Dante meets me halfway, strong arms holding me up as we are almost consumed by sarkarnlings.
“My mate,” he murmurs into my hair, pressing kisses to the top of my head. “I came for you.”
“I know.” I shove my face against his skin, inhaling his spicy scent. “And it seems you forgot your pants.”
“Pants are optional,” Dante says.
“I know that too.”
“I have been struggling to contain my Sarkarnii,” he says quietly. “Since I got back.”
I lift my head to look up at him.
“It would seem, once the Kursarkarnii has taken hold, it is difficult to shake off,” Dante says apologetically.
“Which is why you need all the nevving help you can get,” Darax rumbles as he strides into the room.
And stops dead.
“My mate said…” He stares at the Sarkarnii. “She said there were…sarkarnlings, but I didn’t dare to believe it. How do you have sarkarnlings?”
“There is far more to coming through the wormhole than we know, Darax,” Dante says. “There are things we don’t remember.”
“What things?”
“The Gonoz,” Dante says. “They’ve come for us, and they won’t stop until we belong to them.”
DANTE
Rosalie was so fragrant in my arms. The touch of her skin quelled the fire within me. Seeing her, holding her, having her close was as good as any paraxio. I never want to let her go.
Except I need to deal with Darax, given Dalox determined my crew was my own affair, and should the other warlords wish to assist, it is entirely up to them.
I suspect my demeanor in the clan meeting didn’t help. I needed a lot of paraxio to bring me back. Enough to probably give the rest of the warlords a headache by being in proximity to me.
Most of what I said probably didn’t make sense, and it’s only now as the fog is lifting, as I have my sweet mate in my arms, I can see clearly.
And the memory which I couldn’t reach is back, with a vengeance.
“The Gonoz don’t exist,” Darax growls. “They’re a myth.”
“My mate says we’re a myth on her planet,” I respond, watching fondly as Rosalie, assisted by Darax’s mate, herds the sarkarnlings out of the door. “We’re drag-ons.”
Darax glares at me, then at the door, then back at me. “My mate says the same,” he admits. “She says humans used to put metal all over themselves and stick big long sticks into us.”
“Like the Gonoz,” I respond. “They are metal.”
“The Gonoz don’t exist.” Darax sighs.
“But what if they do?” I’m pacing around the room, my mouth dry and filled with the aftertaste of accelerant. “What if they’re the reason we’re in this galaxy?”
“Nev it, Dante,” Darax rasps. “You’re not making any sense. Could you possibly have taken fewer narcotics for a change?”
I shake my head. “When I was outside the scout ship, disengaging it from the pirates, I saw the remnants of a wormhole.”
“You can’t. I have a constant watch ongoing for wormholes. If one appeared, I’d know about it.”
“What if these are wormholes the Gonoz control?” I query. “What if they can control them and they have a different signature to naturally occurring wormholes?”
