Page 57 of Chained

“No?” Maxym repeats, his voice higher than its usual rasp.

“It’s suicide. I don’t care what you both think of yourselves. Going charging into the path of an army isn’t going to help anyone, let alone Tatatunga, which, frankly, could probably do with a good invasion if it wasn’t Bogarok.” I sigh. “We need moreinformation as to what they want and who is behind this before we do anything.”

Both Retah and Maxym look severely disappointed and the testosterone (or alien equivalent) in the room falls noticeably.

“My mate is correct,” Maxym rumbles.

“I think you’ll find females are always right.” Retah sighs at him. “We ignore them at our peril.”

I’m already shaking my head as I push Retah to one side and start working through the vid-screen.

“What we need is chatter,” I say.

“Cha-tur?” Maxym asks, confused.

“It’s a human term for information you get by listening in to your enemy,” I reply. “We need access to their comms.”

“Not possible,” Retah says. “Even if we could break them, and I most definitely could, their language isn’t translatable by any known source. When they speak to us, they do it telepathically.”

“I remember,” I say grimly. “Only I’m not looking for what the Bogarok are saying to each other, I’m looking for what those in Tatatunga who are helping them are saying.”

Retah drags on a horn again. “Of course! They couldn’t have got past the space port entrance without assistance, or the early warning systems.”

“Trefa has an early warning system?” I bark a harsh laugh.

“It does.” Retah gives me a side eye. “And now you mock it, it also makes me wonder exactly why the arsehole at the end of the universe would have such a thing.”

“Unless it was protecting something,” Maxym rumbles.

“Unless it was protecting something big,” Retah says. “Like a weapon…”

MAXYM

Weapons are my safe space. I know weapons. I can handle weapons. Anything else, such as managing an annoyed mate, is not within my remit, and Cleo looks very annoyed.

I’m not sure what to do, and the helmet I’m wearing, which admittedly has made me feel like I could fight a ziggurex bare handed, is also blocking the thoughtbond, so I’m not sure why she is annoyed and what I can do about it.

Retah works his way through a myriad of screens, lost in his work, so I pull my Cleo against me. She squirms.

“What is it, my mate?” I query.

She looks at me, her lips scrunched up in a weird way which can’t possibly be good or comfortable.

“Don’t think you can just kiss me and it’ll all be fine, Maxym,” she says as I wrap my wing around her, concerned her strange face is because she might be cold. “Or do this.” She pushes at the feathers surrounding her, my primaries rattling.

“Why not? You are my mate, and I want you to be happy.”

“Then don’t offer to go charging in regardless of your own safety,” she responds, her hands on my breastplate, something I want to tear off instantly so I can feel her soft skin against mine.

I refrain.

“I would fight a supernova if it meant it kept you from harm,” I say.

“I know, but did it ever occur to you I’d prefer to have you by my side rather than dead in a ditch?” Cleo growls.

I love my growly mate. Her anger bristles through her like a rouse through my feathers.

“My sweet mate.” I drop onto one knee in front of her, keeping my wings wrapped around us both. “I didn’t mean to disrespect your feelings, but fighting is what I do. It’s what I’ve always done from the day I woke up in the facility to the day the Bogarok appeared in the dome.”

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