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Cylo scowled. What he’d heard of Earthian females was on par with the punch but not the plummet. They fought even when it was foolhardy to do so.

“I see you plan to die this day,” he gritted out. “How did the second one die, Geffa?”

“I told you—”

Cylo stabbed the blade an inch above the Maloidian’s heart. “How?” he whispered, bringing his mouth to the male’s ear.

Geffa gasped, clutching his chest as blood spilled from between his fingers. With a perforated lung, he would live. “A soldier pushed her out.”

“So why hide this?” Cylo frowned. “What do you gain by keeping this from me?” He paced, slicing glances at Geffa with every turn. “Unless she was not the second to die. How many before her? After her?”

He clenched his jaw. This disrespect for life grated him, especially when each female lost meant an Etterian male not saved from the void consuming their souls.

The lifemate bond known as the Ethera wouldn’t be triggered, and no damu would be born to save their species.

Perhaps Maloidians and Yithians killed these females on purpose?

Malo, no doubt, understood what motivated them.

Cylo did, as well, to some extent. But deep down, there were hidden triggers that most were oblivious to. Even him.

“How many?” he roared, slapping the table.

Still clutching his wound, Geffa jerked back, his skin paling to a giyua yellow. “Six…teen.”

Fury exploded through Cylo. He gripped the handle, on the verge of plunging the dagger into the male’s chest again. This time, he wouldn’t miss.

“Names, now, or you die squealing like the migtak you are.” Cylo smoothed his lips, hiding the derision. He was failing, his lack of control unusual.

“But…” Geffa stuttered. “Names of the Yithians? Of the females?”

“The ship, its destination, how many were on board when we found you?” Cylo leaned in, bringing the shadows with him.

Geffa pursed his lips then muttered, “ Zannwar , Mascroba, twenty-seven.”

Cylo paused. A standard Yithian ship carried a crew of twenty. “Why seven extra?”

“I do not know,” Geffa said. “I am not curious about their staffing.”

“Do you know nothing about Yithian protocol?” Cylo snapped.

“No, only the bargain matters.” Geffa raised his chin in defiance.

Cylo snorted. “And yet you gained nothing from this.”

The Maloidian winced. “So it seems.”

“Either you are the worst Maloidian at negotiating, or you are lying. Shall I disparage your name and that of your family, for surely, their skills are now in question?”

Geffa spluttered. “We are excellent—”

“Ah, so you are lying to me again.” Cylo flicked out the dagger and sliced off a tentacle.

While Geffa screamed with his hand pressed to his scalp, Cylo tossed the squirming length onto the table.

“I will die at your hands, as you say.” Geffa sniffed as if offended. “Etterians do not deceive though this is not what I would call honorable.”

Cylo grinned at the male gathering his courage around him.

“Telling you anything more will only delay the inevitable.” Geffa glared. “So…kill me and be done with it.”

“Oh?” Cylo arched an eyebrow. “You die when I decide you do and not a moment sooner.”

“I will not speak under torture.” Geffa’s voice was strong, but he dipped his gaze, not meeting Cylo’s.

“I grow weary of this,” Malo muttered. “Kill him. Inform the two Yithians of his death.”

“As you command,” Cylo said and thrust the dagger into the Maloidian’s heart.

He died on a gasp.

“Seven extra? Mm, that has me intrigued.” Trav scooped Geffa’s slumped body off the chair and carried him out.

“Could be visiting dignitaries or operatives.” Malo held out his palm for his dagger.

Cylo handed it to him. “Like the Yithian prince Lady Quin killed?”

“Indeed,” Malo said. “You did well, Cylo.”

With a bow of his head, he held the Hallow’s door open for Malo. “Will you be monitoring the Yithians’ reaction to the news?”

“Yes, from the comm.” Malo nudged his head in the comm room’s direction. “Task Trav to do the interrogation. I do believe you have an asteroid to mine.”

Cylo fought to smother a smile. “I do.”

“Thought so.” Malo chuckled and sauntered off.

Cylo bolted for the common, praying the opportunity wasn’t lost or that Tias had good news for him. He burst in and weaved between the males gathered to reach the data officer’s side.

The expression Tias leveled on Cylo dampened any joy he’d relished seconds ago.

“I am sorry, my battle-bond. I lost the drone.” Tias lowered his chin to his chest.

“It happens,” Cylo said even though he wanted to rail at the universe. Whenever anger consumed him, he was never to reveal it. Malo expected stoicism, control, self-discipline—all three Cylo had abandoned this day.

“I deployed another and got you this…” Tias waved a palm-sized gold nugget.

Cylo grinned. “I can do much with this. My thanks, Tias.”

The male laughed. “I am glad. There is still time if you wish to mine more.” Tias slapped him on the back. “With two drones.”

“That would be incredible.” Cylo kept his body rigid when he ached to bounce on his toes. “Let us prep them for launch.”