Page 10 of Hooded

“My name.”

“Klynn,” she murmurs, and the sound on her lips sends even more blood flooding into my cocks.

This female has captured me, holds me, and presumably will hand me off to the species who, for reasons which are decidedly unclear, want me for some crime.

And instead of raging, I want to suck down her delicious scent until it is the only thing my senses can hold. I want to sheathe myself in her.

My captor.

I want to play with her. My wicked soul wants to exploit this situation for everything it can.

“Gardash,” I say.

“Gardash?” she repeats.

“I want it…to eat.” I don’t open my eyes. “I need it to survive.”

I might not be able to see her, but her panic is palpable even through the cell walls.

“Okay,” she says. “Bear with me.”

There is a short pause. I open my eyes slightly and check the platter remains, quickly snatching some of the meat from it and swallowing it down like a Gryn starved. Then I return to my position.

“I…er…can’t get the food dispenser to recognize gardash,” Fern says. “What is it?”

“It is a soup from my home world. It contains healing properties I require.”

I hear her curse quietly in her human language, and it takes everything I have not to smile.

And I don’t smile often.

“And you need gardash now?”

I unfold myself and stand up, hunching my back and drooping one wing.

“I need it,” I say, my voice breaking. “Or I will die.”

FERN

“Give me all the details on the Denaver home world, now!” I fire at my comm as I race back up to the bridge.

My mark, Klynn, looked terrible, nothing like the huge hulking male who decided to surprise me with an escape attempt earlier.

If he needs this soup, then I have to get it for him somehow. I still only have a basic set of co-ordinates for where I have to hand him over, as Markus hasn’t yet sent me the final ones, probably because the wormhole usually knocks out comms.

A quick search of the local area reveals a few inhabited planetoids and a space station. It’s entirely possible I might be able to get the food Klynn needs from one of them.

“Denaveron is a dark planet,” the comm starts up. “It circles a dying star. Its inhabitants are a biped mammalian species. They have additional appendages which once allowed them to fly but are now almost entirely defunct. They have developed fur which keeps them warm in the long winters and are considered not to be a great threat.”

My stomach fills with ice.

“Do they have claws and fangs?” I force out.

“Yes, as they mostly subsist on insect life which is all that can survive alongside them on Denaveron,”the comm responds promptly.“They require accoutrements which can facilitate the capture and consumption of such creatures.”

“Wait…” I run my hand through my hair because this isn’t making any sense. “They still rely on hunting to survive?”

“They have a rudimentary connection with the rest of the known galaxy for trade based on their guano,” the comm says.

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