"Then the Hunt proceeds." A hint of a smile crossed Zhoren's face. "And we will see what this human is made of."
Makrath returned to his quarters as the last light faded beyond the jungle canopy.
He stood before the viewport, staring out at the bioluminescent forest that stretched toward the horizon, and thought about what he had just agreed to.
A human female.
Small. Fragile. Alien in every way that mattered.
And yet... she had agreed to the training. She had seen proof of what existed beyond her world and had not fled. She had looked at the impossible and said yes.
That meant she had fire.
He would watch her. He would assess her. He would see if she had the fire that the Hunt required, the violence, the resistance, the refusal to break.
Earth was under the Marak's protection, that much Zhoren had assured him. But protection against fleets and incursions differed greatly from protection against a single Khelar with a blood debt and nothing left to lose.
The footage from Central Station had spread through neutral systems within hours. His helm was known now. There would be those who remembered the dead. Those who blamed him for the bodies left cooling on the concourse floor.
He dismissed the concern. Let them come. He would welcome the violence.
And if she didn't have the fire...
His claws flexed at his sides.
Then he would find another way. Or he would descend into the madness that waited for all unbonded Kha'Ruun, and the Council would have their excuse to put him down.
He closed his eyes and let the silence of his quarters settle around him.
In three days, he would see her for the first time.
The thought made heat twist in his chest, restless and demanding. He imagined her face, though he had no image to work from. Imagined her fighting. Imagined her beneath him.
His length pressed against its sheath, and he let the sensation build without seeking release.
Three days.
In three days, everything would change.
CHAPTER 13
The SUV arrived exactly when the message said it would.
Black, tinted windows, idling at the hospital's pickup zone as the last light bled from the sky. Serafina climbed into the back without a word. The driver didn't speak either—just pulled away from the curb and headed north.
She watched San Diego disappear through the rear window—the hospital where Aria was sleeping, the streets she'd driven a hundred times to visit her sister, the city that had never quite been home but had held everyone she loved. All of it falling away, replaced by the darkening highway and the first faint stars.
She'd done everything she could. Aria was stable. Angelo had the money and the car. The immediate fires were out.
Now she had this.
It didn't feel like a job anymore, it felt like something else: a door she was walking through because every other door had closed behind her. Or maybe, it was something more existential than that, a chance to become someone else.
The anger was still there. She could feel it beneath her ribs, coiled and waiting.
Her apartment, reduced to ash. Fourteen years of work, and for what? More bodies. More paperwork. More families she couldn't help and killers she couldn't catch. The system didn't want justice—it wanted procedure. It wanted boxes checked and reports filed and everyone to pretend that was the same thing as making the world better.
She'd watched her mother die that way.
