Page 6

XYREK

Mating marks? What the frygg?

But that was the only logical explanation. Over the last four days, I had scrutinized every single human aboard my vessel, and none of them had shown markings like Alice and me. That ruled out disease—a theory supported by the healing wand's inability to make them disappear—and neither of us displayed any actual symptoms of sickness.

Yes, I had kept a close eye on Alice, making sure she didn’t notice. Not because I cared. But because I needed to understand what was happening, and she was a part of it. If I also happened to be hyperaware of her scent, her voice, and the way she never shut the frygg up—well, that was purely incidental.

Two days ago, while watching her, one of the other human males had barged into her hard enough to knock her off balance. The violent urge to tear that male’s head from his body had been so overwhelming, I’d had to force myself to walk away to keep from terminating him on the spot. As it was, the urge still burned hot inside me. She hadn’t been hurt; I heard her cussing him out as I retreated to the bridge.

I had never felt violent urges like this toward someone innocent before. The ones I hunted were criminals—the worst of the worst. They were fugitives who had slipped through the cracks of the GTU: evading capture, hiding on planets so dangerous no GTU soldier dared show their face, or walking free thanks to some flaw in the judicial system. Most of the time, surviving loved ones of their victims—people with enough wealth or desperation to take justice into their own hands—hired the Ohrurs to send hunters like me. Unless the bounty was substantial, we didn’t get involved. The Ohrurs didn’t work charity cases. But this? This was something different.

This rage was personal. It was tethered to Alice alone. A compulsion to protect her. To keep her in my sight. To find her when she was out of reach. It was unnatural. Unacceptable.

With a growl, I ran a hand through my hair—so different from the hair in my dreams. That damn dream. Again. Only this one had been different from the others. The same forest. The same clear pond where I always stopped. But this time, before I jumped in, I saw my reflection. And my hair… it had been long. When I ran my fingers through it, it felt right—natural, very different from the short cut I wore now.

I woke up with a pounding headache that hadn’t fully left me since—as if I didn’t have enough shit to deal with.

I needed distance from Alice. Needed to figure this out before I did something I would regret. And I wasn’t about to deal with another round of female hysterics, which I was sure would come if I told her what my comm had already confirmed.

She was my mate. My fated mate.

The absurdity of it made me laugh. A mate had never been part of the plan—never something I wanted or needed. My retirement was within reach, and my future was already mapped out: find the planet from my dreams, settle down, and finally have peace. And nowhere in those plans was there room for a mate.

Of course, I enjoyed female companionship on occasion—preferably for less than a Galactic Standard Time—GST—hour or two. Most definitely not forever.

With a huff, I stomped down the gangway as the ship settled on Morrakbarr’s spaceport, weaving through the milling humans.

"Did we land?"

"Where are we?"

"What’s going on?"

Questions pelted me from every direction.

"Stay!" I barked, glaring them all into silence.

"Is this Astrionis?"

I ignored them. I hadn’t mentioned the change in destination, and I wasn’t about to do so now. They would figure it out soon enough—and good riddance to them. I could hardly wait to have my ship to myself again. But I also had a decision to make. One I’d been avoiding for days. A decision that had everything to do with Alice. I ground my teeth. She was a problem, a complication—a disruption to my carefully controlled existence.

I needed to figure out what to do with her. Leave her here with the others, or take her with me? As irritating as the mating marks were, they were mating marks! That meant something, even to a cold-blooded Space Guardian like me who had never asked for this. I cursed my life. When and why had it become so damn complicated?

I watched a Pronex approaching me, his face twisted in something resembling a grin. I hated Pronex. They were ugly, violent, and unpredictable as a dying star.

"Space Guardian," he greeted, his voice all wrong—too jolly for his black-as-death aura. "I’m Khuf. Moddekdum informed me you have cargo for me."

Cargo . Not humans. Cargo! I bristled. It wasn't that I liked my charges. I didn't. But they were my charges . The moment I had rescued them, I had become responsible for them. For their lives. For their safety. I would be damned if I changed that now.

"How many do you have?" Khuf asked. He was so excited that he was all but rubbing his hands together.

I crossed my arms. "What are your plans for them?" Cursing myself all the while for my sense of responsibility for these humans. Which was in stark contrast to my employer's direct orders. Orders I normally followed without hesitation.

Khuf chuckled. "Oh, they’ll fetch some good credits. Humans are in high demand. The Pandraxians pay handsomely for them. And the Mmuhr'Rhong?" He licked his teeth. "Developed a sweet tooth. The human thigh is a delicacy, you know."

He laughed, oblivious to how close death lingered. I forced myself to stay still. To listen instead of reacting right away. I didn't like where my thoughts wandered, but I had to know, "How long have you and Moddekdum done business?"

"Oh, years. The Ohrurs are nearly as good at trading as the Cryons. With them gone, the Ohrurs are thriving."

Why was he telling me this? And why did I care? Why did this new information sit so wrong with me? The Ohrurs were merchants. I had always known that. They bought and sold cargo. Cargo, not people . I hated that little voice inside me. As if I hadn't already been pondering questions about my employers, I didn't need this added information or the added complications.

"So you’re going to sell them?" I jerked my chin toward the ship.

Khuf clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Moddekdum has already been paid."

My muscles coiled. Not yet . Wait and play it smart . "Can I see what else you have?"

Khuf’s eyes gleamed. "Ah, of course! Looking for a warm body for the journey? Did you test the ones on your ship?"

My skin crawled. I balled my fist, fighting the urge to introduce it to his ugly mug. And I wouldn't stop there.

"Until recently, I was under orders for a rescue mission," I stated flatly.

"Pity. I'm telling you, those females…" he trailed off into deep laughter. Laugh it off. It'll be your last, I promised myself. I didn't have orders to save more humans. Moddekdum had nullified those orders, but the Ohrurs be damned, I wouldn't stand by and watch this pitiful species being auctioned off by the likes of a Pronex. My hand coiled over the handle of my blaster as we approached a hangar not too far from my ship. Two guards stood by the gates, cradling blasters to their chests. When the doors opened, I noticed a handful more guards and the stench of too many bodies cramped together. Straight ahead of me, my eyes fell on an array of cubes stacked on top of each other, blacked out. They were supposed to keep the stench contained, but some must have been leaking.

"You want to see all of them or just the humans?" Khuf asked.

Frygg! Well, you started this, my mind admonished. "All of them."

He opened his comm, and the black film over the cubes lifted, exposing the insides of twenty of them. My stomach turned. Those cages were meant to keep five people at the most, but what was inside at least doubled that number. Two hundred more refugees, my mind calculated. My ship was already at capacity. Unfortunately, seeing those poor creatures crammed into the cubes tugged at my deeply ingrained protective instincts. Not all of them were humans; I noticed a few Pandraxians, Hettita, and even a couple of Moggadesh. Shit, I would rather fly my ship into a sun before I took a Moggadesh aboard it. They would have to stay here. The thought of them fighting with the Mmuhr’Rhong was slightly amusing.

"Which one do you want? Take your time." Khuf offered magnanimously.

"All of them," I answered him, tracking the guards as they made their way through the cages. Now and then, one of them hit his palm against the see-through wall, startling the pitiful inhabitants.

"All of them?" Khuf laughed, irking me because I had promised myself his last outburst had been his last.

"Space Guardian, you are amusing. Do you have that many credits?"

The Ohrurs were more than generous when it came to my spending. My credits were unlimited to buy whatever I needed, and the thought of using their money to purchase from Khuf was actually as tempting as spending a night with two Taysars—the most ethereal being the universe had to offer. But taking down Khuf would be a lot more satisfying.

"You misunderstand me. I'm not paying for them." I informed him.

He opened his mouth for more laughter, but I had endured more than I was willing to take. My only regret was that death came way too swiftly for him when my blaster fire hit. Before his body reached the floor, I eliminated three more of the guards patrolling. Two managed to find cover behind the cages, instantly firing at me.

I threw myself to the ground and rolled until I, too, was covered by a crate. From there, I returned fire. Alerted by the commotion, the two guards from outside stormed in. I had been expecting them. Two well-aimed shots terminated both.

My patience for this fight was running low as my mind threw useless information at me about what I would have to do next. Chase the Moggadesh off, bring the additional nearly two hundred refugees aboard my ship, make sure they get cleaned and fed, and… frygg. I would need to order some supplies. What was supposed to have been a quick trip to Astrionis had turned out longer than anticipated. I wasn't a complete asshole; all these refugees would need things. Clothes, blankets, pillows, comms, food besides the nutrition dispenser…

Yeah, I definitely didn't have the patience for a long, drawn-out fight with these Pronex.

I came out from my cover, blaster blazing, firing at the remaining two hostiles, forcing them to stay behind cover while I jumped on the first crate. It was soundproof, so I didn't hear any screams, not even muffled, but the terrified expressions of the occupants didn't leave much to the imagination. Same with the second crate.

The third brought me above my prey. One tried to scramble, and the other shot at me, but his angle was awkward, and he missed. I terminated him first, then jumped to another crate. The last remaining Pronex fired over his shoulder as he tried to get out of the hangar. He didn't make it.

I retrieved Khuf's fallen comm and deactivated the locks, keeping my blaster trained on the Moggadesh. I told them to scram.

"All you others, I have a ship waiting that will take you to Astrionis, where you will be safe. Or you can stay here. Your choice." Without waiting for an answer or giving the perplexed ex-prisoners a chance to reply, I marched out of the hangar, certain they would follow me. All the way to my ship, I cursed under my breath about the mess I had gotten myself into. I half hoped these new refugees wouldn't follow me, but they were all behind me when I opened my cargo bay.