If someone had harmed these females deliberately, if this was abuse or negligence or an attack, they'd answer to him personally. Females were precious. Rare. The Lathar had none of their own, and the humans who'd come to them through the mate program were treasured beyond measure. Harming one wasn't just a crime—it was an abomination.
"We're getting close to the coordinates." Kellat leaned forward, studying the terrain display. "Looks like an underground bypass system. Heavy traffic area."
Kirr pulled up the detailed scan, his eyes narrowing at the tangle of tunnels and passages beneath Earth's surface. The transmission had come from somewhere in that mess. Finding the exact location would take time they might not have.
"I'll get us as close to the scene as possible." His voice came out rougher than intended. "Be ready to move the second we land."
"Always am."
The shuttle dropped through cloud cover, city lights spreading out below them in familiar patterns. Kirr had been to Earth dozens of times—training missions, diplomatic escorts, emergency responses. He knew the underground bypass system, knew how the tunnels twisted beneath the city's surface, knew that "multiple females in critical condition" could mean anything from a transport collision to something far worse.
His hands moved over the controls, adjusting their descent trajectory. The coordinates put them near the northern entrance to the main bypass. He'd set down there, use the shuttle's scanners to pinpoint the emergency location, then?—
The comm crackled. "This is KTA emergency services requesting urgent medical assistance at underground bypass sector seven. Multiple casualties from vehicle collision. Repeat, multiple casualties?—"
Sector seven. Kirr's fingers flew over the navigation panel, pulling up the precise location. There. A tangle of wreckage showing on the thermal scan, heat signatures indicating recent impact, emergency responders already on scene.
His hands adjusted course before he'd finished processing the coordinates, angling the shuttle toward the closest landing zone. The transmission coordinates matched. This was it.
"Kellat."
"I see it." His friend was already moving, checking his medical supplies with the calm efficiency of a healer who'd treated combat wounds in the field. "I'll need portable equipment. If they're trapped in wreckage?—"
"We'll get them out." Kirr brought the shuttle down fast, harder than Rohn would appreciate, but within safety parameters. The landing struts kissed pavement with a jolt that rattled his teeth. "Move."
They hit the ground running, Kirr's longer stride eating distance while Kellat kept pace with his medical pack. The entrance to the underground bypass yawned ahead—artificial light spilling up from below, the wail of emergency sirens echoing off concrete walls.
Kirr descended into the tunnel system, his eyes adjusting to the harsh artificial glare. Smoke hazed the air. The acrid bite of burned metal and something chemical—fuel, maybe, or coolant from a ruptured system. His boots crunched on scattered debris as he rounded the corner and the crash site came into view.
Holy trall… How had anyone survived that?
2
Pain first.
Sharp and bright behind Harper's eyes, radiating down her neck, across her shoulders. Then sound—a low groan of metal settling, the drip-drip-drip of something liquid hitting concrete, distant wailing that might have been sirens or might have been her own voice echoing in her skull.
She opened her eyes.
Smoke. Gray and thick, hazing everything, making the emergency lights strobe red and blue through the murk like a nightmare given color. The seatbelt cut across her chest, holding her at an angle that made her ribs ache with each breath. Glass littered her lap, glittering in the strobing light. Sharp edges pressed into her palms where her hands gripped the seat.
Where the hell was she?
How did she get here?
The question floated through her mind, but the answer wouldn't come. She remembered the subway. Delilah talking about Marcus and Jennifer. The poster for the Latharian Mate Program. Going home. Then?—
Nothing.
No, wait. Not nothing. Fragments. Delilah's voice, bright and reckless: "Come on, Harp, one wild weekend before we marry scaly aliens! Live a little!" The sharp smell of alcohol. She'd tried to say no, tried to be responsible, but Delilah had pulled her toward the flyer car rental kiosk, laughing about how they had money now, real money, enough for one night of fun before they left Earth forever.
The bars. Too many bars. She'd nursed one drink while Delilah threw back shots with strangers, the signing bonus disappearing credit by credit. Her voice, tight with anxiety: "We need to go back to the LMP office. We're supposed to wait for pickup. Delilah, please."
But Delilah had just laughed and ordered another round.
And then—the flyer car. Delilah at the controls, too drunk to be driving anything, her climbing in anyway because what else could she do? Leave Delilah alone? Let her crash without anyone there to?—
Oh god.
