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T he mating mix has nowhere to go. It burns within me, setting my flight lungs on fire. My accelerant sacs full of unused accelerant make me belch up fire every nova-minute.

I’d consider myself a mess if I could think straight.

I cannot.

All I can think about is my Kerra. The need to find her, the need to get to her, to have her in my arms, to scent her skin, her hair, all of her.

“Lord Darax.” Dalat risks an interruption and gets a roar.

I open my wings, beating them wildly before landing a mere fang’s bite away from him.

“What. Is. It?” I snarl. “I have to find my mate.”

Dalat doesn’t avoid my gaze like so many of my warriors might. Instead he takes life and limb into his control and places a hand on my shoulder.

“Lord Darax,” he says quietly, “the rut was always a difficult time for any male. I’m sure your lessons taught you it was a great thing, an important thing, even a dangerous thing, but none will have prepared you fully for it.”

“My rut is my business,” I rasp, my throat hoarse, a raging thirst rushing through me.

Dalat hands me a goblet. I down it in a single gulp. Ale-wine, cool and refreshing.

“How did you know?”

A tiny smile quirks the corner of Dalat’s mouth. “Some of us have been in rut before, although not requited,” he says. “The thirst is real.”

I toss the goblet over my shoulder. “Have these quarters searched for any indication of where the Veseli might have taken the humans. I want details on Deus’s tracker.”

Dalat winces slightly, handing me a vid-pad. “He removed it shortly after leaving the Silver Star , my Lord.”

“Nev,” I swear to myself.

I thought he might not recall having it fitted, given he was in the depths of his madness at the time, but it appears I was wrong.

“Which port did he exit?”

“He didn’t. He smashed his way out of an old sealed airlock.”

“And Kerra?”

“It appears he took the female with him.” Dalat bows his head. “But all is not lost, my Lord.”

“Nevving right it isn’t.” I snap my wings back, my tail remaining shifted as it always does and my lungs expelling more smoke than I think I ever have. “Deus doesn’t get to have her, whatever he believes. Kerra is MINE.”

“There’s something else,” Dalat says.

“What now?”

“Lord Dante.”

“What about that nevver?”

“He wants to assist.”

“I do not require his nevving assistance. I’ll only end up missing an eye,” I growl.

“Fine way to treat an offer of assistance,” Dante says, strolling into the room as if the sector belongs to him.

“Who let his nevver into my sector?”

“The airlock was open.” Dante is systematically picking items up and dropping them, at least until he comes to the food tossed onto the floor. “And since when did I need an invitation?”

“Since you shut down all my systems for a nova-day after you claimed to be assisting with the back up in the primary fuel cell and caused an explosion,” I respond, watching with horrible fascination as he tastes the spoiled food, cocks his head to one side, and scoops up a handful to chew on.

“It took nova-weeks for my crew to sort it out.”

“You should have asked me,” Dante says, unconcerned, as he stops in front of the scratched symbol and contemplates it. “My crew would have dealt with it in half a nova-hour. But you did insist on throwing me out.”

“Do you blame me? I had to move all my warriors to any spare ships in order they could have a meal and an aquium. It was a logistical nightmare.”

“You’re the warlord who insists on being in charge of supplies,” Dante says, looking down at the food in his hand. “And you do well out of it.”

I don’t even bother to hide my growl, tail flicking as I stalk the nevving Sarkarnii. Dante might look like he’s not paying attention, but he ducks my first blow easily.

“Do you want my help to find your mate, deal with the Veseli, and find the missing females or not?” he asks, dancing away from me with easy flicks of his tail, his wings shifting out as he licks the last of the food from his claws.

“You are the last creature in the universe I’d choose to assist me,” I growl.

“What if I have some information which might be of use?” Dante suggests.

He’s not quick enough this time. I have him pinned against the wall, my claws at his throat. All he does is snort out a stream of smoke.

Dante doesn’t even struggle. He simply gives me a dead-eyed stare.

“You want to know where your brother went? I know,” he says, his voice not changed at all by my grip on him. Dante grins. He also drools a little because regardless of his indifference, I am holding him tightly. It drips onto my hand.

I let him go.

“You are foul, Dante. You know that don’t you?” I grab a rag and wipe my hand clean.

“It’s why you tolerate me, Darax,” he says.

“Tell me where my brother is.”

“You’re not going to like it,” Dante says, his voice weirdly melodious.

“Nev it, why can’t you keep off the narcotics?”

He simply grins at me, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth while he massages his neck with the other. Smoke streams from his nostrils and his tail twitches in agitation.

“Where is he?”

“The lost sector. He has a place there. It’s where he put her body.”

I hang my head, far too many violent thoughts running through it, all of which I have to gain control of before I do anything.

“It’s why you need me,” he continues. “I’m the only one authorized to enter.”

I do not want to have to rely on anyone to save my mate, least of all Dante. He’s a loose pulsar cannon at best. At worst he’ll get me killed, he’ll get Kerra killed, and he’ll somehow, because Dante always finds a way, make things explode.

Throwing my lot in with him will be suicide.

But what other choice do I have?