Roden bolted awake. The intensity of the dream had left a sheen of sweat on his skin. He came to his feet and stretched. His healing wing cramped and spasmed.

In a matter of minutes, he was fully clothed. He reached for his weapons and paused. No, he could take nothing with him today.

“I’m going with you.”

Roden turned to find Wync standing in the doorway. “No,” he replied. “If they choose to kill me, they’ll do it whether you’re there or not. The only difference is that if you’re there, you’re dead, too.”

“I don’t care,” Wync said, entering the room.

“I do.” He placed a hand on the guardsman’s shoulder. “I need you here in case things don’t go well. Our people need you.”

“I don’t like this,” Wync snapped back.

Roden gave Wync’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll talk to you tonight.” If I’m not dead. He then stepped out into the hallway and went down to the kitchen.

He grabbed a quick breakfast and made his rounds. The guardsmen stationed at the house needed to hear assurances. They needed to know that everything would turn out all right. When he took to the skies, the spark of confidence in their eyes gave him strength.

He flew low, almost skimming the trees. Without feathers or fur to protect their skin, Draeken were susceptible to cold. Unfortunately, when his people had abandoned the base, they had taken weapons rather than protective gear. And right now, he was missing the ultra-thin heated rider-skins that would have his wings blanketed in a layer of comforting warmth. I suppose I must get used to living like a primitive.

After a couple hundred miles passed below him, a cramp in his left wing brought on a wince. His wings ached at the strain so soon after his injuries. Because of the cold, he’d been forced to fly below the thermals, unable to leverage the lift, but high enough to be noticed on radar. He had to work at this flight. Fortunately, if the two military helicopters forming up on both sides were any sign, he was nearing his destination.

“You are unauthorized in this airspace. You will land immediately,” a masculine voice erupted from a loud speaker mounted on the aircraft to his right. “If you do not comply, you will be shot.”

He spared a glance to both sides to find himself in the sights of four rather large machine guns. How archaic. As they repeated their commands, he ever so slowly reached into the outside pocket of his down jacket. That they hadn’t fired upon him already was rather surprising. He certainly would’ve shot down any risk. He pulled out the fabric and held it up. The white flag flapped in the wind. He chuckled inwardly. As though a white slip of fabric ensures I’ll behave.

Silence.

They didn’t shoot. They flew alongside him for several seconds, maybe a minute, before they addressed him again. “You will follow us. If you change your flight path, you will be shot.”

Roden dropped his white fabric and smiled.

Fifteen minutes later, he flared his wings and touched down on the concrete inside a military base surrounded by tall chain link fences. His helicopter escorts now circled overhead.

He tucked his wings close to his back and held out two empty palms.

“Freeze!” The order was shouted by one of the humans closest to him from among the army of rifles aimed at his heart.

“I’m quite cold enough already, thank you.” Roden made sure to not give them any excuses to shoot. “I come in peace. My name is Lord Commander Roden Zyll, and I request an audience with the leaders of the American Sephian forces.”

No one moved in front of him. He heard plenty of movement from behind however. He showed no resistance when he was shoved onto the ground, the edges of his wings pressing painfully against the abrasive surface as his arms were yanked behind his back. He bit back the pain shooting through his still-healing body.

His coat was removed, and the sudden cold air bit at his skin.

A pair of smaller boots with larger black boots on either side took over his vision. He cocked his head up to see fatigue-covered legs—one wearing a brace customized from a Draeken design—and up past the leather jacket to a human face so badly scarred on one side that he might not have recognized her if he’d not seen the other side. He’d already known that the scars that covered the left half of her face continued down her body, despite the numerous surgeries she’d undergone. And, he knew that her left arm no longer functioned fully.

Sienna’s attacker had very nearly killed her. While Roden had no doubt it was Hillas who’d sent the suicide bomber, when he’d discovered precisely who had been sent on the suicide run, the news had curdled Roden’s stomach. Hillas had sent Sienna’s own mother to kill her. The Grand Lord’s cruelty knew no limits.

Sienna was known to hold a grudge. However, it was the human capacity for forgiveness that gave Roden hope that Draeken and humans could find peace together.

“Hello, Sienna,” Roden said. “You didn’t have to go to so much effort for my visit.”

A movement at his side, and he found his cheek pressed harder against the rough concrete. A flash of gold skin, and Roden suspected who held him down. He gritted out his next words as best he could with his face shoved against the ground. “Put a leash on your fregee, Sienna.”

“You’ve got some nerve showing your face around here, Roden,” Sienna said.

Hands patted him down. “He’s clean,” someone said from behind.

Sienna nodded, and Roden was pulled—none too politely—to his feet.

Legian—Sienna’s feral tahren—now had Roden by the throat. He was tall for a Sephian, nearly Roden’s height.

“Sienna. Leash.” Roden choked out.

She scowled at him for a moment before placing her hand on Legian’s forearm. “We need him alive. For now, anyway.”

The pressure disappeared, and he could breathe again. He would have massaged his neck except that his hands were restrained behind his back, making his arms bind his wings tight against him. His lips tilted upward. “Now, where were we?”

With venom in her eyes, Sienna spoke. “We’re going to have a long conversation.” With that, she turned and, with Legian at her side, led them toward the large building with a smooth gray exterior. Roden followed none too gracefully with soldiers on both sides and behind, pressing him forward like a marionette.

Inside the building, guards of both races—human and Sephian—stood at attention. Roden glanced around. “Well, isn’t this cozy.”

Sienna hit a button on the wall, and an elevator door opened. “It’s about to get a hell of a lot cozier.”

He was shoved into the elevator. They’d been smart. Sephian guards surrounded him. Humans weren’t nearly as strong—or as blood-thirsty—as their gold-skinned cousins. Legian stepped in with Sienna behind him. Ever the protective dog.

As they descended, he noticed her gaze upon him, and he lifted a brow.

“I still wake up at night with pain in my leg, you know,” Sienna said.

Roden glanced down at her braced leg. He shrugged. “Then you should not have gotten in my way.”

“I’m surprised you have the balls to show your face, especially after last time we met.”

He pursed his lips before responding. “On the contrary, my dear; I gained my consort out of it.”