her and bring her to safety, Melissa fears she can’t trust them. All she can remember is what she was taught under the prison’s watchful, vengeful eye: to hate them. But how can she hate–or love–what she can’t remember?
Content Notes: Intense, Polyamory
Kidnapped by her Husbands Excerpt
RAIN pounded on the windows, shattering the nothingness feasting on my mind. The water striking the glass constituted the first recognizable sound I’d heard in hours. The racket beyond my room—screaming, crying, and pleading—remained foreign. I didn’t know who called, whose pain invaded my five-by-five space, and I could do nothing about any of it anyway. The rain was familiar, somehow safe. The gentle pitter-patter prompted me to sit up, then swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
My bare feet hit a cold concrete floor when I stood, sliding ice up my spine. My legs wobbled, and I almost immediately sat again before I righted myself. I couldn’t stay in bed all day, and wouldn’t tolerate one more minute of endlessness. Stomach lurching, I stumbled rather than walked toward the window. I needed to see the rain. No, perhaps my desire surpassed even a requirement to put a visual image to the audible stimulus filling the room. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, the sound compelled me forward. Seeing the rain seemed the most important thing in the world, and I had no idea why.
A chair leaned against the wall. Balanced on two legs, it looked as though someone had been sitting on it recently, like a person had casually pushed backwards in it, regarding me from the small space between the bed and the wall. Yet no one had been there. No one ever joined me. From the moment I’d woken in the bed, I’d had no idea where I found myself, how I had gotten there, or even who I was. I’d been alone.
Three meals a day came through a hole in the door. A long stick pushed the tray through, and later a longer stick with a hook on the end poked through again. It had taken me a full day to realize the few seconds the hooked-stick remained were for me to attach the tray that held my dishes on the catch. I’d lived with a real mess of dishes until I’d worked it out. Dinner, later, would mark my fourth round of daily feedings.
Other than eating and wiping myself with water, which came in a soap-filled bowl on
one of the trays, I hadn’t done anything but sleep and lay flat on my back staring at the ceiling. I contemplated my nothingness, what could have caused such utter lack of a life to remember, and, when I could fathom the thought, I gave some effort to the other element to my mysterious circumstances.