Page 51 of Hooded

“Forms?” I query.

“We are fugitives, on the run from space pirates. We are unable to fill informs,” Klynn says, managing not to growl in what has to be a herculean effort.

“Space pirates? Oh my!” The Fenere hurries off.

“I don’t think that was a good idea.”

“I don’t want our details recorded anywhere, little fury,” Klynn says. “Not until we can be sure the Tormelek are destroyed and no one is looking for us. Not after what happened on Trefa.”

“You think someone is looking for us?” I’m well aware of Klynn’s paranoia, which mostly manifests itself in his wanting to stay away from the town, but until now he hasn’t voiced his concerns.

“They wanted both of us for different purposes, and our presence was transmitted to plenty of their cronies,” Klynn says quietly. “Until I can be sure we are not wanted, I believe we should lie low.” He sucks in a breath. “It might be true the Sarkarnii dealt with the Bogarok invasion on Trefa, but we don’t know for sure.”

“Narlix?” I suggest. “She’s been away for a while. She’d know what’s going on. She’s got as good a reason for wanting to steer clear of the Tormelek as we do.”

I partly want to suggest my old employer, Markus, to get the full picture, but he hadn’t left a single message when I got back to my ship. It was as if I didn’t exist to him, and that alone is enough to make me suspicious.

Could he have set the Tormelek on us? I wouldn’t put it past him. After all, the whole thing with the mark I was supposed to pick up was unusually cloak and dagger.

“Maybe Narlix,” Klynn says. “But until we know, no forms, no trace.”

He looks over at the group of Fenere heading our way.

“And you only have one growl left,” I say. “Use it wisely.”

KLYNN

I don’t like the smell in this building and attempt to keep my nose as close to my mate as I can. It has a scent like the Drahon, one I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

“You are the Gryn?” one of the male Fenere asks. “I am the senior medic here. My name is Trok. My colleague, Cali, says your mate requires assistance?”

I want to growl, but I’m mindful of the rule imposed by my Fern.

“My mate is carrying my youngling. We wish to be sure both her and the unborn are well,” I say evenly, my claws wanting to extend and rip someone apart, but instead I place my hand over Fern’s stomach, to protect her.

“And you will not complete our forms?”

“No.” I glare at him. “We will not.”

My mind is a sheet of violence. I can’t recall if there was a rule about snarling.

“We have credits,” Fern says quickly. “We can pay for any treatment I need.”

Trok looks between us. I imagine how easy it would be to slice him limb from limb.

“Credits are not needed here, but I wanted to be sure of your intentions,” Trok says. “We treat all equally and, should you wish, anonymously.”

I feel the growl rise within me, but I glance at my Fern and hold it back.

“Good,” I say, pleased with myself for keeping my tone un-growly.

“If you’ll follow me,” Cali says with an easy smile.

My feathers bristle. I do not want to follow her, but Fern is already on her feet.

“It is not usual for males to attend these appointments,” Trok says, stepping in front of me.

“I don’t care,” I respond. “Where my mate goes, I go.” It takes everything I have not to remove his head from his shoulders.

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