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Our risk was nothing to what these people embraced. They had no reason to trust us, and every reason not to. I respected their ability to grant us a chance.

The spaces within were confining, and I had no doubt that they had been chosen deliberately. It restricted us to this form. Not that we were not lethal like this—just a little less so.

Another human awaited us within, and he led us deep into the building, to an even smaller room, and a different man.

Drakes were usually excellent at judging character—many living things emitted an aura that we could sense. I therefore knew, immediately, that the intensity and honesty radiating from this person meant he was someone to respect.

Whether he was the leader of the local rebellion cell, or his representative—it did not matter. What mattered was that we were here, and so was he.

When all three of us stopped just inside the door, he did not waste time with pleasantries. “Is it true?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “The serum has finally been perfected. It has already been shipped to the distribution centers. The females that respond genetically will be capable of producing Drake offspring.”

I saw the assertion connect. It was very bad news for his species, and he knew it. The ineffective serum was the only reason the humans still had any freedom at all.

His expression was grim. “What percentage are we looking at?”

“So far, it is the same as before—only 10 percent of injected human females experience a genetic response. Although there is a substantial difference in the end result.” I told him. “But now that they have perfected the serum, the Drolgok scientists are tasked with improving that percentage.”

He grimaced. “So they’re ramping up the program?”

Ramping up? I thought for a moment, and said, “The Drolgoks are working on increasing the genetic anomaly that makes the females compatible. There are already clans that are confiscating the gang harems.”

His mouth twisted. It disgusted me that most Drake clans were willing to exploit and potentially destroy the human species to save their own.

The Raptors had always taken a more diplomatic approach, and it had made us unpopular among many.

Our ruling triad’s mating of a human female had only strengthened their resolve.

We believed there was another way.

“What are you proposing?” the man asked.

“We can reach a compromise. If offered proper incentive, there are sure to be human females that would volunteer to help us. It would mean a slower recovery for my people, but it would ensure that both our species have a future.”

The man stared at me. “Rumor is, there isn’t much left of Raptor Clan. ”

“We are working to bring more clans around to our way of thinking,” I said.

He grimaced. “Considering what Fucq does to anyone who even curses his name, that sounds like a proper pipe dream.”

Human English was an odd language, filled with slang.

I absorbed most once I heard it. The first part did not surprise me, but I had no idea what pipes or dreams had to do with our discussion.

I gleaned that he thought it was impossible.

“Even if we get other clans onside, the progression from that point will not be smooth. There are many clans that will not agree to work with the humans, instead of using them.” I met his gaze. “There might be war.”

He did not fully understand just what that comment meant. The Drakes had not openly fought among themselves for many generations. The female issue, though, was pushing us toward an uncertain future in more ways than one.

His brows dropped lower. “What do you need from us then? We wouldn’t be much help in a Drake conflict.”

“I disagree. We will not stand a chance of making change unless the humans also rise up against the oppressive clans. When the time comes, you must stand ready to assist.”

For a moment, nothing. Finally, he said, “I’ll take this proposal to those that make the decisions. I can’t guarantee they will comply.”

It was as much as I expected at this stage. “Very okay,” I said. “I will return in a month for your answer.”

“Works for me,” he agreed, and gestured to our guide.

The human took us back through the building and left us in the alley.

“So much for that,” Rhodes stated as the door closed behind us.

“You cannot expect them to just commit,” Xandros replied in our own language. “There is a lot at stake.”

“If they do not join us, their species will not survive,” Rhodes growled. “Tell me I am wrong.”

“You are not wrong,” I confirmed. “But Tazier Clan has not yet purged the harems here, nor rounded up all the females before they hit registration age. Once that commences—and it will—the situation will take on new depth for the local rebels. I am confident they will concur.”

“They will,” Xandros stated with admirable enthusiasm as we moved through the alleyways.

We paused when we approached the main street.

“You need to split,” Xandros said in English.

Rhodes eyed him. “I am assuming you are referring to me leaving you now.” As usual, he refused to speak in a human tongue unless absolutely necessary. His gaze moved to me. “I will meet you two at the hopper.”

“Try to have rapid feet,” Xandros told him.

“I think the term is “not to drag your feet”,” I corrected.

“I am, as always, faster than you,” Rhodes rumbled, having understood it anyway.

Xandros glanced at me. “Are we going to track that tasty human female?”

Rhodes raised a brow. “What female?”

“She was beautiful,” Xandros purred. “With incredible eyes and a lovely ass to fondle.”

Now I rolled my eyes. “She was cloaked. We barely saw her ass.”

At almost the same moment, Rhodes growled, “You tagged a female? Is that why you were late?”

“Late? We were not late,” Xandros protested. “You should have seen her?—”

I interrupted the impending argument. “Okay, enough.” I turned to Xandros and said in English, “No matter how theoretically delectable her ass is, we are not tracking a human female in Tazier territory. I should not have tagged her.” To Rhodes, I said in Drakonian, “We will meet you at the hopper.”

Both looked as though they would say more on the matter. Instead, Rhodes growled and strode away down an alley at right angles to the one we were in, while I led Xandros in the other direction .

It was now fully dark, with the streetlights fizzing in an unsettling manner. When Xandros’s stride hitched, I followed his gaze to a small, round form clad in moth-eaten bits and pieces—a Vrep, scurrying on its four legs to wherever it would spend the night.

Before I could stop him, Xandros had jogged up to it. The tiny alien spun around, eyestalks waving uneasily.

“Do you have another—er—carrot?” he asked.

How he knew it was the same Vrep, I had no idea. They were everywhere on these streets. But the Vrep dug a tentacle into its voluminous pockets and emerged with yet another banana.

Moments later, Xandros rejoined me, lustily smacking. My brother almost never stopped eating.

“I can give you some,” he said. Which, knowing Xandros, was a very generous offer. He waved the half-consumed fruit in my face.

“Keep it,” I told him.

He crammed it in his mouth and pitched the peel as we walked through the downtown area and then into a more industrial zone near the old train tracks. Once there, we climbed up onto an even more ancient brick building.

With a sense of immense relief, we pulled off our cloaks.

I stretched my wings from their cramped folded position along my spine. As they began to expand in size, I embraced my dragon.

It was always a painful experience, shifting from our humanoid form to that of dragon. Bones and muscles expanded, sending agony shooting through me. But it was a familiar thing, and welcome.

We were born to fly.

Xandros shook the last red-hued scale into place and stretched out his orange-tinged wings. His blue eyes glowed with gemstone luminosity in the light of the rising moon.

Most of our clan swung to redheads and blonds. I shook the last red-gold scale into place and spread my golden wings.

We scooped up our cloaks and took to the sky, flapping hard to get straight up into the clouds. From there we navigated, using our people’s natural orientation to the magnetic field, dropping down below the obscuring layers once in a while to visually check on our progress.

“Nice night for flying,” Xandros noted, and executed a rather lazy barrelroll. Painted silver in the moonlight, vapor trailed off the edge of his wings.

I was more content when flying than at any other time. Up here, in the clouds, was where I belonged.

The landhopper was sitting in a small clearing along the riverbank.

There was an official spaceport within the confines of the Tazier compound, and flights in and out were monitored, but we had parked outside the zone.

Unless the Taziers had reason to expand their surveillance, we should have escaped detection.

Rhodes beat us there. Once he set a goal for himself, nothing else existed for him. He was a driven kind of Drake.

He was already in two-legged form and standing with hands on narrow hips. Even our humanoid bodies tended to have incredible upper musculature, enhanced by the flying we did as beasts. That his cloak was under Rhodes’s arm rather than clothing his nakedness did not faze him in the least.

We were accustomed to such, of course. Humans, however, were not. Even though there should not be anyone to see us other than the local wildlife, it was a habit I would rather not encourage.

“Put your cloak on,” I said as I shifted to my humanoid form.

Rhodes glared at me before complying. “I was about to leave without you.”

My dark brother had an equally dark sense of humor. That is, not one at all. He was serious.

“No way you have been here longer than a few minutes,” Xandros stated as he finished his shift.

“How many barrelrolls did you do?” Rhodes asked.

Xandros peeled his human lips back from his teeth. “Only a few.”

The problem with brothers is that they knew each other far too well .

Xandros stopped to stare up into the trees. I followed his gaze, to see a flash of blue.

“Blue jay,” he stated in human English.

If you paid any attention at all, you soon realized that our hulking brother preferred sniffing flowers to pounding his enemies, barefoot or not.

“Appropriately named,” I noted.

“Relative of the gray jay,” he said. “Which is also known as a whisky jack.”

I humored him. “They named a bird after an alcoholic beverage?”

He snorted, the crisp air causing his breath to steam. “Maybe the beverage was named after the bird.”

Humans were a quirky species, it certainly was possible, considering they had named one of their brews after a large quadruped.

“It is just a bird,” growled Rhodes.

I headed off another edgy brotherly commentary. “Load up.” I reached to hit the ramp button.

The second my finger pressed it, the world around us lit up. Something fastened to the underside of the hopper exploded with a dull “whump” sound. Xandros yelled something incoherent, but Rhodes’s assessment was dead on.

“Stunner!”

I twisted away from the concussive wave, but it swept over us…

Taking my consciousness with it.