Chapter Two

Oten

We are thrust from Nem’s ship in a pod, tumbling free into space. I stretch for handholds to anchor myself, so I do not bang into the walls.

I may not need armor, but my bones can still break.

Nem shouts but gives up hope of killing me. His blaster will not work on me any more than that worthless full-body armor of his. I cannot even see his face. It angers me when I cannot see my enemies’ eyes as I kill them.

I expect the pod to fire off to where my ship—my Ssedez warriors—will easily capture us. There, I will be reunited, and we can do to this human what is best. Torture him for everything he knows about the humans—whether others are coming, and if his kind knows we still exist or if he is a lone ship gone astray. Then we will give him as brutal a death as his Ten Systems’ army gave Ssedez civilians when they started a war and attacked our cruisers over a century ago.

Except the pod does not float into space.

It speeds, gathering momentum, forcing us against the curved back wall of the vessel, gravity trapping us. Which only means one thing—we are being pulled toward a planet.

And the only planet near enough is Fyrian.

The fire world. To enter its atmosphere is to incinerate. It means death.

I thank the gods I have no spouse or children to leave behind.

I have no regrets. The human, though I would rather kill him with my bare hands, will die with me.

Heat, hot, sweat, burning. The interior of the pod shakes and hums. Not even the defensive armor of my skin—impervious to any weaponry—can shield me from fire.

So this is what it feels like to be burned alive.

The human does not scream or cry out in pain, and, though I must grind my teeth, I do not, either. I focus on my dying prayer—that none of my warriors escaping the ship will suffer the same fate as me.

Death comes with a jolt to my body like thunder ripping through my chest, and the last thing I feel is a hammer pounding of my head.

I awake…

Gasping, my lungs screaming, sucking on air that is not air at all. It is nothing—nothing that my lungs process anyhow. The pod is pitch dark; no light shines, except for a flashing button that blinks eject. In a firing of instinct, I crawl with my burning body to the control console and hit the button.

The hatch opens. Blinding sunlight and a rush of air explode against my face, but it is so hot, it knocks me unconscious again.

What wakes me is water dripping into my eyes—which turns out to be condensation dripping from the pod.

I wipe it away, then force myself to my feet. Though I am sweltering as in a sauna, I look down at my limbs, and I have not burned. My armor remains untarnished. I retract it, pulling the protective covering back into my skin.

It seethes like a fire in my belly from the nexus of my spine. My lungs ache from the burn, and my vision pulses with a red haze.

I do not understand what I am feeling.

I stumble out of the pod into a jungle. Green and more green as far as I can see. Enormous vegetation with leaves bigger than my head. Trees thick as three of me, trunks overgrown with vines, and moss so richly dark a green, it’s almost blue. And humid.

The air is so thick with fog, it could be steam.

My muscles heat like coals, and the holsters confining my chest are unbearable. I unbuckle them, fingers shaking with impatience, and feel as though my skin will burst into blisters.

Something stirs beside me. My reaction is slow, my gaze heavy, and limbs lethargic with the fire racing through my blood.

The creature dressed in black, the general, the human, rouses, and a fury starts in my core, the flames singeing through my veins blazing.

His breathing is harsh and labored, so loud, I can hear it from inside his helm. He reaches for it, fingers fumbling in gloves, frantic. His groan of frustration is a sound so desperate and guttural, it shoots through me like the laser he shot at me on the ship.

The blaze coursing in me intensifies and pulses through every part of me, including my loins, which swell and strain. And I know not why.

But then he removes his helm. Or…

She.

That is why.

Her hair is cut to her chin, but her bone structure, her face, is an array of delicate cheekbones and full lips. Panting heavily, sweat dripping from her face, she pulls at her armor, yanking it off until she’s left wearing a white clinging suit—which is barely a covering at all. It molds over her chest, revealing high and tight breasts with round, rubied nipples outlined against the fabric.

She tears off her gloves and stands to full height, rubbing at her body, scratching over her limbs. She feels it, too, this burn, this heat. It is as though she is trying to wipe it off her. Her movements are frenetic—crossing over her hips and thighs. A grimace strains her features, and she grips her breasts hard and squeezes, as though trying to relieve a pain.

It is the same for me, though mine is a pain to be doing to her exactly as she is doing to herself. To stroke her and feel her against me. To possess her body with my hands.

Why I want to do this to a human is odd, and I do not understand my own desire.

She releases one breast and drags her hand down her belly to press between her legs. The sound she makes is the most sexual thing I have ever heard.

Her gaze lands on me and, there is no surprise or anger at seeing her enemy. There is only hunger.

“You are female,” I rumble.

“And your…your…mouth.” Her words are broken by gasps, and she writhes against her hand and stares at my mouth. With a delicate tongue, she licks her lips.

I mirror the gesture—try to lick mine—but instead feel my fangs descending.

Venom drips from the tips lengthening past my lip. The intoxicant tastes sweet on my tongue, but in a sickly way. The venom isn’t meant for me to taste; it’s an aphrodisiac meant for her.

She tilts her head, exposing the column of her throat. A carnal need to bite her seizes me. There are reasons why I should not, many reasons why this is wrong. Something is not right. None of this should be.

Something about this planet, the air, the heat, the steam, is fucking with us. I force my gaze away from her and try to focus on what is around me.

“What is this place?” I pant in her language, trying to think of anything but how my body feels.

“I…don’t…know.” Her voice is tight with pain.

I glance back at her, and it is obvious she is trying not to look at me. But it does not matter that she is my worst enemy whom I have trained my whole life to kill.

And when she looks back at me, it does not seem to matter to her either that I just destroyed her ship and killed off a lot of her crew. Her gaze drags over my body with the kind of need that echoes mine.

“What is…happening?” she gasps, her breathing rapid. “This…is…awful.”

“I do not know.”

The fire scorching through me burns away my ability to care why I should not want her. My mind is useless. The only way I can think to quench the flames within me is to sink my fangs into her.

She sucks air through her teeth. “Bite me.”

I am incapable of resisting her command.

I grab her and haul her to me.

She clings to me and leans her head back, exposing her throat once more.

I bite, my fangs cutting into her flesh in one fast strike. She cries out and crushes my head closer to her, sinking my fangs deeper.

The ecstasy is excruciating. The venom streams from my mouth into her vein; the convulsions start—whether in me or in her I do not know.

We are on the ground; I am on top of her, our bodies writhing, animal and greedy. My cock aches and pounds too hard for me to even think of undressing her, of opening her legs, and fucking into her cunt with all the ruthlessness with which she is grinding against me.

A scream of pleasure rings from her throat, and she thrusts against me, her thighs vising my hips. The clothes separating us do not matter. I have to come.

I orgasm so hard I have to detach from her throat to let out my own climatic shouts. It slices through my gut and short-circuits my brain.

Rewired, unmade, I collapse over her and fall into blissful unconsciousness.