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Golden Son: Book II of The Red Rising Trilogy description: As a Red, Darrow grew up working the mines deep beneath the surface of Mars, enduring backbreaking labor while dreaming of the better future he was building for his descendants. But the Society he faithfully served was built on lies. Darrow’s kind have been betrayed and denied by their elitist masters, the Golds—and their only path to liberation is revolution. And so Darrow sacrifices himself in the name of the greater good for which Eo, his true love and inspiration, laid down her own life. He becomes a Gold, infiltrating their privileged realm so that he can destroy it from within.

A lamb among wolves in a cruel world, Darrow finds friendship, respect, and even love—but also the wrath of powerful rivals. To wage and win the war that will change humankind’s destiny, Darrow must confront the treachery arrayed against him, overcome his all-too-human desire for retribution—and strive not for violent revolt but a hopeful rebirth. Though the road ahead is fraught with danger and deceit, Darrow must choose to follow Eo’s principles of love and justice to free his people.

He must live for more.

Golden Dancer

Tara Lain

www.loose-id.com

Golden Dancer

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

eISBN 978-1-61118-560-7

Editor: Heather Hollis

Cover Artist: Anne Cain

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 809

San Francisco CA 94104-0809

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

* * *

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Dedication

To Heather, who has believed in me since before the beginning, puts up with my commas, and graces every book with her special touch. I’m so glad you’re my editor. :)

Chapter One

Golden. Glowing. The sweeping grace of the statue took his breath. Capturing it had been no picnic. He didn’t much like some of the assholes he’d had to deal with, but play in the dirt, and you’re going to get some on you. It was worth it. Who wouldn’t want it, even if they had to steal it?

* * *

“What you working on, Mac Mac?”

Mac started, then looked over his shoulder at his boss. Towering personality, tiny frame.

“What do you think, Woo Woo?”

She tousled his hair so the curly mass fell into his eyes, and he had to brush it back. “I think you’re working on your Terrebone-the-billionaire-is-a-big-fat-art-thief story.”

“And you would be one hundred percent right, boss lady. I know you don’t think a guy like that could be a thief—”

“You can say that again, big guy.”

He leaned back in his desk chair and looked not very far up into that damned-intelligent Chinese pixie face. “Yeah, but Terrebone tried to buy that statue from Von Berg last year. The son-of-a-Nazi turned him down flat. Said it was some family heirloom. Yeah, well I can’t find much record of that. Anyway, I heard Terrebone tried to buy it a couple more times through back channels. Clearly, the man would kill to get his hands on that statue. Theft should’ve been easy.”

“There’s a lot of art in the world, Mac Mac. Why would a billionaire collector have to go to big extremes like stealing? Seems unlikely to this lady.”

He rubbed a hand over his neck “Yeah, true. But you’ve trusted my instincts on other stories. There was desperation in the bid he made for the
Golden Dancer
. It’s worth a lot, but most experts agree he offered more than it was worth. Plus, the guy’s a player. Hell, he’s got the money and the technology to steal it. I think he’d just do it for fun. And to rip Von Berg a new one. There’s no love lost there, I’m told.”

She shrugged. “You keep believing, baby.” She patted his head, the little witch. “You want to take a break from fantasyland for awhile?”

He loved his editor in chief, so he busted his butt getting stories no other online news source could get. Of course, he’d do it for free.
Never tell her that
. “Maybe. What you got?”

“Think I could turn you into an entertainment reporter for a day? Hirschfield is sick to death.”

She was so damned cute. “Sick to death of writing entertainment columns for the
Daily Window
?”

“No, smart-ass. He got the flu.”

“And so how am I qualified to step into his patent leather shoes?”

“You big ballet guy, right?”

Shit. “Now why do you think that, Woo?”

“Debbie, she tell me your parents are ballet dancers, and you know everything about it, right?”

He glanced across the makeshift newsroom toward a bobbing red head. Debbie the rat friend. See if he told her any more about his past. “Yeah, my parents are dancers. That doesn’t qualify me to write entertainment columns.” It was not entirely true.

She perched on the edge of his desk, squashing a few of his papers, short black bob swinging. He noticed she held an envelope. “I got this situation. The New York Ballet Theatre is doing their end-of-the-season tour in LA, and they gave just a few invites to press to see a special rehearsal of some new ballet show, you know? And Hirschfield got one, and now he can’t go ’cause he’s sick to death, and he’s freaking out that the
Daily Window
is going to miss this big scoop with some Russian ballet dancer or something. I mean he’s really freaking, Mac.”

Jesus. Medveyev. “Do you mean the
Spectre of the Rose
with Trelain Medveyev?”

She beamed. “There, you see, you ballet guy like Debbie say, right? You can go and see this rehearsal and interview the guy, and Hirschfield will stop freaking out, and everything will be good, yes?”

“Hang on. Interview?”

“Yeah. With the Russian. Medv…what you say.”

Okay, he had goose bumps. Sixteen years backstage and in the rehearsal halls of bal

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