He smiled before grabbing onto her shoulders and pulling her closer. She fought the urge to pull away, knowing that staying on this man’s good side was the only thing keeping her alive.
“The time to act is now,” he said softly. His breath was warm and smelled of coffee.
“And what if this war bleeds over? The Sephians and humans are both at risk. There must be another way.”
He pressed a finger to her lips and she pressed them closed immediately.
“If the Draeken people aren’t united, then how can they stand before the Sephians and humans in peace?” With that, he kissed her.
His thick lips pressed against hers, and Nalea jerked back. She threw a punch and hit him square on the jaw. Otas stumbled backward against the wall and fell flat to the ground. He jumped back to his feet, shooting a vicious glare at Nalea. She could’ve parried, but she let him slam into her, sending her against the wall. Air shot from her lungs, and her bones cried out upon impact.
His hand wrapped into her hair and yanked. White-hot stars flashed across her vision, and muscles in her neck burned.
“Look at me!” he yelled, his spittle hitting her face. His grip in her hair tightened.
Jaw clenched, she obeyed.
Otas held his wrist shakily in front of her. A black band with a small pad incorporated within it wrapped around his forearm, just below his wrist-com. “You will never raise a hand to me again,” he said, his words muffled from his bloody lips. “All I need to do is press a single button, and your head will be removed from your body.”
She knew she’d made a mistake mid-swing, but it’d already been too late. “My … apologies,” she ground out.
The hand in her hair relaxed, then was gone only to grip her throat, and she found herself choking, forced to look into hard gray eyes. “You survive at my mercy. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she gritted out.
Then he invaded her personal space even more. “The Grand Lord never appreciated everything you had to offer. His vision was too narrow.”
Her eyebrows tightened as his grip loosened.
“You will help me eliminate Roden,” Otas said, cupping the back of her neck with his hand. “You will help me align with the Sephians. Then, when our peoples are united under my leadership, we will bring our bloodlines together. My blood — as well as Puftan blood — will continue as one. Only then will the Sephians and Draeken be fully united under me.”
Terror engulfed her. Unable to move, he came closer again, his breath tickling her lips, and she put all her strength into not showing revulsion.
“If you displease me,” he whispered. “I will kill every Sephian on this planet.”
“I’ll come for you.” The words fell from Roden’s lips as he bolted awake. The intensity of the dream rivaled the sense of loss he felt at abandoning Nalea to the mercy of a man with no mercy. Sweat sheened his skin. He came to his feet and stretched. His healing wing cramped and spasmed.
In a matter of minutes, he was fully clothed. He reached for his weapons and paused. No, he could take nothing today.
“I’m going with you.”
Roden turned to find Wync standing in the doorway. “No,” he replied. “If they choose to kill me, they’ll do it whether you’re there or not. The only difference is that if you’re there, you’re dead, too.”
“I don’t care,” Wync said, entering the room.
“I do.” He placed a hand on the guardsman’s shoulder. “I need you here in case things don’t go well. Our people need you.”
“I don’t like this shit,” Wync snapped back.
Roden gave Wync’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll talk to you tonight.”
If I’m not dead.
And then he stepped out into the hallway and down to the kitchen.
He grabbed a quick breakfast and made his rounds. The guardsmen stationed at the house needed to hear assurances. They needed to know that everything would turn out all right. When Roden took to the skies, the spark of confidence in their eyes gave him strength.
He flew low, almost skimming the trees. Without feathers or fur to protect their skin, Draeken were especially susceptible to cold. Unfortunately, when his people abandoned the base, they took weapons rather than protective gear. And right now he was missing the ultra-thin heated rider-skins that would have his wings blanketed in a layer of comforting warmth.
I suppose I must get used to living like a primitive.
After a couple hundred miles passed below him, a cramp in his left wing brought on a wince. His wings ached at the strain so soon after his injuries. Because of the cold, he’d been forced to fly below the thermals, unable to leverage the lift, but high enough to be noticed on radar. He had to work at this day’s flight. Fortunately, if the two military helicopters forming up on both sides were any sign, he was nearing his destination.
“You are unauthorized in this airspace. You will land immediately,”
a masculine voice erupted from a loud speaker mounted on the aircraft to his right.
“If you do not comply, you will be shot.”
He spared a glance to both sides to find himself in the sights of rather large machine guns.
How archaic.
As they repeated their commands, he ever so slowly reached into the outside pocket of his down jacket. That they hadn’t fire upon him already was rather surprising. He certainly would’ve shot down any risk. He pulled out the fabric and held it up. The white flag flapped in the wind. He chuckled inwardly.
As though a white slip of fabric ensures I’ll behave.
Silence.
They didn’t shoot him. They flew alongside him for several seconds, maybe a minute, before they addressed him again.
“You will follow us. If you change your flight path, you will be shot.”
Roden dropped his white fabric invitation, and smiled.
Fifteen minutes later, he flared his wings and touched down on the concrete inside a military base surrounded by tall chain-link fences. His helicopter escorts now circled overhead.
He tucked his wings close to his back and held out two empty palms.
“Freeze!” The order was shouted from one of the humans closest to him in the army of rifles aimed at his heart.
“I’m quite cold enough already, thank you.” Roden made sure to not give them any excuses to shoot. “I come in peace. I request an audience with Sienna Wolfe, leader of the American Sephian forces.”
No one moved in front of him. He heard plenty of movement from behind, however. He showed no resistance when he was shoved onto the ground, the edges of his wings pressed painfully against the abrasive surface, his arms yanked behind his back. He bit back the pain shooting through his still-healing body.
His coat was removed, and the sudden cold air bit at his skin.
A pair of smaller boots with larger black boots on either side took over his vision. He cocked his head up to see fatigue-covered legs — one wearing a brace customized from a Draeken design — and up past the leather jacket to a human face with a Sephian
soullare
covering skin so badly scarred on one side that he might not have recognized her if he’d not seen the other side. He’d already known that the scars that covered the left half of her face continued down her body, despite the numerous surgeries she’d undergone. And, he knew that her left arm no longer fully functioned.
Sienna’s attacker had very nearly killed her. While Roden had no doubt it was Hillas who’d sent the suicide bomber, when he discovered precisely
who
had been sent on the suicide run curdled Roden’s stomach. The old man had sent Sienna’s own
fyet
mother to kill her. The Grand Lord’s cruelty knew no limits. That was all it took for Roden to convince himself that the only way to stop Hillas was to kill him.
That Sienna Wolfe still lived surprised Roden. Yes, that female had always surprised him. That’s why his first plan of action had been to take Sienna as his consort to bind the three races together. Unfortunately, both she and her
tahren
disagreed. However, the act wasn’t a complete failure. He’d acquired Nalea in the chaos that followed. She was far more desirable of a prize.
Sienna had been Nalea’s best friend. And, he knew from experience, the human could hold a grudge. Yet, Sienna had forgiven her Sephian aggressor for bonding with her without her permission. It was that capacity for forgiveness that gave Roden hope that Draeken and humans could find peace together.
“Hello, Sienna,” Roden said. “You didn’t have to go to so much effort for my visit.”
A movement at his side, and he found his cheek pressed harder against the rough concrete. A flash of gold skin, and Roden suspected who held him down. He gritted out his next words as best he could with his face shoved against the ground. “Put a leash on your
fregee
, Sienna.”
“You’ve got some nerve showing your face around here, Roden,” Sienna said.
Hands patted him down from behind. “He’s clean,” someone said from behind.
Sienna nodded, and Roden was pulled, none too politely, to his feet.
Legian — Sienna’s feral
tahren
— now had Roden by the throat. He was tall for a Sephian, nearly Roden’s height. And covered in the burnished gold skin that reminded him of a very particular woman. Legian’s
soullare
— albeit darker — was an exact mirror image on the markings on Sienna, though one could hardly tell for the scarring.
“Sienna. Leash.” Roden choked out.
She scowled at him for a moment before placing her hand on Legian’s forearm. “We need him alive, sweets. For now, anyway.”
The pressure disappeared, and he could breathe again. He would have massaged his neck except that his hands had been restrained behind his back, making his arms bind his wings tight against him. His lips tilted upward. “Now where were we?”
With venom in her eyes, Sienna spoke. “You and I are going to have a long conversation.” With that, she turned, and with Legian at her side, led them toward the large building with a smooth gray exterior. Roden followed none too gracefully with soldiers on both sides and behind pressing him forward like a marionette.
He was led into the building, where guards of both races — human and Sephian — stood. Roden glanced around. “Well, isn’t this cozy.”
Sienna hit a button on the wall, and the elevator opened. “It’s about to get a hell of a lot more cozy.”
She stepped inside first.
He was shoved into the elevator. They’d been smart. Sephian guards surrounded him. Humans weren’t nearly as strong — or as blood thirsty — as their gold-skinned cousins. Legian stepped in first with Sienna behind him.
Ever the protective dog.
Though now, for the first time in his life, he understood the other man’s thinking. By the look of Sienna’s burned face, neither man succeeded in protecting their women.
As they descended, he noticed her gaze upon him, and he lifted a brow.
“I still wake up at night with pain in my leg, you know,” Sienna said.
Roden glanced down at her leg fitted with the brace. He shrugged. “Then you should not have gotten in my way.”
“You’re a bastard, Roden,” she said, scowling. “I’m surprised you have the balls to show your face, especially after last time.”
He pursed his lips before responding. “On the contrary, my dear. I gained a
tahren
out of it.”
Sienna watched him suspiciously. When Legian wrapped a protective arm around her, Roden knew the truth had finally sunk in. “You lie,” she said finally, the words drawn out on a breath.
Roden smiled. “What do you think?”
“
Suvaste
,” Legian muttered.
He chuckled. “As you are quite aware, Sephians don’t
choose
their
tahren.
Blame our pairing on the Sephian gods.” Roden was thankful he had no religion. If he believed, he’d alternate between thanking them and blaspheming them for the bond, because it’d been both a blessing and a curse.
The floor gave a small jolt, and then the door opened. And that was fortunate, because the air in that box had grown hostile.
Sienna eyed him as he was pushed out of the elevator and into the hallway.
Waiting before them was a human with a buzzcut and a Sephian whose face Roden knew all too well. All Draeken recognized Apolo, co-leader of Earth’s Sephian forces and
tahren
to Krysea, the great leader of Sephia. Last Roden knew, to align with the humans, Apolo established Sienna as his co-leader and split the Sephian force, leaving half in the States with Sienna and taking half with him to Britain. If Apolo was standing here now, things had clearly changed.
Though the man looked rather haggard now, he was still a man to be feared. His look was lean and hard. “I’ve been looking forward to this day. You will atone for your crimes, Roden Zyll.”
Apolo could potentially ruin everything. “Perhaps,” he replied curtly. “But I doubt that day will be today.”
Apolo’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized him, so Roden hardened his features in response.
The human spoke next. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Sommers of the U.S. Army, Division 51. We have much to discuss.”
Roden gave a slight nod. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Roden Zyll, Lord and Commander of Draeken forces Earthside. I’d shake your hand, but — ” he wiggled his wrists “ — as you can see, I’m otherwise disposed.”
Sommers nodded to a guard who opened the door closest to them. Roden was led into a windowless room with a large — and unquestionably two-sided — mirror spanning one wall. His guards were none too gentle about restraining him to the metal bench, and he grunted when one bumped none too gently against his wing.
Then, they left him there. The guards locked the door, and Roden sat alone in silence. Oh, he knew he was being watched, all right. And so he sat there, watching the mirror, while his “hosts” planned their next steps.
They returned nearly an hour later. Surprisingly, they didn’t torture him. Instead, a couple of humans simply questioned him and then left once again. They were likely buying time as they figured out what to do with their “guest.” After all, it wasn’t every day one of their most wanted waltzed up to their front door. Not that they needed the time. He planned to lay everything they needed on a platter and serve it right up.