“Latiri 4. Fifth battle this week,” he answered without turning to see who asked the question.
My heart felt as if it stopped beating. “Hive? They’re being attacked by Hive?”
“No, no, no.” He lifted his hand to the comm device covering one ear and ordered another transport station to hold all incoming transports until further notice. Then spared a quick flick of his eyes in my direction. “No. They’re under attack. Unknown enemy. Sounds like scavengers.”
Styx stiffened beside me, and we made eye contact in silent communication once again. Scavengers? The only fuckers crazy enough to go into the Latiri system would be ours. And since this wasn’t a Styx mission, that meant our mate was probably being attacked by a group of mercenaries from one of the other legions on Rogue 5. Killers. Stone cold killers. Slave traders. Gods damn us all.
“We will transport there immediately,” Styx ordered, but I was already walking toward the transport pad. We would reach our mate, and everyone else could go to hell. Styx was walking beside me, giving me the space I needed. While he might be the leader of the legion, I was the fighter. He was calm, calculating. He never lost control. I, on the other hand, had a legendary temper. Blade, the rebel. Nothing got in my way, especially when I was fucking pissed.
Someone was putting my mate’s life in danger, and I didn’t even try to hold myself in check. Styx often joked he thought I wasn’t pure Hyperion at all, that my mother had lied about my lineage, and she’d had a wild romp with an Atlan.
I felt like I had an inner beast, wild and ruthless, ready to rip off heads to keep Harper safe. My fangs elongated, my cock hardened. My entire body was primed with adrenaline, ready to wreak havoc. And Styx was giving me room to do so.
As we neared the transport controls, the battle beacon muted, but the red lights persisted. The doors to transport pad 4 opened on our approach to reveal a group of five Coalition fighters, fully decked out in battle armor, preparing to be sent to the site.
I climbed onto the transport pad behind them, Styx falling in next to me.
The Prillon warrior on the controls looked up. “Get off the pad. You’re not authorized.”
Styx’s gaze fixed on the warrior. “My fucking mate is down there. Send us now.”
Several of the warriors turned to look at us, took our measure, and must have come to the same conclusion because their leader turned to the control panel. “Do it.”
The Prillon shrugged. “I can’t, sir.”
“Explain,” the huge Prillon captain demanded. There were four technicians monitoring the controls. Several voices were coming from the speakers around the room, overlapping each other, making it impossible to understand what was happening. Some static only added to my frustration. Nothing was going right, but none of these people had a mate out there in danger.
The technician was moving his hands, his gaze frantic as he scanned the control. “We’ve got incoming. I can’t override.”
“Where’s it coming from?”
“The attack zone, sir. Officer on the ground entered an override code.”
“Fuck. Clear the pad!” The Prillon captain pulled his helmet off his head and stomped to the controls to see for himself. He was bronze, skin and hair, with fierce yellow eyes. And he was pissed.
“Contact him,” the Prillon ordered. “Now!”
The technician did so as we cleared the pad. The sounds of screaming, ion blasters and distant shouting filled the room. Chaos. Battle. I’d heard it enough times.
“Shit. Me. I’m. Oh, fuck.” A very feminine voice blasted through the speakers, filled with panic, and my entire being stilled.
Harper’s voice. Styx straightened, his hands clenched into fists the only sign of his inner turmoil. In Styx, that was tantamount to a full on meltdown.
I could hear her breathing hard, the garbled words. I knew that sound, felt it deep in my bones. Harper was in trouble. A vise gripped around m
y heart, squeezed.
“Lieutenant Barrett? Report,” the technician replied, no doubt tracking her identity through her Coalition identifier or NPU. When nothing further came from the surface, the Prillon captain took over, his voice booming.
“Zenith to MedRec Unit 4. This is Captain Vanzar. Report.”
Her scream pierced the air and everyone stilled.
“Harper!” I shouted, stepping toward the pad. The fighter group raised their weapons on instinct at my sudden outburst and movement. I felt the sizzle, the thrumming of an incoming transport and a hand on my arm held me back. Styx.
A second later, Harper shimmered and appeared, sprawled across the pad. She wasn’t alone. An Atlan warrior was a few feet away, bloodied and unconscious. But I didn’t give a damn about him. It was the male who had a firm grip on Harper’s legs I focused on. They were sprawled on the pad as if he’d leaped through the air and grabbed for her, getting his hold on her lower leg, tripping her just before they transported.
He dug his fingers into her thigh, blood dripping as he snarled at her, using the hold in her flesh to pull her closer. She screamed again, fear written on her face as she pointed an ion rifle squarely in his face. His eyes narrowed and he pulled on her again. She threw her head back in a silent scream, trying to kick him off.