Panic slams into me harder than any weapon.
“No,” I growl, pushing to my feet. My legs shake but hold. “No—where is she?”
Brom is there in an instant, one arm bloodied, one eye swollen shut. Smoke curls off his armor. He looks like he’s been dragged through hell and back and spat out for being too stubborn to die.
“Captain,” he says, voice hoarse. “She’s?—”
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t soften it.”
He swallows. “Taken.”
The word detonates in my skull.
Taken.
My claws extend without permission, slicing furrows into the stone wall beside me. The stronghold shudders as if it feels my rage and answers in kind.
“IHC,” Brom continues grimly. “Elite unit. In and out. Hit fast, cloaked pods. They had her tagged—knew exactly who they were after.”
I turn on him, eyes burning. “Which way.”
Brom points toward the open sky beyond the shattered balcony. “Orbit. Cruiser-class. Already pulling away.”
Something primal tears loose inside me.
I move.
I don’t remember crossing the distance. One moment I’m in the ruined chamber, the next I’m at the edge of the landing platform, staring up into a sky torn open by smoke and fire.
The jungle below burns in pockets, Reapers still fighting scattered IHC squads on the ground—but my focus locks on the ship above us.
White.
Sleek.
Sanitized.
An IHC cruiser hangs in low orbit, already angling its nose away from Tyrannus, engines flaring blue-white as it accelerates.
She’s on that ship.
My mate.
A sound claws its way out of my chest.
“AYLA!”
I throw my head back and howl.
It isn’t just sound. It’severything. Rage. Terror. Love. The bond ripped raw and screaming across the void. The Reaper mating call, torn from me with no restraint, no pride, no care for who hears.
The valley answers.
The mountains answer.
Even the air itself seems to vibrate with it.
I drop to one knee as the howl tears my throat bloody, but I don’t stop until my lungs are empty and my vision goes black at the edges.
