Page 3 of Zeke
Not just Izaean, feral.
She suppressed her shudder and adjusted her mirrors, checking the truck's systems before they left. The Izaeans kept odd hours, and it wasn't her job to go around questioning them, even if they were lurking in the vehicle bay. Perhaps he was the alien version of a truck spotter or something. As long as he wasn't interfering with them or stopping them, it was nothing to do with her why he was there.
"Comms check," she said into her radio, testing the connection.
"Liam here, clear signal."
"Caleb, good to go."
Putting the thing into gear, she drove them out into the pre-dawn darkness. The truck's headlights cut through the gloom, illuminating the rough track ahead. The suspension absorbed the worst bumps and ruts, but she still felt every jolt through her injured leg.
The landscape around them screamed alien as soon as they left the garrison, twisted rock formations, patches of bioluminescent vegetation, and towering trees with bark that shifted color in the headlight beams. Strange, fern-like plants carpeted the ground between the rocks, their fronds moving idly. This wasn't Earth, that was for sure.
"How far to the site?" Caleb asked, his voice slightly distorted by the truck's comm system.
"About an hour at this speed," she replied, driving around a deep rut. "The access road's not great, but it's better than hiking with all the gear."
"Hell yeah," Liam snorted and settled back in his seat, pulling his cap down over his eyes. "Wake me up when we get there."
"Commander! Subcommander! Michelle—she's been snatched by a feral!"
Zeke's world tilted sideways as the young Izaean's words echoed in his skull.
Fury detonated in his chest—not his usual controlled burn, but something wild that clawed through his veins like molten steel. His claws began to drop, the sensation automatic, a result of muscle memory from countless battles. But this time felt wrong.
No.
He tried to retract them, tried to force them back through sheer will, but they wouldn't obey. The razor-sharp talons slid free with soft snicks that echoed through the command room. Three inches of lethality steel had been honed through years of combat.
The loss of control sent ice through his gut. In all his years on Parac'Norr, through every episode of rage and fury, he'd never lost his grip on his claws. They were weapons, tools to be deployed with precision. He controlled them; they did not control him.
Draanth. Panic sliced through him as he tried again to force them back.
A metallic taste flooded his mouth as adrenaline dumped into his system. His pulse hammered against his eardrums while the messenger's breath came in quick, uneven gasps.
Silence stretched through the room like a taut wire ready to snap. The air was thick, oppressive, and charged with tension.
One of the executives on the holographic display leaned forward, his face twisted with confusion and growing irritation.
"What the hell is going on? We demand to know what?—"
Prince Isan's hand slammed down on the communication console with enough force to make the entire unit shudder. The humans' holograms flickered once, their forms wavering before they vanished, leaving the room in sudden silence.
Zeke stepped forward, looming over the messenger. He should wait for Kraath or Isan to take charge, but draanth that. Michelle was out there, and every second they wasted was a second she might not have.
The messenger was young, maybe twenty standard years, with the lean build of a youth who hadn't yet reached his full adult size. His dark hair was cropped short, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool temperature of the command room. The scent of his fear was sharp, cutting through the sterile air like a knife.
"Report," he growled, deeper and more dangerous than usual. "Everything. Now."
The messenger stammered and took a step back. Zeke followed, his eyes fixed on the kid's face. He towered over him until the boy had to crane his neck to meet his eyes.
"She—she was with two male human engineers at the secondary construction site," the youngster managed, his voice cracking on the words. "We were on patrol, returning to the garrison when we heard screams."
Screams. The word slammed into Zeke, knocking the air from his lungs. The image of Michelle screaming in terror and pain surged through him. His claws flexed, the movement sending sharp pain up his forearms. His temples pounded, and the taste of copper bloomed on his tongue; he'd split the inside of his cheek with his teeth.
"Continue." The word came out harsher than he'd intended.
"We smelled human blood in the air." The messenger's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "We ran to investigate and found two human males, brutally injured but alive."
