“When Rosalind and I were on the planet Krik,” Visidion says, “we learned many things, most of which we’ve shared with you all here.”
He rises to his feet, looking at his audience. Pinpricks race along my limbs, knowing that something is happening.
“Before the Devastation there was a galactic war,” Visidion continues. “Twelve planets, each against the other in a web of ever-shifting politics and alliances.”
“Sure,” Amara says. “But why? What were they fighting over?”
“Tajss,” Visidion says. It hits us like a bomb going off.
“Why?” I ask.
“Epis,” Rosalind says. “The control of epis.”
No one speaks as a lot of pieces fall into place. It’s like putting together a puzzle when you get to those key pieces that make the whole thing make sense.
“You think that it’s starting again,” I exhale.
“We told you about Arcan, the Zmaj we met on Krik who took over as King of the planet,” Rosalind says.
“His goal was to continue hiding the fact that life survived on Tajss,” Visidion finishes. “It seems that goal has failed.”
“Then if they’re not here for the glass,” I say.
“That’s why they’re always attacking the Tribe more than here?” Sverre asks.
“It could be,” Rosalind says. “It would make sense. They have the direct source of epis open and being farmed.”
“They won’t stop,” Ladon says. “They will see Tajss burn, again, rather than not control it. They raped the planet before the Devastation. We must act now, with finality.”
“We don’t know any of this!” I exclaim. “You can’t go to war when you don’t know there’s something to fight about.”
“I know,” Ladon growls, and I jerk back in shock. “I must do this. We must.”
Hurt and surprise wrestle in my head. I’m stunned. I can’ t respond because my mouth won’t work. I don’t know what to do or say. He’s never, in our seven years together, acted so roughly with me. He’s never spoken to me in a tone like that, not even when he was lost to his bijass because of the virus.
His face softens and he reaches towards me, but I pull back. My eyes fill, and it’s all I can do to keep the tears from falling. I don’t want to cry here in front of everyone.
“Ladon,” Rosalind says. He looks away from me to her. “We understand the stakes. I also understand Calista’s viewpoint and she’s not wrong. We don’t want to start a fight we can’t finish.”
“There are dozens of warriors frozen in that bunker,” he says. “We’ll wake them up. That will swell our ranks. We’ll have an army!”
“We don’t know why those males are there,” Sverre says.
“They could be frozen for a reason,” Astarot says. “It would not be wise to try to awaken them before we understand.”
“There is no time!” Ladon slams his fist. The loud crack echoes in the silence that follows it. “They will come. I know it. I will not sit idle while my family is in danger. Either we strike first, or we move to a safer location, one they don’t know about.”
“Do you have one?” Visidion asks.
Ladon snaps his mouth shut, looks at me, then stares at the table. It isn’t very long, but it feels like it is. He shakes his head negative, but I know in my bones he’s lying. He knows something that he isn’t sharing. No one calls him on it, so I keep my mouth shut.
“The missiles are our best hope,” Ladon insists. “I am going. One way or another.”
“I don’t want you going back there,” I say.
It slips out. I’m not speaking as a Council Member. I’m not thinking of the greater good or the future of humans and Zmaj. I’m speaking as a wife, a mother, a woman desperately in love with her mate. Ladon turns back to me, and there is no anger in his face, but only sadness.
“I must,” he says, speaking softly.
“I forbid it!” I yell. “You’re not going back there. It almost killed you last time and I won’t have it!”
“Calis—” Jolie says rising from her seat.
“I will do what must be done,” Ladon says cutting off Jolie and pulling himself up to his full height so that he towers over me.
I’d started out of my seat, but I drop onto my ass so hard it hurts my tailbone. His wings are partway open and his tail is raised between them, the tip vibrating behind his head. Rage. He’s experiencing rage. At me?
“Who will go with you?” Rosalind asks.
I see the look on her face, empathy and sympathy. She’s attempting to defuse the situation, but there’s no going back. He’s crossing bridges that shouldn’t be touched.
“I will attend him,” Sverre says.
“I’ll go,” Astarot says.
“Fine, let’s go,” Ladon says.
He pauses when our eyes meet. The fire of his anger burns in them, but beneath the fire, I imagine I see something more. Begging. Begging for forgiveness, for understanding, but I don’t. My chest constricts and I can’t get a good breath. My heart hurts so badly I want to curl up and cry.
He waits as my heart struggles to beat, once, twice, on to four times, but I don’t have whatever it is he wants. I can’t forgive him. This is too much. He’s going too far, and he isn’t talking to me about why. He’s shutting me out.
He blinks, closes his wings, then strides past me without a word or touch. I watch the door close behind him and the other two males. It shuts with a heavy finality, and it shatters my heart.
8
Anna
Sophia stumbles forward and barely manages to stop herself from falling. Aurora, Emma, and Liam gather around her and offer their support, not that they’re in any better shape. We’re all hurting, bad. The suns came up hours ago, but we’re still stumbling across the desert.
We need a break, except we can’t take one. Every time I think about stopping, images of our fallen comrades, left behind at the settlement, float across my thoughts. I keep digging deeper and somehow finding the strength to carry on.
The crazy Zmaj continues to call me his treasure. I know damn well what that means, and he’s got another think coming, thank you very much. Except right now I’m too tired to argue. He’s never far away, not too close, but still right there out of the corner of my eye.
I feel his eyes on the back of my neck. He looks at me with an intensity that heats my skin and makes warmth coil in my belly. Which is stupid. I’m not dating a Zmaj. Uh-uh, no way. If nothing else I’ve heard what the girls say about them and their monster dongs. Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need any monster-porn dong.
“We need to rest,” Petras says, stumbling to a stop.
“Where?” I ask, wiping sweat from my brow for the umpteen millionth time.
It’s official. I’m wiped, I don’t even have the energy to argue with Petras, and that’s one of my favorite pastimes. He’s such a douche-nozzle moron. Petras turns in a circle as if he might magically find shelter.