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HAWK

Bad. This was volcanic eruption inside a crashing spaceship bad.

The air didn’t just crackle—it felt thick enough to choke on, heavy with the heat rolling off the cracked earth and the sudden, predatory weight that slammed down with Plaktish’s words.

We'll take your humans as payment.

Audacity wasn’t a strong enough word. It was a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs, leaving a ringing silence behind the raw demand.

Beside me, Vega was a live wire. I didn’t just see her rage; I felt it humming off her skin, a dangerous vibration that tightened the knot already forming low in my gut. Her knuckles were bone-white on the hilt of the knife she gripped, her whole body coiled so tight I swear I could hear the scream building in her throat.

She was going to launch herself—her stupid, loyal, suicidal self—straight into those Ignarath claws. And then some of us were going to die. Including me, since my stupid ass was going to have to defend her.

But before the thought fully formed, before Vega could explode, something shifted. A pressure change. A wall of granite-gray muscle didn’t just move—it materialized between us and the sneering Ignarath leader.

Khorlar.

A blur of shadow and scale, faster than anything that massive had a right to be, planting himself like a mountain. His wings flared—a ripple of dark membrane—but it was enough. Enough to cast a shadow that felt suddenly cold despite the twin suns beating down.

My own hand spasmed, fingers brushing the familiar hardness of the knife at my thigh. What I wouldn't do for a blaster. Or a gun.

Around us, the air vibrated. Drakarn trainees shifted, the scrape of claws on scorched rock impossibly loud in the sudden quiet, weapons half-drawn despite Plaktish’s flimsy negotiation flag. Across the clearing, Terra’s eyes met mine—a grim, silent warning: hold .

My gaze locked on Khorlar, narrowed, dissecting. Every survival instinct screamed danger . The Drakarn were powerful. Alien. In the months since we'd crashed on Scalvaris, I kept thinking I was used to them. And then …

Yeah, there was no getting used to seven-foot-tall dragon men. And Khorlar was taller than most. Bigger than most. I tried to tell my body that was scary and not sexy.

And now was not the time for that argument.

What had he thought when he overheard Vega's plans? What would he do ? She was getting more reckless, desperate. I was afraid she was going to act alone if one of us didn't find a way to make her see sense. And if it came down to the Drakarn knocking that sense into her?

She was screwed.

But watching him now … immovable, radiating a fury so contained it felt like it might crack the air around him … something else stirred. Not trust. But a grudging … acknowledgment? Recognition? The sheer, overwhelming force was, for once, pointed away from us.

And that growl. The one that had ripped from his chest when Plaktish made his demand. It hadn't been calculated. It had been torn from somewhere deep, somewhere primal. Possessive. The sound had vibrated low, not just in the air, but somewhere deep in my own bones.

And, well, other places. Places that had no right to be acknowledged on the battlefield.

Khorlar wanted to protect us . Me —Plaktish’s gaze had snagged on me, oily and appraising, right before he spoke. The realization sent a bizarre, cold trickle down my spine, chased by an unwanted flush of heat.

“You will take nothing ,” Khorlar snarled again, the words less spoken, more carved into the charged air. Low. Menacing. His fangs were fully bared now, wickedly sharp. The heat radiating off him wasn't just the planet; it was focused rage.

Plaktish didn’t flinch, but his greasy smile stretched tighter, thinning his lips. I saw it—the flicker of calculation in those yellow eyes. He’d prodded the stone beast and gotten a tremor he hadn’t banked on. He saw the crack in the granite control.

“Careful, Stone Fist,” Plaktish purred, the sound like oil sliding over gravel, meant to unnerve. “Hostilities would be … unfortunate. I am proposing a simple solution.”

“Demanding another clan’s people …,” Khorlar bit out the word people like it tasted strange, “is not a solution. It is insult.”

Each syllable was flint striking steel. He surged forward another half-step, crowding Plaktish, the sheer difference in their bulk suddenly overwhelming. Beside his comrades, Plaktish was overwhelming. Next to Khorlar, he looked almost small. “You have no claim. No evidence. Take your accusations to Scalvaris. Appeal to the Blade Council. If you dare .”

My breath caught in my throat. I could almost picture what would happen if this went wrong—Plaktish calling the bluff, the roar, the clash. Vega was practically vibrating beside me now, radiating pure kill-intent. My hand clamped firmly down on her arm. A silent, desperate hold .

We had the numbers, but most of the Drakarn with us were trainees, and new trainees at that. A fight now could not go well.

Shockingly, Plaktish hesitated. His gaze flickered—Khorlar’s immovable presence, the wary readiness of the trainees, the small knot of human women armed with knives and sheer, stubborn fury. Weighing the odds.

A fight here? Against Khorlar? Not a sure thing. Provoking Scalvaris without solid proof? Bad politics, even for an Ignarath snake.

I wasn't positive of the dynamics. This was so far from Earth. But people were people, even when they weren't human.

The slimy smile resurfaced, colder this time, dead in the eyes. “Very well, Stone Fist. Your … protectiveness … is noted.” He spat the word like poison. “We will appeal. The High Council expects satisfaction.”

One last look swept over us—over me .

It felt like something crawling under my training leathers, leaving a trail of slime. My fingers ached for my gun, a sharp, physical yearning to wipe that look off his face. I forced my hand open, palm sweating, forced my breathing into a semblance of evenness.

Reaction equals death. But the image … oh, the image was satisfying.

With sharp, angry beats of powerful wings, the Ignarath launched themselves upward, kicking dust and grit into our faces. Five dark silhouettes against the blinding double suns. They circled once—a final, contemptuous assessment—then banked sharply, heading for the jagged silhouette of the cliffs etched against the horizon.

The tension didn’t break. It just … shifted. Became something heavier, colder.

“Break camp!” Khorlar’s voice wasn’t just a command; it was a physical force, shattering the brittle silence. Absolute. No room for anything but obedience.

He pivoted, his dark gaze sweeping over the trainees, then snagging on us. On me. “We return to Scalvaris. Now .” He stabbed a thick, clawed finger at a younger Drakarn, her scales like polished night. “Bryshe! Fly ahead. Warn the Council. An Ignarath delegation approaches. They're claiming raids. Demanding recompense.” He paused, his voice dropping, hardening. “They want the humans.”

Bryshe nodded. Then she launched herself skyward, a powerful downbeat of wings catching a thermal, soaring away with a grace that punched me right in the chest.

I watched her go, my eyes tracking her ascent until she was a disappearing speck against the harsh, unforgiving glare.

And the ache hit me. Physical. A hollow space under my ribs, a phantom weight in my hands that should have been a flight stick. God, the sky . Rushing past, the world tilting below, the sheer freedom of it. Missing it felt like missing a limb, a constant, dull throb under the surface of everything.

Being grounded here … it was like being buried alive.

But there were no planes on Scalvaris. No gliders. No way to take to the sky if you weren't born with wings.

I shook my head, forcing the feeling down, locking it away. No time. Checklist. Water. Rations. Medkit. Knife secure? Yes. Survival mode engaged. Automatic. Efficient.

I knelt, hands moving mechanically, securing the straps on my pack. Keep busy. Don't think.

Don't feel .

Then a shadow fell over me.

My muscles went rigid. Every nerve ending screamed. I didn’t need to look. The sheer presence was enough, a weight pressing down on the air. And the scent … faint, almost scrubbed clean by the wind, but there.

Ozone and hot stone. Khorlar.

Was this it? The dressing down? The warning about Vega? About the Ignarath looking at me like a piece of meat? His face, when I finally risked a glance up, was carved granite. Unreadable. As always.

He didn't speak. Just stood there. Watching me. The silence stretched, thin and tight. Then, he bent, a slow, deliberate movement, his massive frame blocking the harsh sunlight. His clawed hand reached down.

My own hand flew to my knife hilt. Pure reflex. As if I had a shot against a monster like him. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

But he wasn’t attacking. His claws—sharp, scarred, lethally practical—closed around something small and metallic glinting in the dust near my boot. My multi-tool. It must have fallen.

Without a word, he straightened and held it out.

His hand hung in the air between us. Large. Rough-scaled. Warmth radiated from it, surprisingly intense. The gesture was … nothing. Simple. Neutral. Just my tool, held steady.

My breath hitched. Hesitantly, numbly, I reached out. My fingers brushed against his scales. Rougher than they looked. And hot. Like stone left under a desert sun. A tiny shock, sharp and distinct, jumped between us. Static electricity. Had to be.

His eyes—yellow depths, slitted pupils narrowing slightly—met mine. Just for a second. An eternity. Nothing readable there. Utterly alien.

Then he straightened fully, turned without a sound, and stalked away to bark orders at the trainees.

Leaving me kneeling in the dust, multi-tool clutched tight in my suddenly trembling hand, the ghost of that warmth, that unexpected jolt, still singing under my skin.

He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t threatened. He’d just … picked up my tool.

What in the seven hells was that ?

The ground felt unsteady beneath my knees. The distrust was still there, cold and hard in my gut. But now … now it had company. A swirling, confusing eddy of … something else. Something I didn’t have a name for.

God damn it, this couldn't be good.