Page 122 of The Edge of Dawn

He reached out with his senses, scanning the room. There was no sign of Amun Kazharan in here.

But wait…

There was another doorway, open, leading to a small chamber off to the side.

A blind-ended chamber, with no exit or escape bar that doorway.

It looked like a trap.

It felt like a trap.

It almost certainly was a trap.

But he had the element of surprise on his side. All he had to do was get close enough to press the tip of his blade to the edge of Kazharan’s neck and the balance of power would tip in his favor.

Amun supposedly possessed a suit of personalized elite-grade armor. No doubt it would be Callidum reinforced.

Hard to get through.

But the blades Dragek carried were the finest he’d ever wielded, slender and yet strong enough that he could probably punch it through anything, including Callidum armor.

He’d done it before, with lesser weapons.

He moved toward the open door, scanning the area with his sixth sense.

That’s when he felt it.

A presence inside the chamber.

A formidable one.

It was almost as powerful as the auras he’d felt from the First Division warriors, only not as cold and tightly controlled.

It was tinged with chaos.

He didn’t like it.

Something wasn’t right. His instincts screamed at him to stop, but he couldn’t go back now.

Even though it was much easier than before, thanks to the Mating Fever, he couldn’t hold this state of qim forever. Eventually, he’d have to drop the cloak of invisibility, and the advantage would be lost.

He had to follow through.

No matter what happened, he could only trust that Tarak, Ashrael, and their crew would be there to clean up the aftermath.

He took a step forward, concealing his presence as powerfully as he ever had, moving through the open doorway step by undetectable step.

This space…

It wasn’t anything remarkable—just a small, windowless office. Standard military issue. A place where an officer or commander could seek quiet in order to plot or strategize, perhaps. A console ran along one wall, projecting various holos depicting maps and data about random planets. There was a chair in the center: wide, high-backed, a swiveling type, facing away from Dragek.

He couldn’t see the occupant, but there definitely was someone in the chair. All he could see was a pair of curving horns rising above the headrest.

What kind of bastard was this, who refused to cut and file down his horns? It was the empire that had discouraged the display of natural horns, so why did this male, one of the so-called Krael, still wear his?

Dragek carefully reached out with his ka’qui, allowing himself to visualize his target in great detail.

Horns. Long hair. Powerful form. Scarred face and damaged right eye. Body covered in high-grade armor, although his head and face were unprotected.

---