"Kill that fucker for me?" she asked, her voice steady, before turning and sprinting toward the treeline for cover.
Goddess, what a female.
The remaining Trogvyk surged forward in a wave, alongside a handful of human soldiers clad in black tactical gear. Rickon, Cristox and I engaged—blades flying—and I caught Harper's sharp intake of breath from somewhere in the shadowed trees. She was watching, seeing my brothers in their true forms for the first time. Watching me in battle.
I knew from the other human females aboard theHistoriathat Rickon was a vision of old Earth nightmares—deep copper skin, massive leathery wings folded against his muscular back. Cristox, with his leonine features and golden mane, looked like some ancient beast.
The Trogvyk came at us, their movements deceptive and fluid, feinting left then striking right, dodging and weaving, trying to use misdirection and trickery rather than brute strength. They weren't true warriors forged in honorable combat. They were slippery bastards who fought dirty and shamefully. The human soldiers were weaker physically, but their military training showed in disciplined strikes and coordinated movements. As usual, the humans used weapons, but the bullets bounced off our stealth suits like rubber.
Rickon's blade sang through the air with deadly grace, the metal catching the light as it arced through flesh and bone, catching Trogvyk after Trogvyk in a spray of blood and gore.Cristox moved like death incarnate, his powerful body flowing from one kill to the next, razor-sharp claws rending through the enemies' defenses as easily as tearing through parchment. I drove forward, my own weapon rendering flesh and bone with brutal efficiency.
As I cut down the final Trogvyk facing me—my blade sliding between his ribs with a wet crunch—I turned to scan the treeline for Harper.
Movement caught my eye. Declan, sprinting toward the far edge of the clearing where a Trogvyk shuttle sat waiting. Two Trogvyk flanked him, and between them....
Harper.
They had her arms pinned behind her back, dragging her backward as she fought, her feet kicking up dirt and grass as she struggled. One had a meaty hand clamped over her mouth, his thick fingers digging into her cheeks.
A roar tore from my throat, primal and raw. My mate. They dared to touch my mate.
I launched forward, my legs pumping, every muscle in my body burning and screaming. Harper's eyes found mine, blazing with fury more than fear. She fought them with everything she had, her body twisting violently against their grip, her legs kicking out in wild arcs that connected with shins and knees.
"Harper!" Her name ripped from my throat like a battle cry.
The sharp crack of displaced air and the powerful flap of leathery wings cut through the chaos as Rickon descended from above, landing with earth-shaking force directly between my mate and the shuttle, his wings spread wide to block the path.
Declan skidded to a stop, his polished shoes sliding in the dirt. He yanked Harper in front of him like a shield, her back pressed against his chest as his arm locked around her throat.
"Let her go," I demanded, stalking forward, my blade dripping fresh blood that fell in dark droplets, leaving a trail of crimson behind me.
"I don't think so," Declan hissed, his voice thick with smug satisfaction, and I caught the moonlight glint off the blade in his hand as he pressed it against Harper's throat.
The sight of the knife against her skin did something to me—something beyond rage, beyond fury. It was as if every instinct I possessed converged into a single, burning point of focus. My vision sharpened until all I could see was that thin line of metal pressed to her throat, the slight indent it made in her soft skin.
My blood sang with the need to tear him apart. Not just kill him—that would be too quick, too merciful. I wanted to rip that blade from his hand and show him exactly what happened to anyone who dared to threaten what was mine. Who I loved. And I loved Harper.
The warrior in me calculated angles, distances, and the precise moment when I could strike without risking her. The mate in me—the part that recognized her as the other half of my soul—wanted to burn the entire world down if it meant keeping her safe.
My hands flexed around my blade, every muscle coiled and ready. I forced myself to breathe, to think, even as my body screamed at me to move, to act, to destroy the threat to my mate.
"You're making a mistake," I said, my voice coming out in a low growl, something darker, more dangerous. "Remove the blade from her throat, and I'll make your death quick."
"You seem to think you have the upper hand here," Declan sneered, his voice dripping with false confidence even as a bead of sweat traced down his temple. Behind him, I caught the subtle shift of Rickon moving forward. I shook my head sharply, a single decisive movement that froze him in place. Iwouldn't risk Harper getting hurt—not even for the satisfaction of watching this bastard bleed.
"I do," I replied, my voice even, each word measured and deliberate. "No matter where you go, no matter what hole you crawl into, no matter in what corner of the galaxy you hide—if you hurt her, I will hunt you down. I will kill you slowly, painfully, bloodily. You'll beg me for the mercy of death."
Declan's laugh came out high-pitched and brittle, cracking at the edges like thin ice under pressure. "You have no idea who you are dealing with, alien."
Harper's eyes met mine, wide and luminous but not with fear. Her mouth moved, lips forming words I couldn't translate.
Then my mate—my beautiful, brave, perfect mate—moved like a warrior.
She shifted her hips to the side and drove her elbow back into Declan's stomach, the sharp point of her joint finding the soft, vulnerable flesh just below his ribs. Heoofed, the air exploding from his lungs in a surprised grunt, and his grip loosened just enough to allow Harper to shove the blade away from her throat. She turned, striking upward with her palm, landing a solid hit to his nose with the heel of her hand. I heard the satisfying crunch of cartilage and bone as a spray of blood exploded across his face. Then she drew back her leg and kicked, landing a solid, perfectly aimed blow to his groin with the pointed toe of her boot.
Declan's scream tore through the clearing, high-pitched and keening. He sounded like a female. Yet he recovered enough to slash at Harper with the blade. But my mate was fast, ducking and stumbling away from him. I moved before conscious thought could form, covering the distance and catching her before she crashed to the ground covering her with my body.
One of the remaining Trogvyk engaged Rickon, blades clashing in a shower of sparks, while the other grabbed Declan'sarm and dragged his stumbling form into the treeline, half-carrying the human male as they fled.
