“Wh-what is this?” She eyed the package suspiciously, her nose wrinkling in distaste. Her nose was beautiful. It was perfectly imperfect, dusted with a smattering of brown pigmented spots and slightly bent, as if it had been broken at some point in her life.

Her face was intriguing; it was so utterly alien, and there was a hidden story etched into her proud features. Damaged strength. The healed scars and bones said it all.

How fascinating and forbidden it would be to pry her open and learn about her world. Clan law prevented them from even thinking about exploring the vast world outside Khira, but now that his very existence had become a violation of clan law, Ares no longer cared about the elders and their cursed Ancient Stones. He would explore this alien culture—this human culture—as he pleased.

But first, he had to care for his cherished makivari. She’d suffered at his expense, and now he had to make amends. He nodded toward the package in his hand. After a brief moment of hesitation, she took it. Relief surged through him. He’d feared she might refuse.

“Open it,” Ares insisted. “I assume your kind eat meat?”

“When it’s available.” She carefully unwrapped the shiny baulak leaf, revealing a delicious morsel of dried kratok. Ares had been saving it for himself; it was the precious fatty cheek part, preserved and brought from Khira. When the Naaga had returned his weapons, they had also given back his hunting-pack, which contained the meat.

Now he willingly offered the most prized morsel to his makivari.

“Eat,” he insisted. “If you are anything like us, it will keep you going for days.”

“Smells like jerky,” she muttered, wrinkling her perfect nose as she took a bite.

Ares watched her closely. For some absurd reason, he desperately wanted her to like it.

Calexa closed her eyes. “Mmm,” she said. “Actually, it’s not bad. What animal did you say this was?”

“Kratok. I caught it myself. The young ones make for good eating.” A soft grunt of approval escaped him as he watched her eat the food he’d provided; the very kratok he’d killed, skinned, and given to the clan.

Hunters always shared their kills with the clan, and now Ares was sharing his meat with a human. There was something so very satisfying about watching her eat.

“Mmhmm.” She ate well, showing no signs of hesitation despite the fact that she had no idea what a kratok was. To Ares, that signified some level of trust. That too was rather pleasing. As she chewed, she emitted sounds of contentment that made the difficult hunt—three long sleepless days and nights tracking the wounded beast through the icy Takhata pass—all the more worthwhile.

With her eyes closed, all of the harshness melted away from her face. For the first time, Ares noticed the fine brown hairs on her eyelids. Another strange human quirk. What function would those hairs serve, other than to accentuate her startling blue eyes? Vradhu didn’t have such hairs, but they had a second eyelid to protect their eyes from dust and harsh light.

Such small hints of softness, nestled amongst her proud features, were only a distraction from the true source of Ares’s pain.

Her glorious vir.

Ever since they’d left the command chamber and entered the adjoining quarters—a palatial residence once used by the Drakhin—he’d become increasingly aware of her vir, and as it burned brighter and brighter, Ares’s hunger grew.

He could see it constantly now. Tendrils of golden energy wafted from her as she moved. He could feel it. The closer she got, the stronger his urge to reach out and touch her, to drink in her brilliant life-force.

Mine. He wanted her vir all to himself. He could almost inhale it. Oh, but this was dangerous.

“Ares? Are you all right?”

“Y-yes,” he hissed, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. He wanted to knead his fingers into her supple skin and absorb her heady essence. Unbelievable. He really was turning Drakhin. “Finish your food. We don’t have much time.”

Blue eyes impaled him like a well-honed war-spear. Round, circular pupils—so different to his own—formed an impenetrable channel to her soul. Was she terrified of him? Would she try and escape him as soon as he dropped his guard? “You look hungry. Aren’t you going to eat too?”

“It is yours.” He waved it away, his fingers brushing ever-so-slightly against hers. In that brief moment when their fingers touched, a lightning bolt punched through his chest, setting him on fire.

Sweet Aethra!

What a drug! He’d absorbed some of her vir just then, a minuscule fragment too insignificant for her to notice. It took all of his willpower to stop himself from touching her. He wanted to wrap his hands around the pale, slender column of her neck and slowly drain all the vir from her until he had savored every last drop.

His new body craved it. Already, he could feel the subtle differences between this Drakhin form and his Vradhu body.

Hunger was sapping his strength, especially with the vast amounts of energy needed to control the ilverium. His unwillingness to consume vir was making him weak.

It would be so easy to snag her with his tail and pull her toward him. It would be a simple thing to cup his hands around her fierce, beautiful face and take what he needed.

But surely that would kill her, would it not?

What a disgusting magrel beast you have become, Ares-rai-Sekine. Revulsion coursed through him, mingling with desire.

Desire. Are you mad, Vradhu? She is a different species!

But it was there, white-hot and undeniable.

Calexa shrugged and popped the rest of the kratok meat into her mouth. “Suit yourself. It’s really quite delicious. Reminds me of the one time I visited Earth.”

“Earth?” Ares watched the sharp line of her jaw as she chewed. His gaze traced down her undulating neck as she swallowed. He captured the flicker of her pink tongue across her moist upper lip as she licked it. He restrained his gaze before it could slide down the wicked curves of her body.

“We humans were originally from a planet called Earth, but it’s full now. I was born on Dashki-5. You know it?” Her question was deceptively casual, but he sensed it was a test of some sort.

“No.” Ares had never heard of any of those places. Thoughts of distant planets and strange alien civilizations flitted through his mind. The Vradhu had never been curious about what lay beyond the Shadowring.

Oh, they knew there were other lifeforms out there in the vastness of space, but they wanted nothing to do with them.

They had their reasons.

“What’s Khira like?”

“Beautiful.” Struck by a sharp pang of longing, Ares turned away. He didn’t want her to see his face right now, just in case he betrayed his deep, desperate need.

He was no longer Vradhu, but neither was he a soulless, cruel Drakhin. He was caught somewhere in-between, and if he thought about it too much, he would go mad.

“You will like Khira,” he rasped, not trusting himself to string together a coherent sentence.

Part of him wanted to take her to Khira and show her the pristine beauty of his homeland. He would take her across the vast waterplains of the Ardu-Sai, through the dense sekkhoi forests, and up into the stark majesty of the Esskar range, through the austere but beautiful Highfold. If they were unlucky enough to meet a kratok, he would cut it down and feed her pieces of tender meat after he’d roasted them over an open fire.

“You miss it, don’t you?” Her voice became soft, revealing a gentleness he hadn’t seen before. The vir radiated from her like gilded mist; a dangerous aphrodisiac.

“Yes,” he whispered. If he touched her essence, if he gave in to temptation and took it, he would be lost. Sweet Aethra, this situation had just become a whole lot more complicated. “Do you not miss Dashki-5?”

A peal of harsh laughter burst from her lips. “Fuck, no. We call D5 the armpit of the Universe for a reason. If I had a choice, I’d never go back there. Maybe we’ll never be able to go back there.” Her expression turned wistful. “That might not be such a bad thing.”

What a contradiction she was. Softness and sharp edges. Scars over smooth, dewy skin. Harsh beauty, reminding him of the snow-capped mountains of Esskar. “So you are rootless?”

“That’s a good way to describe it.” Not realizing the danger she was in, she moved closer to Ares.

He drew away, avoiding eye contact. The temptation was almost unbearable. Arousal made his hands tremble. His cock strained against his armor-pants.

It wasn’t just her heady vir, her whole body was tempting him. He loved the way her hard edges and rough exterior were tempered by a softness that was distinctly female.

“Would a place like Khira be good for a human like me?” Was she being glib, or was there a sliver of hope in her voice?

Gods, what a question! Was she seeking a new world, a new life? Had she been delivered from the Portal just to taunt him?

“Perhaps,” he growled, knowing full well that Khira was a lush, dangerous paradise, and that she could lead a very comfortable life there under his protection.

But he might never set foot on Khira again. It all depended on whether his body was compatible with Naaga technology, and whether the white-eyed devils had done their job correctly.

Consciousness transfer. Would it work, or would he be lost forever? Had he been explicit enough in his instructions and terrifying enough with his threats? Could he trust the honorless Naaga to re-make him correctly?

They had assured him the temundra was foolproof. It had to be. Consciousness transfer did not work unless the receiving body was a perfect clone, and they wanted him to leave the Hythra as much as he did.

Actually, this crude bargain worked for both of them.

“Enough. Follow me.” He intentionally made his voice harsh and cold. Anything to break the spell she was casting over him; to stop himself from devouring her.

Calexa raised her eyebrows but said nothing as Ares turned, wrapping his abominable black wings around his body like a dark cloak. He needed to separate himself from Calexa. He had to keep himself contained. Those infernal Ancient Stones hadn’t mentioned anything about the terrible curse these Drakhin had suffered. Sweet Aethra, what kind of hunger is this? Ares had endured hunger before—he was accustomed to going for days, even weeks without food during the Hunt—but nothing like this. It gnawed at his insides like a disease, threatening to consume him.

If he gave in now… he didn’t know what would happen.

Drakhin… or Vradhu? What are you now, fool?

The answer was up to him, and if he had his way, it wouldn’t be a question for much longer.