Roden’s lips curved upward as he strode back to his room after ensuring his prisoner could not escape again. He loved a good challenge, and Nalea brought the best kind. When he’d first realized he was her destined mate, the thought had appalled him. How could he, a great Draeken lord, be a common Sephian’s tahren?

Though there was nothing common about Nalea. She was a member of Apolo’s trinity, making her almost his equal by military standards. The more he’d considered the possibility, the more the idea had intrigued him. While there’d been Draeken-Sephian consorts over the years, the number was trivial when compared to the size of the two races. And, of that number, at least one mate was always of mixed Sephian-Draeken blood. Their DNA was similar enough for biological compatibility but simply too different for the Sephian tahren bond to recognize a Draeken.

Roden had confidence in his heritage; his bloodline was pure Draeken descent for as far back as records were kept. So then, the question begged: What was Nalea hiding? By all accounts she looked Sephian: golden skin, with the nearly transparent markings of the soullare branding her flesh, pure black eyes, black hair and, most importantly, no wings. She was tall for a Sephian, nearly six feet, but not tall enough to raise suspicion.

Still, he knew she was hiding something. And so he’d begun a search, a search more thorough than any he’d done before. The utter normalcy of the information he’d found on her was telling in itself. Nothing stood out about her life before the great slave rebellion—a clear sign that her profile had been tampered with.

With a few archival bypasses, Roden had retrieved the truth. His prisoner’s darkest secret had taken root before she was born.

It was the same secret that made Nalea the key to his plans.

If Nalea had fled the base instead of coming to him, his plan would’ve been quashed. And he couldn’t bear to consider the consequences of that. She had been beginning to stir when he laid her down on her cot and bolted her cell door; this time making sure the lock was secure. She wouldn’t get out of her cell again—not without his permission.

A loud beep yanked Roden’s attention to the wall comm. A light by the small rectangular screen in the wall flashed a prism of bright colors. Hitting the flashing button, he glared at the image of the guardsman standing in the hallway.

The guardsman on the screen flinched, his wings tucked closer to his body.

“You’re early,” Roden barked.

“Apologies, Commander.” Wync stood stiffly at attention outside the door to Roden’s quarters. “You asked to see me.”

“And so I did.” He sighed. He clicked off the screen before taking a seat behind his desk. He hit a switch on his desk and the door opened.

The guardsman stepped warily inside. “My lord?”

Roden crossed his arms in front of his chest and watched the nervous Wync, looking like he was about to wet himself, making it clear he knew why his commander wanted to see him. Wync was loyal and strong, but also young and stupid. Nalea never would’ve escaped her cell if Laze or Talla were here. But both had been taken by the Sephians and were likely dead already, and so he’d had to make do with what limited resources remained loyal to him.

There were too few Draeken left breathing after the Sephians began their crusade to obliterate his race. Earth was their last chance at survival. Roden couldn’t afford mistakes that could cost more Draeken lives. Rubbing the back of his neck, he narrowed his eyes on the guardsman standing before his desk. “I’m disappointed in you, Wync.”

The guardsman flinched before lifting his chin. “I followed all protocols with the slave, but—”

Roden tsked. “The Sephians are no longer slaves. If we don’t adapt quickly, those slaves will end us. They’ve already aligned with this planet’s inhabitants and are filling the humans’ heads with lies as we speak. Do you understand how dire our situation is?”

Sweat had formed on the guardsman’s forehead. He swallowed before giving a tight nod.

Roden leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. “We’ll use up the last of our power cells on the earthside bases in only three cycles. The core ships can maintain life support and orbit, but little else. There are barely enough of us remaining to prevent extinction. Our race is dying, Wync. Without human mercy, we’re doomed.” He gave the young man a hard look. “Your ineptitude grinds on my nerves. As a guardsman, you must be perfect. No mistakes. Three lashes should provide a sufficient reminder on how to do your job.”

Wync’s mouth dropped open, but he—wisely—clamped it shut. Lashings were a brutal punishment to Draeken, with their sensitive wings, but allowing a prisoner to escape was often punishable by death. After a moment, Wync tilted his head and spoke. “As you command, my lord.”

Roden glanced down at a random document on his desk. An inventory list. Every day the list grew shorter. His life had grown dull from never-ending hours of paperwork, babysitting, and politics. Would he ever get a good night’s sleep again? Knowing Wync still stood at attention before him, he gave a distracted wave of his hand. “See Elng in the morning for your lashes. Now, go get some sleep.”

Roden never looked up; he simply waited until the door opened then closed again. He punched the lock button. He desired no eavesdropping for his next meeting. The technology and security at this earthside base were mediocre at best.

When the tides turned against them in the Noble War, they’d been forced to flee Sephia with barely even the wings on their backs. It was a miracle they’d escaped with four of their largest core ships. If anything had gone wrong the night of their grand escape, the proud Draeken race—which only two decades ago had numbered in the millions—would have been wiped from the universe.

As it was, their race numbered in the mere thousands now. Not an optimistic sign, especially since the Sephians had followed them to this small planet with every intention of finishing the job they’d started over twenty years earlier.

And now he led one of two earthside bases, set up for his people to study the humans, and from which to engage at the right time. A time Roden thought had long since passed, but Grand Lord Hillas continued to delay.

Frowning, he punched in the code only one other Draeken knew, which established a secure link with the most restricted office of the other earthside camp, hidden deep in the Canadian wilderness. The link attempted to connect for twelve and a half tediously long minutes. He suspected the old fool made him wait intentionally as a way to show Roden who was the superior, uncaring that his Second had better things to do than sit on his ass listening to electronic noise.

Roden despised the games.

Just as he went to stand, a face appeared on the screen. Not a hair out of place, and impeccably dressed as ever. Their race might be dying, but Hillas Puftan always wore a good public face. Roden bit his tongue to keep from sneering at the Grand Lord’s pride. “Your Highness,” he said before Hillas could address him, finding some grain of pleasure in speaking first to a male too deeply ingrained with protocol and traditions.

Hillas pursed his lips as he looked Roden up and down with clear distaste. He held no love for Roden but desperately needed him, and they both knew it. Roden followed the Grand Lord’s commands, more or less. Their stalemate worked. For now. A time would come when a precipice would be reached, and Roden suspected that time was drawing dangerously near.

Draeken numbers were far too few to take any unnecessary chances. If something unfortunate were to befall Hillas, suspicion would immediately fall on Roden as second in line to rule. The Draeken held strongly to tradition, and Hillas had been Grand Lord for decades, the Puftan family for centuries. Roden would have to be careful. But his plan was infallible; the number of days Hillas breathed grew short.

“The humans are behaving exactly as I predicted,” Hillas said, his hands clasped before him. “Their so-called alliance with the Sephians has confined the gold-skins to human military bases. Their movements are already harshly restricted. Before long, the Sephians will be nothing more than test subjects in labs. When that time comes, there will no longer be any threat against us.”

He speaks as though a race numbering in the billions is no threat. Roden leaned back a little more. “Consider this,” he said carefully. “Every moment the Sephians are with the humans, they have an opportunity to fill their heads with lies about us. What’s to keep the humans from coming after us like they did last summer? We lost several good Draeken and their human consorts, including children not yet born.”

Hillas raised a hand. “Bah. A minor setback. We are still strong.”

Roden raised a brow. He knew the name of every Draeken still breathing, and the loss of eight Draeken families was minor?

“Let the humans think what they want,” Hillas continued. “Human technology is a thousand years behind ours. Even if the Sephians share the technology they stole from us, the humans could never replicate enough weapons for a mass assault before we crush them.”

Roden’s lips tightened. “They outnumber us millions to one. Their weapons may be archaic, but they’re still weapons, and as brutal and deadly as any Sephian weapon. The sheer numbers alone could—”

“You’re missing one critical point. Humans cannot work together. Throughout their history, there is not a single day recorded where their entire world was united. They need us to lead them. I’m not worried.”

You should be. “They’ve never had a world-wide cause to unite against before,” he said instead.

Hillas laughed. “Let them unite. We are in a different time now. We cannot afford the compassion our forefathers showed on Sephia. The time for mercy is over. If they do not wish us here, we could wipe humanity from this world with the firepower we have on just a single core ship. This world could become the new Draeka. We will rebuild and prosper.”

“With only four core ships with drained power cells? None of them have power to support weapons usage.”

Hillas gave a knowing smile.

“And you’re forgetting one important thing,” Roden said.

Hillas cocked his head then smiled. “Ah, yes, you believe that we are too few in number to rebuild our race without humans.”

“And you don’t?”

“I believe we take what we need,” Hillas said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Human DNA, while close to ours, is inferior; they cannot take flight. We splice the genes of those with favorable characteristics, keep the rest for a controllable-sized serf pool, and rebuild the Draeken bloodlines.”

Roden gritted his teeth. It was as he’d suspected: Hillas had no desire for peace. The Grand Lord had changed much over the years. Once, he’d been a leader of great vision. Now, if the Grand Lord had his way, it would be Sephia all over again: a new dynasty of chaos and oppression. Before the supernova, Draeka had been a place of peace and wisdom. He often wondered if Draeka’s conscience had died along with that star.

When his people had gone to Sephia seeking a new home—millennia before Roden’s time—they’d had the strength to win the war the Sephians had forced upon them. Now Hillas, for some reason, wanted to do the same on Earth. Except that now, that way of thinking wouldn’t work. They couldn’t afford a drawn-out war—or any war of any kind. Whatever was to be done had to be done with minimal casualties, or there’d be no Draeken remaining to continue their race.

The precipice was upon them. Roden watched Hillas closely. “Gene splicing has had mixed results. There’s no guarantee it will be successful on a large scale.”

“That was because we tried it with Sephian genes, but human DNA is a closer fit to ours. If it weren’t for their lack of wings, they could be considered our brethren.”

Roden fought to retain his calm. “Now is our chance to reclaim the glory of Draeka. War is not the answer. Slavery is a Sephian legacy; it was never ours. It’s a nasty habit we picked up from the Sephians, and it’s time we let it go.”

Hillas’ eyes narrowed. “If you were Grand Lord, the humans would breed Draeka right out of us. In mere generations, our people could lose their power to take flight.”

“Or we could create a new race with the power to take flight.”

“Bah.” Hillas waved a hand. “You would surrender too much for our people’s survival. And that’s why you’ll never lead them.”

That hurts. But Hillas had a point for once. Roden was willing to surrender much, including his own life—and most definitely the Grand Lord’s life—for his people’s survival. He sighed. “Regardless, there’s nothing we can do without power cells. Our core ships are essentially disabled. They can’t enter Earth’s orbit without stealth control, let alone land. What would you have me do?”

“The time for action will come, Commander. Preparations are already underway.”

“Preparations?” he asked, a feeling of dread weighing him down.

Hillas ran his fingers over his bejeweled hand. “Nothing that concerns you—not yet anyway; I will contact you when the time is ripe. In the meantime, continue to search for the spy in your camp.”

Roden paused. Apprehension shot through him, and he forced a relaxed expression. “There have been no signs of espionage since the Club Mayhem incident. I believe the spy, whoever he was, was likely killed or taken at the club.”

Hillas pounded a fist on the desk, and the image on the screen warbled. His face reddened, as though he were about to boil. “I don’t care! Our people need to feel safe. That means I need a traitor found and soon. I want an execution that is very public and very painful. Consider finding the traitor your top priority.”

So the Grand Lord didn’t care who Roden brought to him, as long as it was someone to appease his sense of justice. Hillas had done that sort of thing before, but now Roden considered whether the activity was to give the Draeken a sense of comfort or to keep his Second busy.

Sleight of hand.

The thought prickled at Roden’s nerves. Why was Hillas trying to distract the only lord with the power to usurp his plans with an impractical order? What was Hillas up to that didn’t involve his Second? It was then Roden realized that the precipice he feared had been reached and passed. He could wait no longer. He gave a slight nod. “Your Highness. I will find your traitor. Will that be all?”

Hillas smiled, seemingly content with Roden’s response. “One more thing,” the old Draeken said. “Is it true you have a Sephian female currently in your cells?”

Roden inhaled deeply to maintain an aura of nonchalance. “There is a Sephian currently held on my base. I did not realize I needed to apprise you of every minute detail that takes place under my command.”

“Nalea Homs is a member of Apolo’s trinity, and therefore my business,” Hillas said. “Bring her to me. No need for fanfare. You, alone, bring her directly to my earthside quarters. I expect to see you on the eve of two days’ hence.”

Roden forced a tight nod. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“That will be all.”

Roden punched the disconnect button and scowled. The Grand Lord had shown little interest in any prisoner before. Quite the opposite, in fact; the old male preferred the chase and bored quickly once his prey was conquered. Hillas clearly held suspicions regarding Nalea. But he didn’t yet know the truth. If he had known, he would’ve sent an assassin to finish her long ago. Hillas simply could not have the risk she posed hanging over his head.

Roden had been biding his time with Nalea, counting on the fact that Hillas knew nothing when it came to this particular Sephian. Regardless, between Hillas’ suspicions and his other preparations, Roden could wait no longer. Unfortunately, that meant he could no longer toy with his prisoner either.

As for Hillas’ other order, Roden had no intent of hunting for a traitor. Oh, he knew the traitor still lived, but it wouldn’t matter much longer. Everything was about to change. He’d go through the motions to keep Hillas off his back, at least long enough to keep the Grand Lord from discovering his plans.

Hmm. He rubbed his smooth chin. His original plan would have to be modified, as the timeline was now condensed. He’d need Nalea to make it work, and the risk was great to them both. He frowned, rubbing his neck as though to tamp out the uncomfortably strange emotion. The thought that she likely wouldn’t be alive three days from now was… distasteful.

Roden would question Nalea one more time; even though he knew she’d never willingly confirm what he already knew. Perhaps then he could forget about the Grand Lord for a brief time. No matter how wearisome Hillas could be, he was still Grand Lord and revered by most Draeken. Hillas carried a strong presence and clung to old protocols. Few suspected what Roden already knew to be true.

The Draeken Grand Lord was going insane.