Page 44 of Taken to Heimo
“My husband says that if you’re Svera’s mate, then she has her work cut out for her.”
That sounds dangerously like acknowledgement. I press my lips together, not wishing to bait them any further or lose the little ground that I have. “Pulayeez. I just need to see her. And I’d rather talk to her about what I mean to talk to her about — not why I tore down her house.”
The female’s mouth quirks. There’s another exchange between her and her partner. Finally, she says, “You may speak to her with her consent, but you will not find her here. She is at Mathilda’s house.”
“Mathilda? She is treacherous. Svera would not go there alone.”
I check my life drive again and, sure enough, Svera’s tracker is active in her parents’ home but…it’s very stationary. Almost like…nox…could it be a ruse?A jammer.The technology exists, but I do not know how the humans would have gotten ahold of it.Bo’Raku. Pirates…
“Where?”
“It’s the highest home on the hill. I’m only telling you, because Svera told us that you were watching out for her and we fear that woman. Please make sure she stays safe. There are things we will be soon sharing with the Va’Raku and Va’Rakukanna that will make our family targeted.”
I tense. “You have nothing to fear. You are sires to my mate. No harm will come to Svera and no harm will come to you.” As soon as I say the words, some of the pain in my ridges lessens. I can breathe again. Deeply.
The female offers me a small smile, but it is full of sadness. “This is kind of you to say, but only the Tri-God can help us now.” I’m about to cut in when she points past me, towards the colony’s hill where new structures are being built.
“Go. Please,” she says. “Make sure our daughter is safe.”
“Until my last breath.” I nod and switch my gaze to the male. “You are wrong. Iwillreceive your permission. I am Krisxox of Voraxia and I donotlose.”
Red rises in his face as the female translates, just like it does in Svera’s, but before he can answer, I take off towards the houses sprouting from the hilltop.
I pound on the door to the largest structure for what feels like an eternity. No one answers. I’m about to break down the door when I get a sharp poke to the rear.
I growl and spin around, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but a kit holding a sharp stick.
“What are you doing?” I shout at it, but it doesn’t speak Drakesh or even Voraxian and just stares at me with globes for eyes and a smile on his face. He’s not scared of me. He should be. But he isn’t.
Instead, he just raises his stick again and pokes my thigh with it. I slap it away with a scowl and he stumbles a little to the side.
He says something to me in Human that sounds like a huff, then “eye.”
What is this? A greeting? A warning? What? I don’t have time for it as everything pulls together. Every muscle, every tendon, every xoking bone. I squeeze myself into oblivion, trying to will myself to not to explode as a sense of urgency causes the pain to resurface in me. Xana’s punishment…
But then there’s that xoking stick. He taps it to my abdomen and I reach out and try to grab it, but my left arm jerks when I see that he’s pointing it again, this time, away.
“You know something?” I ask. He just giggles. I groan, exasperated. “Svera,” I bark. “Mathilda.”
He nods and my breath and pulse pick up. He points again with his stick and, when I still don’t react, he starts to run at a bobbling little pace.
He runs to the crest of the hill, high enough for me to be able to see down the other side of it.
Xok.
Looking out over the bleak and lonely landscape, it’s all dense, packed sand that’s a slightly redder hue than Qath’s golden brown forest floor, but unlike Qath, there is no vegetation here.
Just endless sand, interspersed only by rocks which form knobby, jagged hills some ways away, and the nightshade trees dispersed inelegantly among them.
That, and the glider.
At least, that’s what itshouldbe. But it isn’t a glider like any I’ve ever seen before. Instead of a sleek silver floor, it’s got no floor at all, but rubber wheels rolling underneath some rickety metal contraption. Clouds of black dust streak behind it as it races across the sand, heading to a destination unknown.
“Xok.”
“Svera,” the boy says to me, “Mathilda, Deena…” he says more that I don’t understand, but we’re interrupted by a female’s shrill squawk.
“Mahmoud, gettaw awy fum heem!” A woman is racing up the road toward us.
