Page 62 of Fated to the Dragon Warlord

“It would appear they are not dead, my Lord. As this DNA is not decayed. It is fresh.”

“What in the nev are the Veseli and the Madar doing working together?” I mutter under my breath. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It might, if the Madar have done what they usually do and thrown their lot in with those who they think can give them what they want,” Dalat says.

“And what do you think they want?”

“Sarkarnii flesh,” Dalat responds, emotionless.

“Nev!” I rasp. “I need to speak to the warlords.”

My heart sinks to my stomach. I can no longer keep this incursion into my sector to myself, not if it involves our old enemy, one which is supposed to be no more.

“Keep looking,” I growl at Dalat and my warriors. “Anything else you find, I need to know.”

Kerra appears by my side. “What’s happening? Did you find something?”

“Yes, little mate, we found something.”

“Not good?” she queries, studying my face. Her ability to read me is impressive, given I’ve spent nova-years with my warriors, and they’re still unable to get out of my way when I need them to.

“Not good. We need to go back to Vorostor Central. I’m going to have to report our findings to the warlords, and”—I take her little hand in mine—“I’m going to have to tell them about your friends.”

Kerra bites on her bottom lip. “At least let me tell them first, before you inform the warlords? I think they should be prepared.”

I want to say there is absolutely nothing which will prepare any of the females for my fellow warlords, particularly Dante, but there is little point. Kerra knows. She has met them, all save Dexx.

“Then we need to return.”

“Lord Darax!” A warrior from the cohort remaining with the ship stumbles through the grasses. “You need to get back to theSilver Star!”

“I know that,” I growl at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild.

“There has been an attack. The females have been taken.”

“What?” I fire out smoke and embers.

“No!” Kerra cries, clutching at me. “Darax!”

“And there’s something else, Lord.” The warrior stills. He studies his boots.

“Out with it,” I bark.

“Your brother…he has escaped.”

KERRA

My heart is pounding and not in a good way. My breath seizes in my throat as I attempt to hold on to Darax’s spines and not fall off. It’s not the riding causing this reaction. It’s my fear for Rosalie and my new friends.

And it’s the revelation that Darax’s brother is not dead, as I thought, but very much alive.

Darax said little about it before we left the site where my friends were being held, his jaw tight as he gave instructions to his warriors until in a whirl of smoke and scales, he was a dragon again, lifting me onto his back without a word.

He hasn’t spoken since, and the huge complex of ships is coming into view. I can see how they are half buried in the sand and all five ships joined to one huge one in the center. Vorostor Central. It’s as big and as imposing as the Sarkarnii themselves.

Below, smoke rises from several airlocks or exhaust ports. Darax dips his wing, and we spiral swiftly to the ground. He resolves into his man form before we land, and I find myself cradled in his arms.

“Report,” he barks at a warrior as I’m gently lowered to the floor.

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