Page 16 of Decadence

His claws had shot out of his hands, digging into the hard material of the chair arms, and it had taken all his willpower to slowly retract them without the human noticing.

Serves you right for summoning her. It wasn’t necessary. You could have sent one of your subordinates to deal with her.

Why had he done it, then?

You know why.

Because he wasn’t in the military anymore, but he still had power, so he could do anything he wanted—within reason.

Even against his better judgement.

Because he’d held her in his arms as she was close to death; as he’d stood over the dead Ephrenian that had tortured her at his master’s request, and he’d felt cold rage in his veins.

Because when he returned to Silence, he’d reviewed the transmission logs from the Ephrenian ship, and he’d seen what the Kordolian on the other end had ordered done to her.

The whippings. The beatings. The collaring. The sleep-deprivation. The starvation. The bindings.

All because the Kordolian buyer wanted her meek and submissive—broken—when she reached him.

How fucking predictable.

When had their people turned from proud warriors into cruel, sadistic slave-owners? Like many from the Lost Tribes, Ikriss had always secretly longed for the Old Ways, which taught that slavery was dishonorable, and that females—the mates and bearers and protectors of their precious offspring—should be treated with reverence.

The worst thing about it all, though, was that he himself had been an instrument of the Kordolian Empire. He’d been complicit in enforcing their dominion over the rest of the Universe.

Maybe that’s why his anger kept returning, each wave burning hotter and wilder than before. Maybe it was the reason he planned to personally seek blood-revenge on behalf of those human females—especially her.

Because in this whole scenario, he saw echoes of his past self; the one that had put ambition and empire above everything else.

And now he had it.

It.

The fucking Mating Fever.

It was as if the Goddess herself was deliberately taunting him.

As he reached a bend in the corridor, a pair of familiar voices reached his ears.

“Hold up, ‘Kriss,” one of them said before he even rounded the corner.

Nythian. Of course, the First Division warrior knew Ikriss’s identity even before he caught sight of him, just by hearing the cadence of his walk. All Kordolians possessed exceptionally good hearing, but the elite genetically modified soldiers of the First Division had been enhanced far beyond normal limits.

Ikriss took another step and came face to face with Nythian and his battle-partner, Lodan. The two were like fire and ice; Lodan was cool and logical, and Nythian was hot-tempered and expressive and open with his opinions and emotions—in a way that Ikriss sometimes envied.

But now it was the big, imposing Nythian who looked cool and relaxed, and that obviously had a lot to do with the fact that he had recently found his mate, a strong, clever female called Alexis.

In contrast, Lodan—lean and swift and cold-eyed—looked like he was about to fucking kill someone.

Ikriss had always had his reservations about the pilot, who he’d worked with on more than a few missions. Lodan was too cool, even for a warrior. He never got angry about anything, and Ikriss got the feeling that one day he could very well snap.

And the thought of a First Division warrior losing his control like that…

Well, that was a terrifying thought indeed.

But then, they all skirted the edge of control sometimes, didn’t they?

Ikriss was secretly dealing with that very specific problem right now. “What is it, Nythian? Can it wait until later? I am late for a meeting.”

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