Page 70 of Fated to the Dragon Warlord

Dalat doesn’t avoid my gaze like so many of my warriors might. Instead he takes life and limb into his control and places a hand on my shoulder.

“Lord Darax,” he says quietly, “the rut was always a difficult time for any male. I’m sure your lessons taught you it was a great thing, an important thing, even a dangerous thing, but none will have prepared you fully for it.”

“My rut is my business,” I rasp, my throat hoarse, a raging thirst rushing through me.

Dalat hands me a goblet. I down it in a single gulp. Ale-wine, cool and refreshing.

“How did you know?”

A tiny smile quirks the corner of Dalat’s mouth. “Some of us have been in rut before, although not requited,” he says. “The thirst is real.”

I toss the goblet over my shoulder. “Have these quarters searched for any indication of where the Veseli might have taken the humans. I want details on Deus’s tracker.”

Dalat winces slightly, handing me a vid-pad. “He removed it shortly after leaving theSilver Star, my Lord.”

“Nev,” I swear to myself.

I thought he might not recall having it fitted, given he was in the depths of his madness at the time, but it appears I was wrong.

“Which port did he exit?”

“He didn’t. He smashed his way out of an old sealed airlock.”

“And Kerra?”

“It appears he took the female with him.” Dalat bows his head. “But all is not lost, my Lord.”

“Nevving right it isn’t.” I snap my wings back, my tail remaining shifted as it always does and my lungs expelling more smoke than I think I ever have. “Deus doesn’t get to have her, whatever he believes. Kerra is MINE.”

“There’s something else,” Dalat says.

“What now?”

“Lord Dante.”

“What about that nevver?”

“He wants to assist.”

“I do not require his nevving assistance. I’ll only end up missing an eye,” I growl.

“Fine way to treat an offer of assistance,” Dante says, strolling into the room as if the sector belongs to him.

“Who let his nevver into my sector?”

“The airlock was open.” Dante is systematically picking items up and dropping them, at least until he comes to the food tossed onto the floor. “And since when did I need an invitation?”

“Since you shut down all my systems for a nova-day after you claimed to be assisting with the back up in the primary fuel cell and caused an explosion,” I respond, watching with horrible fascination as he tastes the spoiled food, cocks his head to one side, and scoops up a handful to chew on. “It took nova-weeks for my crew to sort it out.”

“You should have asked me,” Dante says, unconcerned, as he stops in front of the scratched symbol and contemplates it. “My crew would have dealt with it in half a nova-hour. But you did insist on throwing me out.”

“Do you blame me? I had to move all my warriors to any spare ships in order they could have a meal and an aquium. It was a logistical nightmare.”

“You’re the warlord who insists on being in charge of supplies,” Dante says, looking down at the food in his hand. “And you do well out of it.”

I don’t even bother to hide my growl, tail flicking as I stalk the nevving Sarkarnii. Dante might look like he’s not paying attention, but he ducks my first blow easily.

“Do you want my help to find your mate, deal with the Veseli, and find the missing females or not?” he asks, dancing away from me with easy flicks of his tail, his wings shifting out as he licks the last of the food from his claws.

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