Page 11 of Fated to the Dragon Warlord

I can’t stop looking at her lips, especially as she bites down on the bottom one with her blunt little teeth. I am imagining them biting me somewhere else.

Wondering how much pain there will be when she envenomates me, if she dislikes my attentions.

Wondering what it will be like to be incapacitated by a female I rut for. My first rut.

The realization hits me harder than one of Daxx’s fists.

I cannot be going into rut for this creature. I will not rut. Not for her, not for any female.

Rutting is the very end for a warlord. And if Kerra is my destiny, my nova-days are numbered.

KERRA

“We are returning to Vorostor. I will send warriors for the other female.” Darax releases a plume of smoke into the air above us.

He pushes back from the wall, and I feel like I can breathe again. Not through fear, but something else. Something about the heat from him invading my body, his smoky tobacco scent overwhelming my senses.

I’m thirty-three, not thirteen. I don’t do crushes or instant attraction. I’ve been burnt far too many times in my life by commitment phobic men. Those who wanted it all but didn’t want me enough to consider me worth spending the rest of their life with or felt I should give up my job and pump out babies because it was what they wanted whether or not it was something which interested me.

Before I became a grubby stowaway, before aliens plucked me (why me?) from Earth, I had a good job, helping homeless people fight back against the system which insisted they prove their need every step of the way. It paid next to nothing, but it made my heart whole.

So, my heart doesn’t get to have a life of its own. It does what I tell it, and I’m telling it right now,Darax is off limits.

The last thing I need is to catch any sort of feelings about this huge alien, who happily admitted he runs a protection racket in this galaxy. He’s proud of it. He’s a warlord, and I do not need one in my life.

Except I need to help Rosalie. And to get to her, I need this big, grinning Sarkarnii who clearly smokes too much to be good for him.

Especially as there isn’t a cigarette in sight. But so far, he is the least unfriendly and possibly the best looking alien we’ve encountered.

I don’t think Rosalie will mind at all if I use him to help rescue her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I respond as he strides towards the exit. “She won’t go with them. She doesn’t even know them.”

“Then I will tell them to say that Kerra Russell sent them,” Darax snarls over his shoulder.

The fact I’m getting to him amuses me a little…or a lot.

“She still won’t go with them. All that could mean is I’ve been captured or something.” I look at the chain on the floor pointedly.

“You are captured,” Darax rasps. “You belong to me, little snack.”

I do a dramatic roll of my eyes. “We’ll see about that.” I check my ragged filthy nails. “I’ll need to go with your warriors.”

“No.” Darax wields the word like a weapon, his deep, powerful voice resonating around the cabin.

“Fine. I’ll wait until you’re sleeping, and I’ll brain you with your fertility statue.”

Darax glares at me before narrowing his incredible eyes, the slit pupils going to skinny slivers of obsidian.

“You want to make a deal with a Sarkarnii warlord, little snack?” More smoke and possibly, terrifyingly, the hint of flame. “Because you don’t have much to deal with, do you?”

“I have skills you might find useful.” I have zero skills which can be useful to a warlord. “And my friend, Rosalie,” I continue quickly, “knows all about tech. We spent the last few weeks on the…Bloar ship, and she tapped into all their systems. She knows all about them.”

I’m totally throwing us both under the alien bus.

Darax cocks his head on one side, his eyes raking over me, making me feel somehow hot and cold at the same time.

Because if he wantsthat sort of thingin return, he isn’t going to get it.

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