Chapter 20

Chapter 19

The corridor stretched out before them, the stone walls seeming to close in on either side as they advanced. They turned the corner, and the space opened up, the doors of the training hall looming over them. He paused for a moment to look. He'd only seen them once before, when he was first bought here. The sight of the massive, intricately carved panels brought back memories he'd rather forget.

Memories of his home, of the great hall of his clan where he had spent so many hours training and sparring with his brother, being taught the skills of an imperial warrior by their training master. The architecture there had been similar… massive beams and soaring ceilings that had stood for over a thousand years since his clan's ancestors had claimed the planet.

The doors here were the same style, using the same construction techniques—ones that hadn't been used for over a millennium. His brow snapped together. Just how old was Parac'Norr? How many generations of Izaeans had walked these halls, had lived and fought and died within these walls?

Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the present. On the task at hand. He could admire the stonework later. If they survived.

"Heads up." His voice was low and urgent as he held up a fist to slow the group's advance. "We're approaching the training hall doors. Stay sharp, and be ready for anything."

The warriors behind him tensed, their weapons rising to the ready. The air crackled with energy as the group fanned out into a defensive formation.

He motioned to Sy and Tor, and together the three of them stalked forward toward the door. He stretched his senses out again, scanning for any hint of danger, any hint of movement on the door. They were out in the open, vulnerable. All it would take was for one of those aliens to push open the door and?—

"We would dessstroy him," his Rage whispered sibilantly. "I have been watching, obssserving like our little mate does. Thessse creaturesss are not as quick as we are, and now we are threeeee, they ssstand no chance."

"I thought you'd abandoned me," he told it, his gaze locked on to the doors in front of him. A new instinct told him just the right amount of pressure to push off with from his left foot to give him the power to leap and reach the door. And how to twist into the air just right to slam his other foot into the wood and make the doors crash inward, tearing them off their hinges.

"Not abandoned. Sssaving ssstrength for when needed."

He snorted, his amusement filling his mind. "You mean you're just taking the easy ride?"

"Impertinent biped."

As they drew closer to the doors his focus trained on them. His senses were stretched to their limits so much that the instant the door cracked open, he sliced a hand through the air. The ferals on either side of him froze, the only movement their lips curling back from their teeth. He heard a soft snick as Tor's claws extended another couple of inches.

Banic gathered himself, ready to leap, as the blunt and brutal nose of an assault rifle was shoved out the crack in the door. But the face behind it wasn't tusked. It was bloodied, but not tusked.

"Hold!" He shoved his hand in the air, closing it into a fist. "They're friendly!"

The hard expression of the Izaean holding the rifle didn't alter. For a guess, they already knew the enemy could impersonate Izaeans. More of them pushed out of the door, fanning out with their weapons at the ready and their faces grim with determination.

They were battered, their skin bloodied, and several had crude field dressings over wounds. But their eyes were hard as they watched the approaching group.

"Hold!" the nearest called out, his voice ringing through the corridor like a warning bell. "Identify yourselves, or be cut down where you stand!"

Banic stepped forward, his hands held out to his sides to show he was… well, not harmless—no way would he ever be harmless—but at the very least that he didn't mean them any harm.

"It's okay! He's a feral!" one of the defenders called back over his shoulder to those in the hall before turning to look at Banic. "They can't impersonate ferals… Thank the gods you're here."

Banic nodded as he stepped forward. He swept a quick glance over them, assessing their condition. Like all of them, they looked tired and beat up but determined. "What's the situation?"

The warrior shook his head. "Not good," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "We've been holding them off as best we can, but they've been coming in waves, trying to break through."

Banic's jaw clenched.

"Okay, we need to get everyone inside," he said, his voice brooking no argument. "Regroup, fortify our position. And get a distress call out to the northern garrison."

The warrior nodded and stood aside as two others pushed open the door to allow the group to file inside.

"Already on it," he said, gesturing to the corner of the hall where a group of Izaeans huddled around a gaping hole in the floor. "We've got a team working on the comms now."

Banic gave a curt nod of approval, his gaze sweeping around the hall. It was controlled chaos. Warriors rushed back and forth, carrying weapons and supplies as they dealt with casualties. A corner of the room was serving as a makeshift morgue, bodies covered in sheets.

"So they can't impersonate ferals?" he asked, his arms folded over his chest. "You know this for a fact?"

The other male nodded toward the sheet-covered bodies in the corner of the room. "Reev got hurt in the first attack when they took most of the younglings, and he turned feral. We saw one try and imitate him, but it couldn't do the eyes. Did everything else but couldn't get the eyes right."

He nodded, filing that information away as Zeke joined him. Tor and Sy were still at the door, ushering people through.

"They can impersonate anyone apart from a feral," he brought Zeke up to speed. "And they've taken most of the younglings."

Exchanging a glance with Zeke, he saw the same realization dawn in the other male's eyes.

"What's the betting that the aliens taking the kids here are the same ones attacking the transports?" he asked, his voice low and grim. "And that's got to be how they're picking up the transports as well. Just ordering them to fly into their hangar bays."

"It makes sense," Zeke growled, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Those transports are crewed by experienced officers. They'd be difficult to fool. But if they can impersonate the prince or any of us, we have to assume they have some kind of cloaking technology. That could extend to their ships as well."

Banic nodded. "That would explain a lot. The way they've been able to move so freely, to strike without warning..."

He turned to watch the door. The group was still straggling in, but then there were no more, Sy and Tor bringing up the rear.

"Where is Beth?"

His head whipped around. Perhaps he'd missed spotting her in the group of children. He strode toward them, pushing Izaeans stupid enough to get underfoot out of the way.

But she wasn't there, the kids looking up at him with wide eyes. He whirled around, scanning the hall. She wasn't among the survivors. She wasn't here.

His heart seized in his chest. She was gone.

Whirling around, he glared at Kal, his eyes blazing with a fury that made the young Izaean step back in fear.

"Where is she? You were supposed to be watching her!"

Kal's face paled.

"I...I don't know," he stammered. "One minute she was there, and the next..."

Banic's hands curled into fists at his sides, his claws digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. They had her. He just knew it. They had his precious female… the mate who was even now, carrying his young.

He wanted to roar his rage to the heavens, to tear the stronghold apart stone by stone until he found her. But he couldn't. He had to work smart about this, and quickly, if he had any hope of finding her alive. He forced himself to take a deep breath, pushed the fear and the fury down, and focused on the task at hand.

"We have to find her," he growled. "We have to bring her back. Now. They cannot be allowed to keep her. To harm her."

Zeke nodded, his expression grim.

"Agreed," he said, his hand tightening on the hilt of his combat daggers. He'd acquired a second from somewhere along with a combat rifle slung across his back. "But we can't just go charging off into the unknown. We need a plan."

Banic's jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth would shatter. "We split up. Teams of two, each one led by a feral. We search every inch of this place until we find her."

Zeke nodded, his expression tight with resolve.

"This lot?" he asked, looking around the hall.

"They stay here," Banic said, raising his voice so it carried. "Fortify the hall, send out the distress call. And pray to every god in the universe that help arrives soon."

The scarred veteran looked up and nodded, his expression grim. "Understood. We'll hold the line until you return."

"See that you do," he growled, his voice low and deadly. "Because if she manages to get back here and you let anything happen to her..."

Without another word, he turned and strode toward the doors, his Rage pouring into his veins and his mind fixed on one thing and one thing only—finding his mate, bringing her back to safety, and making sure nothing and no one ever took her from him again.

He didn't care that he was feral. That most of the rest of the planet would happily put him down like the monster they believed him to be.

She was his, that was all there was to it, and he would find her. He would bring her home.

Or he would die trying.