Page 82 of Chained

“I didn’t mean it like that, little scrap. Retah’s tough. He’s stubbornly made it this far, and he’ll join us at the info vault.”

“Vault?” Dirk says.

All the words which need to be said pass between Cleo and me.

“There’s a vault containing a weapons stash,” Cleo says smoothly, “under the dome. We need it for the force which is coming to liberate Tatatunga.”

“Oh, I thought you meant the Galactic Council’s info vault,” Dirk replies. “The one Protoex has been steadily working his way through the council members in order to gain the location for.”

“What do you mean ‘working his way through’?” I growl.

“Mostly having them tortured and killed,” Dirk says.

I feel the anger rising, but this Kijg, whatever else he has done, was not the one responsible for the death of the council member who was helping me. It is those who seek to control him and others. This is where I need to channel my rage.

I feel Cleo’s approval down the bond.

The small passage has brought us out in the guest gladiator quarters. The place is empty and has a lingering scent of males I dislike.

“Back to the undercroft?” Cleo queries.

“Back to the undercroft, only this time we’ll take a different route.”

Neither of us know how much time we have before the force Retah alluded to will get here, but when it does, the entire place is going to erupt, and it means we must get to the vault before anyone else.

My feathers itch. I also want to nest with a desire which is almost overwhelming. Seeing the swell of my Cleo’s stomach, feeling her against me, scenting her—it’s all sending me absolutely wild. It certainly doesn’t help having a male with us I can’t trust and a little Oykig who is looking at her like she’s a goddess.

Because Cleo is my goddess.

It’s making everything ache, not least my head. I could do with a team, like I had when I was a commander. Several more Gryn would be most welcome.

A deep growl reverberates through the service passage we’re using. It’s coming from one of the conduit tubes.

“What was that?” Nate whispers.

“It was another Gryn,” Dirk says. “The feral one who escaped me.”

“Vrex.” I run my hand through my hair. “Klynn.”

As I say his name, Klynn explodes from the conduit. He has no weapons, and his body is covered in grime and blood, most of which is unlikely to be his. His claws are fully unsheathed and his fangs fully extended. I don’t let him get any closer, slamming my body into him, forcing him farther away from my mate and our little group.

With some difficulty, I get my hand around his throat, his claws ripping at my flesh.

“Klynn, you vrexer. It’s me, Maxym,” I snarl, hoping to get through to him, through the mind control and to whatever might be left of him.

“You dropped me on my head,” he snarls, the words hardly forming past his fangs.

“It was the only place I thought wouldn’t hurt you.”

He stops struggling.

“Vrexer,” he growls, but this time there’s no force in it.

“I was going to say,” Dirk interrupts, “I managed to give him some of the serum before he escaped. But being dropped on his head would have had a similar effect.”

I sort of want to warn Dirk about getting too close to Klynn, but it’s too late. Klynn fires out an arm and hooks Dirk by his coat, pulling him up to eye level.

“I remember you,” Klynn snarls. “You were working with the Bogarok and the Varangy.”

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