Page 6 of Into The Rift

“I might ask the same of you,” I said, jerking away from his hands and trying to sound bored. I still felt like I might be only moments from death, so why not?

His lips quirked as he continued to stare at me. “No, I mean I don’t recognize your species. Neither of you is Tygerian. And you both look like a cross between male and female.”

I just continued to stare at him, feeling highly insulted, and he frowned. “Answer me!” he shouted, little specks of spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. I gave him back the same frown he’d graced me with.

“You didn’t ask me a fucking question yet!” I yelled back at him, channeling the General more than a little by using Earthan curse words. General Renard had colorful language, after being captured by the Alliance during the war and spending a year or so in a cell with an Alliance marine. I wasn’t sure where Blake got his curse words from, though they were similar, but I had picked them up from both of them, because sometimes those words seemed to fit every occasion.

“Who. Are. You?” he shouted again, shoving his face a few menacing inches closer.

“Who are you?”

He scowled at me but surprised me by answering. “My name is Major Aelius. Now tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Who and what you are,” he shouted, getting way too excited in my opinion.

“I’m Jago Ballenescu, and I’m a Second Lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Guard. My serial number is 65497543. That’s all you’re getting from me—name, rank and serial number.”

I was lying, of course. I didn’t have either rank or serial number, and I sure wasn’t in the Royal Guard, but I didn’t owe this asshole a damn thing, so fuck him.

“What is this? Why do you refuse to answer my questions?”

“My name, rank and serial number are all you’re getting out of me, so fuck off.”

“What does that mean, this ‘fuck off?’ What are you talking about? And why did you ask me to repeat my question if you had no intention of answering?”

“Jago Ballenescu. Second Lieutenant, 65497543.”

“And now you’re saying it again.” He rolled his eyes and shoved himself closer to me.

“Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked me.

I raised my chin in the air. “No, and what’s more, I don’t give a fuck.”

“What is that word you keep using?”

He snatched me up by the front of my robe and struck me hard across the face. Then he immediately dropped me, when a hoarse and menacing voice echoed down the corridor behind him, calling his name. He looked as if someone had struck him, and we both immediately whirled around to face the newcomer. Whoever the new guy was, he scared the shit out of my tormentor, so I already approved. The man fell to his knees, prostrating himself on the floor, and as I gazed up at the new man, I could see why.

He was…magnificent.

Tall—even taller than the rest of them—and powerfully built. He had horns too, but his were a burnished gold color and not cut off like these other men. They were maybe six inches long and curled back over his head, disappearing into his thick, wavy, dark hair. His skin wasn’t pale at all, but golden tan and his eyes were an extraordinary shade of green, which matched the scales that swirled down one side of his throat in an intricate pattern before disappearing inside his shirt. He looked young, though he was older than I was.

He walked past the man on the floor with a sharp, one-word rebuke, spoken in his language. Then he was walking up to me and gazing down at me with interest. “What is your name?” he asked in perfect Tygerian, his voice soft and a bit sibilant.

“I am Jago Ballenescu, Sec…”

“Second Lieutenant, 65497543. Yes, yes, I heard you say.” His lips quirked. “Quite a mouthful. Is that your everyday name or do you only use it on special occasions?”

“It’s my name, rank and serial number, but you’ll get nothing more out of me. Not even if you torture me!”

“Oh, I see. Then will you at least answer the major’s question and tell us your species and whether or not you’re male or female?”

I bared my teeth at him instead of answering and growled. I was small but I thought this man was being deliberately insulting. He smiled, though, lifting an eyebrow in inquiry. “I’m getting the definite impression that you prefer not to answer.” He held out a hand to me to help me off the floor. I rolled my eyes to show him I spurned his offer, and scrambled back up to my feet by myself, rubbing the side of my face.

“Are you injured? Do you need medical aid?”

I made a scoffing sound that made his smile broader.

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