“She is ready for you, my Lord.”

“You gave her something warm to wear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Take your leave, Rau.” Imril pressed his hand against the door lever, his trembling fingers betraying the seething hunger within.

For three darklights, he’d rested in the lower halls of Kunlo’s decaying fortress, seeking even the tiniest shred of information about the new world outside, staying as far away from the female as possible.

Who ruled now? That fool Nykithus? The thought made him seethe inside.

What had happened to the tens of thousands of Naaga slaves when their masters suddenly died? More importantly, what had happened to the Vradhu mates?

He’d found nothing, just bare walls and vegetation and scattered debris and the half-insane echoes inside his own head.

Still too injured to risk flying, he’d curled up in the crumbling North spire in a light-filled room without windows or walls. Its curving archways were covered in twisting green vines, and a family of small winged pettichen had taken up residence in one of the alcoves.

Twitatwitawhoo. Occasionally, the small black creatures would irritate him with their shrill, high-pitched nattering, but not enough for him to lob an idle blast of power in their direction.

Why should he disturb them when they’d been here first?

Crossing his legs, folding his wings, he’d stared out at the world below, watching as light and shadow fell across the wild forest, keeping perfectly still as small furred creatures and insects skittered across the moss covered floor. The morning mists came and went, coating his body in a fine sheen of moisture, but he was oblivious to it all, submerged deep in the crumbling labyrinth of his memories.

Oh, he was far too old to remember everything in sequence. Memories came and went, some fully formed, some half decayed.

His wounds healed slowly, and several times he had to scrape the dead flesh out of his side to get rid of the Vradhu poison.

Just when he thought he could endure the hunger no longer, Rau had come and informed him the female was back to her full strength.

That was the reason he was here, opening the door, striding into her light-filled chambers, ready to fill himself with the intoxicating nectar from this soft, fragile creature.

Mine.

His prize.

Already, he could see her, smell her, feel her.

She sat on end of the bed with her bare feet planted firmly on the floor, dressed in a simple white garment that covered her arms up to her elbows and ended at her knees—the kind that might be worn by a Vradhu female. Rau had sourced it from somewhere deep within Kunlo’s storehouses, and Imril found it distinctly pleasing. It was a fraction too large for her, accentuating her slenderness and willowy limbs, its neckline opening to reveal the graceful bones beneath her neck, and just a glimpse of her pert cleavage.

For an alien, she was not… unpleasant to look at.

The female sat with her head bowed, not making eye contact even though she was well aware of his presence.

There was a certain insolence written into her pose, as if she were saying: I will acknowledge you on my terms.

A soft groan escaped Imril’s lips as he walked into the radius of her glorious golden vir. It was as rich and plentiful as he’d ever seen it, radiating off her body like mist. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a creature with vir as powerful as hers.

She was all he needed.

He took a deep breath and inhaled pure energy.

Perfect.

Like a drug.

The sting of his wounds lessened, and his footsteps became more fluid. Power began to fill his vir-channels.

And that was only a taste of what was to come.

Suddenly, he didn’t care that his entire world had crumbled and turned into ashes and dust, that he had only himself to blame for the ruin of his empire.

He had her.

The Source.

And everything would be fine.

He came to a stop in front of her and she looked up, her startling green eyes locking onto his.

Imril froze.

Pure green, the color of a deep forest lake or a new quinze leaf at the turn of the season, before Mael had brought down the shadowring and killed that entire species of spectacular plants.

Pure, crystalline green; eyes that were definitely not of this world.

But then again, neither was he.

She held him with her gaze, demanding his complete, undivided attention. How does she do that?

And then she smiled and placed a hand on her chest. “Esania,” she said.

Esania. Her name.

Oh? Now this creature wanted him to know her name? This wasn’t how a terrified servant would behave. Just like words, names held power.

He stared down at her but didn’t offer his own name in return. Her smile never wavered, and yet it wasn’t a friendly smile. Its softness hid hard edges; more of a challenge than a greeting.

Imril wasn’t used to such looks from anyone, even other Drakhin.

His eyes narrowed.

Know your place, creature.

Still wearing the gloves he’d found in Kunlo’s war room, he reached out and gently stroked the side of her face, a veiled threat if there ever was one.

This time, he wasn’t going to touch her until he was ready; until he was sure he could control his feeding.

As expected, her smile disappeared, but then she did something that blew Imril’s mind.

She tipped her head to the side ever so slightly and bared her neck.

An act of submission… of trust.

She should not be the one to initiate it. He was supposed to be the one to demand this.

How did she know that this tiny action was so provocative, so powerful?

Unable to hold back any longer, Imril hissed and tore the black glove from his hand, curling his fingers around her neck.

Her skin was warm, soft, smooth, her neck so delicate and fragile he could snap it with his bare hands.

Her pulse beat beneath his fingers, and it was surprisingly steady.

Then it hit him.

“Ah…” He exhaled slowly as her glorious vir surged up through his arm, filling him with the power he’d craved, flowing into the deep well that was his empty soul.

What he’d taken from her before… it was nothing compared to what he was about to drain.

As Imril grew vir-drunk on her heady energy, taking more and more of the golden nectar into his body, it occurred to him that he hadn’t been the one to initiate this feeding.

She’d forced him to lose control.

Just like that.

And the well of her energy was deep, just like his hunger.

Warmth spread through Imril’s body as his cells converted living energy into power.

He did not question why he needed vir to survive or why his body could transform it into pure energy. He did not wonder why only females of certain species seemed to give off the golden vir that every Drakhin craved, and why the Naaga, the made race, were only capable of producing bland, silver vir that paled in comparison to the rich energy of the females.

There was a time when he used to wonder about such things, but his father, the cursed Ancestor, had left more mysteries than truths, and perhaps some things would never be explained.

As he stared down at her, growing more and more intoxicated, she looked back at him, her green eyes wide and unwavering.

For the first time, he was struck by the intelligence in her gaze.

Where did you come from, sweet thing?

This alien might be soft-skinned and weak, but she was no fool. She knew exactly what he was doing to her. Resentment radiated from her, even as Imril’s hand tightened around her neck.

Oh, she tried to hide it from him, but she couldn’t. He could feel it in her vir.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to convince himself this was like any other feeding; a simple master and servant transaction.

Esania.

She’d told him her name.

His wounds began to heal; he felt the familiar itch as his true skin knitted together. His scales would take longer to grow back, but at least the pain was starting to diminish. Three darklights he’d waited for this, putting up with the very specific, excruciating kind of pain that came from a Vradhu barb.

And although he’d fed from Rau, the other one’s vir just didn’t interest him. This was what he wanted. Pure, undiluted bliss.

More. Give me more.

As the vir flowing into his body reached the sweet point, Imril’s senses grew sharper. He became aware of the sound of her breathing; slow, steady, but with an almost imperceptible hitch now and then. He studied her in intense detail, noting the way her round black pupils constricted slightly, watching in fascination as her long, dark eyelashes fluttered against her silky brown skin.

Her features were elegant, symmetrical, perfect. A high forehead, straight nose, full lips. Her skin was perfectly smooth, in contrast to his.

Soft. She was softer and more delicate than a female Vradhu, lacking the sharp teeth and claws that made the violet-skinned ones so irritating to deal with.

You’re not made for this world, are you, sweet thing?

His cock grew hard, surprising him once again. Maybe he was just drunk on vir, but he suspected it was something else.

Her perfect combination of submission and defiance.

It seeded a certain kind of madness within him.

Fuck.

She rubbed her upper arms. Fine spots rose on her brown skin. Her teeth started to knock together. Chattering.

What was this sudden reaction?

Too much? Was he going too far?

You need to stop, Drakhin.

He didn’t want to kill her.

With great effort, he pulled his hand away, even though he wasn’t yet sated, even though he was just starting to feel like his old self again.

Then Imril froze.

Slender fingers curled around his wrist, staying his hand. She stared at him, growing weaker and weaker by the moment.

But she wasn’t afraid.

Did she not realize how dangerous he was to her right now? Just a fraction more and he could drain her to the point of no return.

Her heart would stop beating. Her body would go cold.

He knew. He’d done this once before.

“Stop,” he growled, wrenching his wrist out of her grasp. He took a step backward, power coursing through his veins. It crackled from his fingertips and sent a golden haze across his vision. “I do not want to kill you.”

Teeth still chattering, she leaned back on her elbows and had the audacity to smile at him.

For some reason, that angered Imril. “You would risk your life just to prove a point?” He spoke in his original tongue, the language of the Ancestor, and of course, she couldn’t understand a word he said. Rau was supposed to teach her Naaga, but nobody learned a language in three darklights, not without an implant.

And he would never allow her to speak Drakhin, because that was the language of power, spoken by his people alone.

With power snapping and writhing at his fingertips, responding to his anger, Imril leaned in and picked up the golden jacket Rau had retrieved from some mysterious place. “Never do that again. Ever,” he snapped, knowing she would at least understand the warning in his tone. He thrust the jacket at her. “Put this on. Warm yourself up.”

It was a ceremonial jacket, an old thing, the kind that might be donned by a Vradhu female to preserve warmth after a ritual feeding. It was the younger Drakhin who had invented these strange customs and rituals. Imril didn’t care much for such things, but the garment was warm and finely made, and seemed to have survived the ravages of time well enough.

With trembling fingers, she took it and slipped it on.

Imril couldn’t help but admire the way the fine golden fabric complimented the warm brown tones of her skin.

Still, he was angry. In that brief moment, she had tempted him, challenged him, and forced him to reveal an important truth.

She was valuable to him.

And there was no way for him to punish her, because he needed her in perfect health.

She knew it. She was telling him, loud and clear, that she knew it.

What a risk she had taken. Was this delicate creature actually mad?

No, she was calculating.

Her vir was softer now, a tantalizing, ephemeral halo that beckoned to him even as he backed away.

“Next time, I won’t be so forgiving,” he growled, his wings lifting threateningly. “Know your place, servant. Do you really want to die?”

Her eyes never left him, even as he turned his back and left through the wide doors, feeling stronger than he had in a long time.

But nowhere near his full strength.

He needed more vir. A lot more.

Soon.

Next time, he wouldn’t be so reckless.

So this impudent little creature thought she could vex him, huh? He, who had once ruled the greatest civilization that ever existed on this wild, hidden planet?

As he watched her, something shifted deep within his soul, and an ancient rhythm began to pulse through his veins. A dark, primal song spread through every fiber of his being. Instantly, he knew what it was, even though he’d never heard it before.

Could it be…?

Song of the Void Between Worlds.

He had to be imagining things.

So quickly? This creature, this alien—he didn’t even know what species she was—was having this effect on him?

Impossible.

And here she was, looking at him with a secret smile hovering on her lips. This alien thought she could play games with him?

He was going to have to teach her that she wasn’t as irreplaceable as she thought. Oh, she was special, all right, but Imril would not allow himself to become dependent on a single Source.

It was too dangerous, especially when she had this effect on him.

He turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the doors behind him, activating the lock with a flick of his hand.

Sealing his prisoner inside, even as his cock grew hard at the thought of her.