Page 12 of Fated to the Dragon Warlord

And I don’t care he has abs for days and the handsome face of a Hollywood icon. Darax is a means to an end.

That’s my final word.

“You want to go with my warriors?”

“Yes.”

“To find your friend?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will lead the mission,” he announces.

“You?”

Damn it, damn Darax, damn it all. I thought I might be rid of him. Clearly, I am not.

“Finding this female is important to me. She may have seen things or obtained information which would be useful.” He eyes me.

Why do I feel a twinge of annoyance when he talks about Rosalie like this? I shove it down inside and concentrate on my aim.

To find my friend and survive.

“We will be on Vorostor in the next nova hour. I will arrange for us to go straight to the last known location of the pod.” Daraxlooks me up and down again. “In the meantime, my personal aquium is at your disposal, little snack.”

He turns, and the door slides open before he strides through without hesitation. It snaps shut behind him, his tail only just getting through in time.

Did my huge, scaled, alien warlord imply I need a bath?

I think he did. It’s almost enough to make me want to stay dirty just to annoy him.

But as I look over my shoulder at the bath only recently vacated by Darax, I’m one hundred percent certain I’m going in, even if it is something he told me to do.

I’ll do it for me. And for my poor crusty hair.

KERRA

Of course he locked the door. I should have expected to remain his prisoner, given how much Darax seems to like havingproperty. It’s something I’m going to make him regret, the moment I get a chance anyway.

Admittedly, being clean, especially having clean hair, has given me a new lease on life. Having done some digging around in the cabin, I managed to find a large red shirt. It has the scent of smoke on it, so it clearly belongs to Darax, but otherwise it’s certainly cleaner and in better repair than the tattered hoody I feel like I’ve been wearing forever. My jeans, however, will have to do.

I scrabble at the door. There has to be a way of getting out of here.

The doors snap open and I’m looking directly at a scaled abdomen.

“Attempting to go somewhere?” Darax growls.

“I’m not your prisoner,” I retort.

He rumbles something under his breath. It could be Sarkarnii curses. I love the fact I’m getting to him.

“What are you wearing?”

“My clothing was beyond a quick dip in the bath. I found this.” I make the sleeves flop about over my hands. “I guessed as you don’t use it much, I can.”

The sound Darax makes in the back of his throat is not like anything I’ve heard before. For a second or two, I wonder if I’ve pushed things too far.

“I don’t wear it, not now we are no longer part of the Sarkarnii fleet,” he says eventually. “You should make use of it.”

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