I fired again. The shot hit, but didn’t take him down. He turned in my direction, his fangs extended in a feral hiss as he narrowed his eyes at me in rage.
“Shit. Me. I’m. Oh fuck,” I gasped after hitting the comm unit on my wrist.
Fangs. I remembered seeing them on Styx when he grinned. Blade, too. But they hadn’t been dangerous. No, I hadn’t felt fear or panic as I did now looking at one of their own. I’d felt exhilarated. Scared. So hot I couldn’t stop thinking about the bite they’d promised me. I had closed my eyes and wanted their mouths on me. Wanted the pain. Wanted to belong to them, be between them. Forget the world and let them have their wicked way with me.
Were these Styx’s people? Was this, somehow, his doing? Could he have been fake? Was his ‘business associate’ one of these assholes? Was he being all alpha and dominant to me, yet ruthless and murderous with others? He said he was the leader. Was his interest in me, in my team, just a set-up so he could do this? Did he mean for me to die along with the others? If warriors didn’t get here soon from the battleship, we would all die.
Because of Styx? And Blade.
Furious at the thoughts whirling in my mind, I aimed again. Fired. Watched with satisfaction as the fanged asshole fell over. I wasn’t a killer, but rage sparked in me, wrath like I’d never known as I watched the monsters swarm my team. We were no warriors. We were doctors. Nurses. We saved lives, and they were attacking us like we were the enemy.
The energy field built to a near crescendo, and I knew transport was imminent as I took aim at another of the red-armed mercenaries. My finger tightened on the trigger, but he was too fast, to agile. He avoided the ion burst and came closer. He shot one of the Prillon warriors who doubled over in pain but didn’t go down.
“Transport initiated!” the other Prillon yelled at me, and it was the only warning I got before the pain hit. Warping. Twisting agony. Transport technology officially sucked.
From the ground next to the transport pad, the mercenary who’d been chasing me before sprang up and landed on my legs as I pulled the trigger once with a scream. He had hold of me and wasn’t going to let go.
He pulled, trying to drag me with him off the pad but Wulf’s huge hand tangled in the back of my uniform and held on tight.
The fabric of my uniform cut into my flesh as the two massive men pulled me between them. I raised my rifle right at the mercenary’s face, his nose inches from the end of my weapon. I looked down, into his eyes, knew I had to fire again.
Hesitated as nausea roiled in my belly.
I didn’t want to do this. When I shot across the field to save my friends? I’d acted on instinct. But this was me. And him. Up close and personal.
His eyes were brown. Full of intelligence and resignation.
Bracing myself, I squeezed the trigger.
Too late.
Everything disappeared and we were pulled into the nothing in-between of transport.
Chapter Five
Blade, Transport Station Zenith, Transport Docks
The door to the transport area slid open, and it was fucking chaos. The battle station beacon had been blaring for five minutes, the lights in the entire complex turned a muted red. Fully armored warriors rushed by to join teams gathering for transport to the surface, only to be waylaid by orders from Commander Karter himself.
He was sending in a full contingent from the battleship, and Zenith was to stand down and do its job, acting as a relay station for the long-distance transport of the battle group to the Latiri system.
Which meant clearing the transport pads. Nothing in. Nothing out. Not until the troops made it to the ground.
I eased closer to one of the communication crew. He shouted to the officer on deck, who relayed orders to the transport team. It was all very efficient, as if they’d done this a hundred times.
But they’d never been stranding my mate on a foreign planet before. Never endangered her life with their delays.
Styx and I had been in our quarters when the alarm came down, and we’d overheard in the hallway that while Zenith itself was safe, the MedRec team on the ground was being attacked. I’d looked to Styx and we hadn’t had to say a word.
Harper.
She was part of the group of healers deployed to the latest post-battle mess in the Latiri system. She’d left us, mindless and satisfied as I’d used my mouth and fingers to get her off. Several times. Yeah, she was that quick to arouse. That sensitive to us. And yet she’d left, gone off to do her job. To save lives, not be caught in the thick of a fucking battle. And I still had the taste of her on my tongue, the scent of her clinging to my fingers.
Our mate was in danger, and there was nothing we could do about it here. It was difficult to work our way to the communication station. First the hallways had been crowded with all the Coalition fighters suiting up for battle and on-site defensive teams staging for potential enemy attack. We’d finally made it to the transport docks only to be shoved aside as transport pads were cleared of supplies and orders given to other stations and planets to delay transport. Everyone had a job to do. Everyone but us.
While we didn’t have a role to fulfill—we were here meeting Styx’s Coalition contact to acquire weapons and explosives for sale—we had a mate to protect, to save. And the only place to do that was to transport to wherever the fuck Harper was.
We were fully armed, our armor completely charged and ready to absorb ion blasts. I grabbed the communication officer’s shoulder. “Where is the MedRec team?”