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But would he let his entire Empire be threatened for what is right? Because right now, as we play as Gods with a weapon we should never have had, there’s a woman, laden with the child of the War-God, laden with the babe who will one day come for revenge.

Are they using me?My head throbs. The deceit they would have to be capable of, the inhumanity. They’ve had centuries to steel themselves. Centuries to become unknowable, to have thoughts beyond what a human could dream. I might be a foolish human to even consider trusting them.

Doman is sworn to uphold the Aurelian Empire above all, and I am a tool to bind Pentaris to him, to destroy his enemy. Once he’s conquered the universe, the only thing left will be to conquer me. I shiver as I imagine the three of them turning meinto nothing more than a Bonded vessel for their seed, tying me up in their pleasure room and rutting me until I am swollen with their son, then hidden away deep in their palace like a precious possession too rare to be allowed outside.

I grit my teeth and rub my temples, flicking away the holo-vid and standing, preparing myself to meet with the representatives of the five planets, when a hand reaches out for me, a hand that cannot be there, huge and grasping, coming straight from my wall.

It tumbles, pumping out blood, my mind trying to process that marble flesh that thuds meatily on the ground, the fingers still clutching at me.

The scream from outside my room jolts me into action. Emergency lights flick on, dim and red, and the terrifying sound of an Orb-Blade sheering through my metal door makes the fine hairs on my arms rise. The Orb weapon drives through the door and I jump away from it before it can pierce my skin, when the door itself is kicked off its hinges, and the beast snarls at the precipice of my room.

They are here. Incomprehensibly, they are here.

An Aurelian of Obsidian’s forces, with a black brand on his forehead, crazed eyes, and the sigil emblazed on his chest. His eyes glint with feral, untamed wildness, and my body moves by instinct, whipping around and bursting out through the back door into the recesses of my ship. Heavy bootsteps follow me, and I round a corner, coming face to face with another branded Aurelian.

His blade is active, casting a dark glow, but his expression is twisted, contorted with insanity. He clutches his eyes with his free hand, in torment. To my horror, I see his two battle brothers lying in a gruesome display, ripped in half, their lifeblood pooling around them in a macabre tableau.

The realization hits me like a blow—Obsidian shifted them in to hunt me down. But even he doesn’t have the precision to place triads in perfectly, and many of them were warped straight into the metal of my ship itself, cut in two before they could get to me.

The crazed Aurelian sees me, and advances, blade leading the way, hatred in his eyes. I back up until I hit the wall, my mind racing, when the door of my chamber opens for more of his men to chase me.

I brace myself, when instead of the triad I had feared, it is Titus who bursts through the door, filling the space with his huge frame. His white robes are stained crimson, his expression fierce determination contorted with a barbaric bloodlust that terrifies me.

“Behind me!” he roars, his voice a commanding boom that cuts through the chaos. I press my back against the wall as he puts himself as a shield between me and the crazed Aurelian. More of Obsidian’s branded troops pour into the corridor, charging forward in the halls that are made for humans, too thin for more than one to advance at once.

They come one at a time, and they die alone. Titus’ back muscles flex with each swing of his sword, his form violence incarnate, and their bodies pile in front of him, their black robes charred from his sword, their life blood streaming on the ground. He grunts in pain as a blade-stroke catches his chest, an instant before the head of the last attacker is severed and rolls on the floor until it rests a foot in front of me, the eyes blinking as they stare up at me.

Amidst the chaos, Titus grabs my arm, his grip so tight it hurts, pulling me through the ship with unyielding strength. I slip in blood, and he pulls me against his huge, warm, muscled mass, his blade outstretched, ready to kill anyone who comes near me. I’m pulled out of my ship. In the hangar bay, the lastbranded Aurelian in black robes is surrounded by two triads, being pushed back.

He sees me and flings his blade, which spirals through the air before Titus knocks it down with his own. The branded Aurelian gave up his only defense for the slim chance to take me out, and he groans as a blade pierces his heart, falling to the ground. More of Titus’ men are swarming the hangar bay as Titus leads me out, half dragging me up the stairs. I’m still in shock, and I look back at the trail of blood, the red footsteps behind us as I’m taken into the sterility of a med-bay.

Once inside the med-bay, Titus lifts me with a grunt onto the medical table and stands before me, his robe hanging open, stained like he dropped a flagon of wine, revealing the grisly wound on his chest. The golden chain with the diamond dawn of the Aurelian Empire is tinted rose, and blood is dripping down his leg.

“Adriana. Are you okay?”

His question would be comical enough to laugh at if I wasn’t terrified for him, the sheer absurdity of him worrying over me while he bleeds to death in front of me.

“I’m fine. Titus, get yourself patched up,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, pulling myself up from the medical table and motioning for him to get onto it.

He scrutinizes me, looking me up and down, trying to assure himself of my wellbeing, then turns to face the door, blade still active in his hand. “There could be more.”

Bootsteps are sprinting towards us. Titus tenses, but glances back at me. “Don’t worry. It’s our triad,” he says, before Doman and Gallien appear at the entrance, the hilts of their blades in white-knuckled grips, faces etched with concern and readiness for battle.

“She’s fine, just shaken,” Titus announces with gruff urgency, as soon as Doman and Gallien enter the room. Doman positionshimself strategically at the doorway, a sentinel on high alert, while Gallien approaches me, those intense grey eyes searching for any sign of injury. Meanwhile, Titus, still bleeding profusely from the deep gash on his chest, doesn’t seem to be aware he’s dying.

He sways, his eyes unfocused, and his off-hand tremors, while the other is in a steady, white-knuckled grip around the hilt of his blade.

“Titus, get your ass on the medical table, now!” I come out of shock with a jolt, as a surge of panic over his state helps me find my voice. With a heavy grunt, Titus pulls himself up onto the stark, metallic slab in the center of the med-bay. No concession in the design is given to patient comfort, and the utilitarian hospital room seems to be made for ease of washing down after use.

The ceiling opens, a robotic arm smoothy descending, and from one of its appendages, what looks like a pistol is aimed at his chest. A black beam surges from it, and I realize it’s Orb-Powered. I gulp, watching the meaty slabs of muscle and skin knitted back together. Titus’ grip never weakens on his still-active weapon, the blue-black light of his energy weapon bathing us with an eerie hue, accompanied by an almost hypnotic hum.

“Doman. I’m safe here. Your troops need you on the bridge.”

He never takes his eyes off the hallway, but shakes his head, violently, his blond mane flowing as he clutches his blade tight, marching forward to get a better line of sight. “More could come at any second,” he growls out, and I hear something I never expected to from the alien prince.

Fear. He’s scared. Scared he can’t protect me, scared that he’s brought me into a war against an enemy that can strike us without warning, no matter what he does.

“And if they do, your men need you at the command.”