He was still on the Hythra.

Impossible! Ares groaned as excruciating pain shot through his Drakhin body. He stared up at the dark metal ceiling, his heart aching.

How?

Calexa was gone.

Their time together had been better than anything he’d ever experienced in his short and brutal life.

More than anything, he wanted to go to her.

Was fate really this cruel?

His voice cracked as he gasped in agony. It was as if someone had stabbed him in the chest with a pair of bone swords.

Of course.

He lay on the floor, the krivera sticking out of his chest.

He’d done this to himself as the human ship had drifted out of the airlock. In theory, he was just as bad as the Corrupted, and he should have decapitated himself, but that was impossible, so he’d done the next best thing and impaled himself on his krivera.

Madness. His plan had been sheer madness, but hope had gotten the better of him, and for a moment he’d thought it had worked… he thought he’d woken up beside her.

Never.

There was no way he could have imagined something like that.

So why the fuck was he back on this floating death-pit, and who did he have to kill to get back to his makivari?

Aside from himself, of course.

I didn’t give you permission to leave, Hunter.

I’ll destroy you, he vowed, cursing the ship, or entity, or figment of his mad imagination, or whatever the fuck she was.

The Hythra seemed to chuckle at that.

Ares growled and wrapped his hands around the krivera jutting from his chest. He couldn’t reach the hilts, so he gripped the blades themselves. Finely honed bone sliced through his ilverium-tainted flesh, sending sharp agony through his palms.

He pulled, and pulled, grunting in pain as he cursed himself for being so fucking proficient at killing.

The blades were embedded hard and deep, and the effort of removing them shredded his hands to ribbons.

Somehow, the ilverium in his body repaired his flesh, knitting his palms back together, and bit by agonizing bit, the blades slid out of his chest; out of his slowly beating heart.

How in Aethra’s cursed abyss was he still alive? He tossed the blades aside and sat up, gasping heavily as he clutched his chest. Silver threads drew across his wounds, knitting together bone and muscle and lung.

Ares staggered to his feet, looking around with wild eyes. He was in the airlock, alone. Pure silence was his companion. The Naaga, the Corrupted, the humans… they were all gone.

Calexa was gone.

Her vir still flowed through his veins, a bittersweet reminder of everything he’d lost. It granted him immense strength; the power he’d wielded before was a mere fraction of what he was capable of now.

He would give it all up in a heartbeat if he could be with her again, and if he couldn’t…

He was going to take down this entire fucking ship and everyone on it. The Naaga should have done their research before messing with a Vradhu Hunter.

Anger surged through him as he walked across the metal floor. It rippled outwards as his feet made contact with the ilverium surface. He cast his senses wide, connecting with the heart of the ship.

Freed of the makeshift barriers Ares had constructed, the Naaga roamed everywhere. They were in the corridors. They were in the command pod.

Vermin. Eradicate them, Hunter.

He ignored the Hythra’s incessant ramblings as he spread his wings wide, experimentally flapping them through the air. Cursed limbs. They had to be good for something, right? Ares beat the air again and again, increasing the speed of the movements.

Suddenly, his feet left the ground.

Shit. He lost control, careening into a wall.

Stupid, if you want to reach the command chair quickly, just run, or go through the floor.

Ares flapped his right wing, correcting his balance. He managed to hover clumsily in the air through an awkward combination of wing movements and constant balancing of his body.

Running would indeed be easier, but he was in a destructive mood. If everything went to plan, he might never get the chance to use these cursed appendages, so it was now or never.

Apart from sitting on the back of a kratok, this was the only chance he would get to learn how to fly.

Hovering was the first step. He had that down. Angling his body slightly, he scooped the air with his wings, generating a current.

He moved.

Ah. That was how it worked. It was a bit like skiing; once one got a feel for it, it became natural.

Yes. He flapped his wings again, gaining momentum. Overbalancing, he swooped to one side, one of his wingtips grazing the floor. With great effort, he corrected himself, climbing up into the cavernous ceiling.

Anger gave him strength, and the dizzying height didn’t bother him—after all, he’d ridden on the backs of soaring winged kratok, running along their sinuous backs as he made his way toward the head—toward their only known weak spot.

Something inside his brain clicked, and he flapped his wings again, creating a fluid slipstream that propelled him across the airlock and into the hold.

He was flying.

He was actually flying.

Ares soared and dipped, getting the hang of his new wings. Gaining speed and confidence, he shot out into the vast corridor, heading in the direction of the command pod.

Now he understood why the Drakhin had made their ceilings so high, their halls so wide.

Everything was done on a grand scale just so they could fly through their own fucking ship.

Pompous assholes.

He sped toward his destination, marveling at the ease with which he moved through the air.

How scary.

It was a good thing the Drakhin no longer inhabited Khira. One could describe them as Vradhu with wings and scales, and just like the Vradhu, they had a reputation for being vicious and fearsome warriors.

Suddenly, his body felt heavy. His wings drooped, and some mysterious force pulled him back down toward the floor, until he had no choice but to set his feet upon the hard metal surface.

Of course, that was the bond, calling him back to the Hythra. He should have known. Breaking contact with any part of the ship’s surface for just a brief period of time was enough to make him weak.

It was why Calexa had almost been able to best him when he’d first set foot on her ship. Oh, she was a skilled enough fighter, but to go toe-to-toe with an ilverium-wielding Vradhu Hunter was an impressive feat in itself.

His makivari.

How he missed her. A Vradhu Hunter never expected to find a mate in this life, but he’d come so blissfully close.

Was it still possible to reach the surface of Khira when he was still bonded to this cursed thing? Would he ever see her again?

The worst thing about it all was that he couldn’t even kill anyone to make himself feel better. He was stuck here, alone, amongst monsters, and he was the worst kind of monster.

A vengeful one.