Page 25 of A Darkside Interlude

Only her talented fingers would do. The mere thought of her turned him into a mindless savage.

What the fuck is this?

Iskar closed his eyes and took a deep breath, thankful for the darkness and silence. He pressed his fingers into his shoulder, feeling the site of his recent injury. The fibrogel patch had facilitated only basic functional healing, and when he’d returned to base, Zyara al Sirian had completed the repair with a quick nanograft. When she’d seen the unusual injury, her only reaction had been a slight raise of the eyebrows.

Perhaps she’d read his mood. The First Division’s medic understood discretion, and thanks to her skill, there was no sign of the original wound. It was as if the incident had never occurred.

He could forget about the entire thing and move on.

So why did the human still invade his thoughts, and why had he woken up with an excruciating headache and the emperor of all erections?

No… it can’t be…

Iskar cursed long and hard as the realization struck him.

Mating fever.

He’d heard the stories. He’d witnessed strong men fall victim to the infernal condition. Even the indomitable General was rumored to have suffered from it.

Perhaps he’d have to ask the boss himself for advice on how to manage this unexpected problem.

Is it really such a problem? What is there to keep you from just taking what you want? Just claim her already. The dark voice of temptation whispered in his mind, reducing him to little more than an animal.

You’re here to work, not lose your mind over a female. What kind of example would this set for the men under your command?

But you know you want her… just take her and be done with it.

Iskar tasted bitter blood as he clenched his teeth, his fangs puncturing the soft skin of his lower lip. Of course, he got urges just like any other full-blooded Kordolian male, but he’d always found a way to rein them in.

Violence became a salve. The simulation chamber was his refuge, a sanctuary where he could release all of his pent-up aggression.

It wasn’t going to help him this time.

His comm came alive, interrupting his lustful thoughts. “Commander, your transport is ready.”

Iskar ran a hand over his close-cropped hair and sighed. “What’s it like out there, Nakiva?”

“Cloudy, Sir. Unusual weather for this part of the planet. The ultraviolet index is still high, though.”

“As expected. I will be there in a siv.” Iskar rose and tugged at the edges of his formal dress coat, straightening it. With its long-tailed jacket and sleek trousers, the black dress uniform of the Darkstar Corporation was almost identical to the old Imperial one, except that the red accents had been replaced with gleaming silver.

At his breast was a small Callidum pin depicting the seven-pointed dark star of Ithra. This was their new insignia, and it was fitting. As Akkadian had said, “we were born under a dark star, and we must never forget our origins.”

To humans, it was an attractive symbol, nothing more. To Kordolians, the dark star meant life, death, and rebirth. It was glorious and sinister and powerful, and Iskar wore it with pride.

He retrieved a metal tube from his desk-compartment and held it against his jawline, pressing a small button. A faint ripple stretched across his face as ultraviolet-blocking nano-gel covered every cell of his exposed skin. The gel had recently been developed by Zharek al Sirian and his team of med-techs as an antidote to the harsh Earth sun. Iskar slipped on a pair of dark lenses—the gel’s coverage didn’t extend to his eyes—and strode out of his office.

Although his thoughts were consumed by that stunning woman from the Glory Strip, Darkside wasn’t where he was headed today.

No, he was going to Teluria proper, the skyport city in the middle of the desert. As the High Commander of the Darkstar Corporation’s armed unit (the humans knew him as the Head of Security), part of his job involved networking with high-ranking humans.

It was a pain-in-the-ass, but someone had to do it. Today, some infernal event called the “Mayor’s New Year’s Day Luncheon” was taking place, and he would be attending alongside the former prince, Xalikian Kazharan.

Unofficially, he would act as Xal’s bodyguard alongside Torin Mardak and a core squadron of six carefully selected fighters. They would be a silent presence in the background, just intimidating enough to plant a seed of doubt in the minds of the humans.

It wouldn’t do for these humans to get too comfortable now, would it?

And as he stood guard, watching the world through dark lenses, he would silently contemplate this slow-burning torture, this most unexpected of developments, and figure out how to deal with it.

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