Page 64 of Fated to the Dragon Warlord

“I said Deus was affected by the wormhole. I did not say he was dead,” Darax retorts.

“But all your females were killed by it, so why would you not make me think differently about your brother, Darax? You twist things. You make them work for you.”

I fling myself out of his grip, seething, walking away down the passage, back to the quarters my friends were sharing.

I don’t look back.

KERRA

The rage I feel, I’m directing at Darax, even though most of it is internal.

I am angry with myself. I made promises which were not within my power to keep. Iwantedthis to be a safe place, for me, for Rosalie and the others. It was more about what I needed than what they needed.

I’m as bad as Darax, keeping the information about his brother and about the risks here obtuse enough I’d draw all the wrong conclusions.

I’m not on Earth now. I’m not behind my desk in the grubby Victorian terrace crudely cut up into a high street solicitors’ office. Dealing with my clients who had nowhere else to turn and had to hope their earnings were low enough they could get help from the government.

Even being on the breadline often wasn’t quite low enough. But despite the anger of my senior partners, I often helped them anyway.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to try to make it okay, regardless. If it came to legal work, most of the time, I could do just that.

But I’m in another galaxy, on an alien planet, and the rules arenot the same.

I reach the quarters and slam my hand against the door. It slides open, and I find the place in disarray. Chairs are overturned, the cushions from the pit are everywhere, and one is sliced open as if it’s been seared with a laser. The box which Scarlett was using to make us clothing is on its side, lights blinking sadly. Smoke hangs in the air.

“Fuck!” I kick at a cushion, and it goes flying.

Underneath is something unexpected. It’s a word, scrawled in what looks like blood.

Cockroach.

It has to be Rosalie. She’s so good under stress. She’d have thought of putting a clue of some description where she thought I might find it. And it’s a clue no alien could have faked.

After all, how would they know how to write English?

But what does it mean? Have they hidden themselves like cockroaches? Could Rosalie possibly have been clearer as she wrote out her last word in her own blood?

Against my better judgement, I swipe a finger through the ‘c’ of cockroach. It comes away black.

So, not blood then. Or at least, not Rosalie’s.

It’s small comfort.

“Little snack,” Darax rumbles from the doorway, “what have you found?”

I already feel bad for getting mad at him. It doesn’t mean I forgive what he’s done, but if there’s one thing I have learnt from this whole sorry situation, it’s that I need him to find my friends. To find Rosalie…again.

I’m still angry, but anger will have to wait.

“Rosalie has written a word here.” I point to it. “It’s a clue.”

Darax’s feet appear beside me, and he crouches down beside me, mimicking my earlier action by touching the word, although he then puts his finger in his mouth.

“Oh god, Darax, ew.” I wince. “Don’t.”

He smacks his lips. “Fee.”

“What the hell isfee?”

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