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“ S truggle again, and I will cut you,” the huge Sarkarnii snarls at me.

I’m thrown over his shoulder like a sack. He has weird horny protuberances on his shoulders which are digging in.

“You can threaten me all you like, but you’re not making this easy for either of us,” I snarl back. “You’re lumpy.”

I’m plucked from his shoulder in a single movement which sees me being flung across the passage, where I land on my arse with a thump, jarring my coccyx, and to my annoyance, I release a cry of pain.

This Sarkarnii doesn’t give a flying fuck about my pain. Other than the threats he’s been issuing about my bodily safety, anything else he’s said has been incomprehensible, and I’m not even sure the nano-translators are working.

“Nevving female,” Deus growls.

Yep, got that one. Pretty standard for the brief period I’ve known this Sarkarnii.

Darax’s brother.

To say he’s angry is like saying Chihuahuas are angry. He is furious to the point of insanity. It’s not yet clear why, although given he grabbed me by the throat and threatened to disembowel me, it would seem it could be a general underlying rage not directed at me.

I’ve dealt with enough clients of all shapes and sizes to pick up the visual cues around violence. As much as I need to guard against the wrong word said, I also want to probe the edges in order to work out how I can get away.

The part of the ship he’s brought me to doesn’t seem to be well used. The lighting is dim, missing in places, the strips illuminating his tangle of hair and dirt-streaked torso.

He is wearing pants. Thank whatever gods are out there for small mercies.

But he’s giving no quarter, stomping over to me and heaving my up roughly by my arm. “Out,” he snarls.

“I don’t know the way out. I’ve not been here long enough to commit this place to memory,” I retort.

He inhales over me. “Mating,” he rasps.

I’m probably going to be killed by this Sarkarnii, so embarrassment at how I smell shouldn’t be something which sends a flush through my body, but my blushing mechanism hasn’t got the memo about impending doom.

The huge Sarkarnii recoils from me as my cheeks heat. He seems utterly disgusted by my change of color. He is, however, still holding onto my arm, and escape seems unlikely.

Instead he rumbles in his chest, mutters something, and lifts his head, this time cocking it to one side as he listens.

“Look, I don’t know if you can understand me, but this isn’t going to end well for you. Darax will come for me.”

He sneers at the mention of his brother’s name. “Let him come. I want him to see what it’s like to have something he cares for destroyed.”

“Are you forgetting I’m a real, sentient being? I don’t belong to either of you. I am not a possession you can break because he broke something of yours.” I rip my arm free, his claws searing my skin.

“We are not sarkarnlings anymore,” Deus says.

“Well, you’re both behaving like you are.”

He lunges for me, and even though I attempt to dodge him, I’m too slow. He wraps his arm around my neck and slams a huge foot against the wall. It bursts open, hot air flooding in, along with the peppering of the scouring sand.

“Don’t do this,” I force out through rapidly dimming consciousness. “I need to find my friends.”

Deus squeezes a little harder. I’m aware we’re outside. I’m aware he’s growing larger and larger. Briefly I remember Darax’s concern about warriors, claws, and flying, but the tightness around my neck is increasing. Increasing until my vision goes altogether.

In my head, I can see Rosalie and my friends. But I’m getting further and further away from them. My body is aching, my eyes tired, so very tired.

In my head, I can see Darax, and I’m getting further and further away from him.

I want to stay.