Chapter 35

THIRTY-FIVE

Dragek felt it in every fiber of his being.

The moment they were spat out of the wormhole, his consciousness was forcibly dragged back into the cold, harsh light of the present, away from Jade and her blissful human female softness.

Really, he could have died content in her presence. Her aura had become so beautiful.

Such a contrast from the brittle anger and fear she'd projected when he'd found her in that underground mine.

He was elated that he'd been able to experience her again, even if it was just for a sharp, sweet moment.

A deep groan escaped him as he realized the extent to which he was ravaged by the Mating Fever. This was the effect she had on him. He hadn't even physically touched her, and this was what happened?

Only their minds and souls had met.

His body was primed. His senses were more heightened than ever. Dark energy swirled inside him, threatening to consume him.

His claws were out.

That had never happened before. He'd never lost control of his own body to this extent.

And there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

No. That wasn't entirely true. Revolutions of training had given him the ability to exercise intense self-control—well, except for when he was with her. He could use the energy to fuel his ka'qui. He could become better at the art of qim than ever before. He would sneak up on that Amun so swiftly and silently that the bastard would never know what had hit him.

He would equal—or maybe even surpass—Ashrael.

And he would play his part in securing the precious cargo of that tearaway ship. Jade would want him to do that. She would be proud of him.

He wanted to please her, to be worthy in her eyes.

With the amount of blood on his hands, he could at least do that much.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully retracted his claws and glanced around the cabin. The cruiser was a smaller model designed for stealth and speed. The sort of craft that might take an elite force deep into unfamiliar territory. Crurix, it was called.

Tarak had been right—as usual. The journey through the wormhole had been surprisingly smooth. With his sixth sense, Dragek and Ashrael felt it more than the others, but the discomfort was only temporary. It was a pressure—building in one's head and eyeballs—tension rippling across the body, a million pin-footed insects crawling over his skin.

Then, the best reward of all—seeing her again—before he returned to the present.

And the imminent mission.

Ashrael sat across from him in a standard flight chair. The seats were arranged along the wall and equipped with safety harnesses for turbulent conditions. Tarak and the First Division soldiers had accompanied them, spreading themselves out around the cabin. There were four of them in total, including Tarak. The big one was called Kalan, and the mildly sarcastic one was Rykal. Then there was Kail—silent and intimidating, with ceremonial scars decorating his face.

Two Silent Ones.

Four First Division warriors, including the former general himself.

Tarak wasn't fucking around, was he?

Ashrael gave him a knowing glance but said nothing. If any of them had noticed his momentary slide into the void, they didn't say a word.

"You know what's weird?" Rykal broke the silence, his bright eyes gleaming in the dim light. For some reason, Dragek got the sense they were warm-hued, like the highlights in Jade's hair.

Now, when had he ever gotten a sense of hue before? Was this her doing?

Tch. Did everything have to come back to her, even when the atmosphere was tense like this?

Apparently, it did. He couldn't get her out of his mind, and he didn't want to, either. He'd told her to hold onto the tendril of his existence for as long as she could, and he swore he could feel her intangible presence deep within his soul.

She was his.

He would never let her go.

It was deeper than just the Mating Fever. This was primal. It went beyond the limits of mere attraction. Something in the very core of his soul called to her.

"What's weird?" Kalan humored Rykal, his deep voice spearing through the morass of Dragek's thoughts.

He turned his attention to the warriors.

Their auras were taut with anticipation. The mood in the cabin might be calm right now, but Dragek could sense the pent- up energy simmering beneath the surface. Every single one of these warriors was itching for a fight.

He knew it for what it was because he felt it, too.

Violence was in their blood. The Empire had burned it into their very souls, and that was never going to change.

"Well, Enki's on that ship, and the last comm he sent, he said that the humans didn't appear as afraid as they should be."

"Could be all kinds of reasons for that," Kalan replied. "They've been captives for a long time. They could be drugged. Brainwashed. Tricked. Knowing how our enemies operate, they'd be more scared of us than their masters."

"Hm." Rykal shrugged. He might appear nonchalant on the surface, but Dragek sensed disquiet in his aura. "Well, it doesn't really matter, anyway. We'll have them soon. What I want to know is where in the Nine Hells this Kazharan character thinks he's taking them. An abandoned ice planet? They don't even have proper attire for the humans. Does he understand how quickly they can freeze?"

"He knows something," Ashrael said quietly. "We're far from any meaningful form of civilization, and places that have been touched by the Zor can hide all kinds of surprises."

"Oh? Since when have you been the expert on Zor lore?"

Ashrael smiled cryptically. "I'm a keeper of secrets now."

"What do you mean?" Dragek broke his silence, unable to help himself. Ashrael's manner surprised him so much. The Silent One seemed almost… humorous.

"The entire contents of the hidden library beneath the destroyed Palace of Arches… it now belongs to me. Some of the things I've found in those tomes cause me not to be able to sleep."

" You?"

"Even me."

The one called Kalan let out a soft snort. In the corner, Kail was minding his own business, stone-faced and seemingly unaffected by their conversation. Rykal was frowning.

Tarak was as unreadable as ever, but his scrutiny was on all of them, all at once. Nothing escaped him, did it?

Dragek clung fiercely to the remnant of Jade's sweet, delicate presence. Neither she nor any of the humans were capable of imagining the horrors that existed in the deeper Universe.

Now, he fully understood why they had to be protected at all costs.

He turned to Tarak. "That's why you're going personally, isn't it? Why we're all here. What exactly do you know?"

"Only that things aren't always as they appear. But you, of all people, should know that very well by now. Follow my orders, katach. As long as you do that, everything will fall into place."

Dragek nodded. He desperately wanted to believe that Tarak had it all under control—some grand plan that would account for all variables.

If anyone in the Universe was capable of that, it was Tarak al Akkadian.

But life had cruelly taught Dragek that things rarely ever went to plan.

Nothing was ever simple.

And this time, he didn't have the option of killing.

Instead of taking them, he had to save lives, and that would be infinitely harder.

"This planet the enemy ship is heading toward… what is it called?"

" Duxuth ," Ashrael answered. "It means desolate heaven. "

"Fitting." To Dragek's surprise, it was Kail who spoke, his voice flat and cold like the ice sheets of the Vaal. "Since that's where we all came from in the first place. A desolate heaven. "