Page 50 of Taming Chaos

Did he question it?

Not anymore.

Blam! As the familiar sound of a plasma blast ripped through the walls, Torin embraced his darkness, flesh-eating machines and all.

Wasn’t it glorious to be strong when you had someone you desperately wanted to protect? When you would pull down the stars and planets; when you would tear apart the very fabric of space itself, just to make sure she survived?

I’m coming, Persephone.

She made him desperate, and they hadn’t even mated yet. Kaiin’s Hells. What was she doing to him?

Suddenly, those things he’d observed in his brothers—things that had been so mysterious, so strange, so baffling to him— began to make perfect sense.

The General’s obsession with his mate. That innate urge to protect. The fervent light that sometimes entered Tarak al Akkadian’s eyes when he spoke of destroying empires and creating a new existence on Earth.

The way his brothers had become consumed by that exquisite sort of madness, helpless to the whims of the dreaded Mating Fever. Torin had teased them for it, but now he was the fool.

The noise outside turned to silence.

What the fuck is going on?

Bartharrans were never silent.

Fear gripped him in a way that he’d never experienced before, not even when he’d been thrown into the horrifying Swallowing Pit on the cursed planet Xar.

Torin slammed the key-cube into the port. The outer doors snapped open. He rushed outside, whipping out his swords…

He skidded to a halt. Froze. Looked around in utter confusion, even as relief surged through him.

She is alive. She is fine.

His plasma gun rested in her hand, the charge bar flickering. She had just fired his gun, but she hadn’t killed anybody, and she looked perfectly fine.

A warning shot, perhaps?

Clever female.

And the Bartharrans…

They were on their knees.

As Torin loomed over them, one of the Bartharrans looked up, a look of horror crossing his broad features. “Amanhiel!” he gasped, pointing at Torin.

Shocked, fearful murmurs rippled through the kneeling pirates.

“Persephone,” Torin said slowly, trying his best to understand the situation and failing miserably. “What in the Nine Hells is going on?”

She stood in the middle of the corridor with her legs apart, hands on her hips, her back straight, and the hood of her cloak pushed back to reveal her wild, fiery hair.

Did she realize how glorious she looked right now? Yes, his vision was still blurry, but his imagination could fill in the exquisite details. She came into focus bit by bit, rewarding Torin with optical bliss.

The sheer sight of her was enough to make him forget about the throbbing pain in his eyeballs.

“Torin,” she said slowly, and he loved the way she rolled his name off her tongue in that distinctly human way, “I have no idea what’s going on. They call you Amanhiel, and apparently, I’m Salu. I think they’ve confused us with someone else.”

“Salu?” The name stirred memories of a barren, windswept planet, where temperatures soared during the day and plummeted at night. Where the red dust hid vicious burrowing monsters, and ferocious tribes of golden-skinned warriors fought fierce battles over scarce, precious water.

Bartharra.

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