Page 23

S o, confusion reigns.

Darax wanted the clan warlords to take him seriously about some wormhole, and all they wanted to know was whether there were other females than me.

Then there were all the veiled threats and the mention of Darax’s rut, something he’s said but I still don’t understand.

And the fact that all three of them, or should I make that four as I have to include Darax, are feral to the point of instability.

The other Sarkarnii are just as bad, something I discover as we exit the clan hall to find one of the warriors clutching his obviously broken arm and the other, half in his Sarkarnii form, letting rip with flame.

Both of them seem to be having a good time. Darax simply snarls at them as he removes the chain from my wrist.

“Was that entirely necessary?”

“The meeting?” Darax seems preoccupied.

“The chain,” I growl. It’s enough to draw his attention back to me.

A wicked smile hitches up the corner of Darax’s lip, revealing a double fang set.

“I like you chained,” he says with a purr that makes me go weirdly weak at my knees.

“Yeah? I hope you like being chained up too,” I retort.

“Promises, promises,” Darax says, eyes glittering.

I genuinely want to choke him with his stupid chain.

There are more explosions, one further away and one closer.

“Things are getting lively, with the clan warlords meeting,” Darax mutters. “It’s time to return to the Silver Star .”

He huffs out a long stream of smoke, making his warriors pay attention instantly.

As we turn to leave, Dante appears from the dome, staggering slightly, his long hair wild.

He looks up in the direction of the smoke which is now rising to the ceiling of the zone, and with a swirl, he becomes a dragon, lurching into the air as if one of his wings isn’t working so well.

“Nev him.” Darax stares after the lopsided dragon. “I don’t know what he’s been taking, but last I heard, he was interested in snorting star fighter fuel to improve his flame.” He looks down at me. “I should go after him. But I’m not leaving you here.”

He calls over the least injured of his warriors and instructs him to follow Dante but to not engage with him.

“Report back to me once he returns to his sector.”

I get the distinct impression that there is a lot more about these warlords than Darax is letting on. With the injured warrior in tow, we make our way back to the airlock, where Darax uses his communication device to get it opened.

“What was this place?” I ask, looking around me. “Some sort of space ship?”

“It was the fleet flagship, the Aurora . Repurposed when we came through the wormhole to be the neutral zone for all five warlords,” Darax says. “It was once something to behold,” he adds with a hint of sadness as the airlock scrapes open and he shoves his warrior through.

“Make sure you get outside and shift properly,” he calls after him. “I need good warriors, not injured ones,” he growls, partly, it seems, to himself.

“Isn’t he going to get it treated?”

“As a warlord, I’m impervious to much other than having my head cut off,” Darax says. “My warriors also have a good degree of self-healing properties. His arm should be as good as new by tomorrow, providing he shifts to his Sarkarnii form.”

“I should go and speak to my friends. Tell them what’s happening,” I say. “Last they heard, I was going to visit you. They’ll think you ate me.”

“I think I did.” Darax is lifting his lip again in the half smile which is as wicked as it is beguiling. But as there are other warriors around, it’s gone as soon as I glimpse it.

My core does something it shouldn’t, and his nostrils flare, smoke streaming from them.

“I will accompany you back to the female quarters,” he says quickly, tail lashing, the vicious spikes impacting the floor and leaving a mark as he glares at any warriors in our vicinity.

They all make themselves instantly scarce.

Darax seems to have that sort of effect.

We make our way back through the atrium and past the entrance to the baths he seems so keen on, then the dining hall which is also, impressively empty, until we reach the maze of corridors, one of which finally leads to a door I recognize.

Two Sarkarnii wait outside, shuffling warily as Darax approaches.

“Go get your meals,” he snarls at them. They don’t need telling twice.

“You like being a warlord, don’t you?” I say as their tails disappear around a corner.

“It’s what I was born to do, little snack,” he rasps, backing me against the wall and capturing my chin with his clawed thumb and forefinger. “Or at least, being a member of the High Bask meant I was always intended to be a leader, even if warlord wasn’t specifically mentioned.”

“But you are one,” I respond, looking into his mesmerizing gaze. There is so much fire in his eyes, I could stare into them all day and not get bored. “As well as being in rut.”

“I rut for you, my Kerra. After the radiation killed all our females, I never expected to rut, but I do,” Darax murmurs.

“Killed all your females?” I squeak out the words.

“My female crew was considered one of the fiercest and brightest,” Darax says. “Even now, so many nova-years later, we miss them.”

I take heart he used we rather than I . But even so, I hate the swell of jealousy which consumes me, followed ever so swiftly by its sibling, guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was not your fault. It was our own,” Darax growls.

I’m about to ask what the hell happened for them to have lost all their female crew and not the males when the doors to the female quarters snap open and Maggie bursts out.

“I’m not staying in there a moment longer,” she tosses over her shoulder. “We’re not prisoners…oh!”

She spots Darax and me and shuts her mouth with an audible click of teeth.

Are we in a compromising position? Yes.

I just have to be grateful this time he’s wearing pants.