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The other is lean, but shares the same broad shoulders of the rest of his triad, with a swimmer’s body with high cheekbones and a touch of pretty boy to him, almost enough to turn me off. But if these three are going to stand between Kit and me, I’m not going to be picky.

“She goes to a separate cell. I’m taking her there.” Garrick’s voice is strong and clear.

“You’re not taking her anywhere.”

The mood in the hallway changes instantly. All six of them bristle, like they’re expanding, muscles tensing and bulging as they flex in preparation for violence.

I get the feeling like I’m between two groups of predators fighting over a potential mate.

Me.

Chris’s hand slowly drops to his waist. I know what he’s thinking. If the six Aurelians fight, they’re going to fight with Orb-Weapons. In the close quarters of the hallway not all of them will survive. Those brutal, evil blades will seek out the blood of their own species, turning Aurelian against Aurelian as the chaos of battle overcomes them.

It’ll be a deadly whirlwind of death and blood as the titans turn against each other. There’s a chatter from Theme’s teeth as the poor boy looks like he’s about to throw up.

There could be a chance. Not much of one, but a chance to drive his blade into a wounded Aurelian. The six of us could take on the injured survivors and make a mad dash to theWayward Scythe…

But Tasha could have been hauled off by the Aurelian captain. Even if we get away, she’ll be left behind.

Chris might be okay with that. I’m not.

Garrick’s hand moves with purpose to the hilt of his Orb-Blade, unrushed and unafraid. “I am taking her to her cell. Come with me, woman,” he booms out, his voice echoing in the hallway.

Kit’s hand darts out. He grabs my wrist tight, squeezing where I smashed it against the metal wall of theWayward Scytheas we made evasive maneuvers. Agony sears through me and I can’t hold back a gasp of pain.

Garrick’s Orb-Blade activates before I can process it. The huge man is fast. The wicked hum of the thirsty blade fills the hallway as the other two members of his triad draw their blades and hold them in front of them in a battle stance, their legs flexed and ready to bulrush forward into battle.

“Draw and die.” Garrick states the words plainly. If Kit or his triad activate their weapons it’s going to be a bloodbath. Garrick has no fear, his eyes clear and intense on his opponent.

Horrible tension gives me nausea as Kit squeezes tighter then releases my hand.

I don’t look back. I grab Theme by the wrist and pull him towards the triad of saviors—if you can call a new set of captors saviors.

“No. Not him. Only you.”

I shudder. I mouth a silent apology to Theme and let him go, forced to walk towards the three new Aurelians. I pause for a second, staring at thewrongnessof their Orb-Weapons, the humming, violent blades that would drink up my blood. They deactivate their blades at the same moment as if they can read my mind.

They can’t read your mind. That’s only a superstition.

They protected me from Kit, but that doesn’t make them any better. For all I know, this could be a ploy to get me alone. I won’t be fooled by chivalry. All Aurelians are the same. They exist toclaimtheir Fated Mates.

Only the Rogue Aurelians who cast off the laws of their Empire are honest. The rest can snap at any moment, falling into the Mating Rage and ripping your clothes off as they press you against the wall and take you hard. Their protection comes at a heavy price.

I stare up at Garrick. He’s massive. His broad, hard face looks like you could break a hammer on it. His slate-grey eyes stare down at me with complete confidence. “Don’t expect me to thank you,” I spit out, but he doesn’t even blink. He looks down at me without shame, and hunger rises in his alien eyes.

That hunger makes me feel so small and helpless. His nostrils flare ever so slightly, taking in my scent, and I suppress a shudder. He grows more intense, looking down at me like I’m the only thing that exists. Like he’s looking at something he wants toown.

Aurelians can’t read minds.

But they can read scents.

I just hope there’s no trace of that dark, helpless need that’s welling up inside me. I didn’t feel it when Kit or his cruel triad searched me. But I feel it now. That small, insistent need that sometimes makes me toss and turn at night when I can’t get images of an Aurelian triad out of my mind. No matter how much I hate the species, I can’t stop the way my body reacts when I’m near Garrick.

“March.” He booms the word out as a command. There’s nothing I can do but start walking. The broadest of his triad leads the way. I can’t see past his wide shoulders and thick back, and I’m sandwiched between him and the two other Aurelians behind me. I feel tiny in the high ceilings of the hallways built for the massive species.

Above, lights flicker.

Strange. The warship is a brutal beast, but the so-called captain doesn’t splurge on fixing wear and tear. Could the dilapidation offer us a window to escape? It’s an ancient, hulking ship, maybe dating back to the Galactic War that rent our universe in half. Is there anything I can gain from that?