Mylomon

Mylomon:

Shackleton Crater Lunar Base, Earth’s Moon—the night of the Harvest Festival Ball Mylomon had two objectives: find the traitor and eliminate him.

As missions went, it was not the worst assignment his warlord ever gave him. Far from it. Mylomon understood that he made his clan uncomfortable. Mahdfel preferred to confront their enemies directly, challenge them in an honorable manner. Such constricting notions of honor never hindered Mylomon. He followed his warlord’s orders. He did his duty. He did the dirty, necessary work that benefited the entire clan. Was it honorable to poison the enemy? Wait for them in the dark and pull them back into the shadows so fast they never felt the knife that sliced their throats? No, but he got shit done. If chest thumping theatrics could corner the traitor, then the warlord would have sent another warrior. But he didn’t.

He sent Mylomon.

The Judgment had tracked the traitor’s signal to the edge of the Terran’s system. The battle cruiser monitored the situation but deployed Mylomon for a more nuanced mission on the Terran’s lunar base.

Mylomon slipped into the Shackleton Lunar Base unseen. He tracked the traitor’s signal to the recreation dome where he discovered some sort of event taking place, a Harvest Festival Ball.

Constructed of a super-dense, transparent material, the top level of the dome was encased in glass. It gave the impression of the room opening directly to space. Terrans and Mahdfel in formal wear filled the room. Music, the constant babble of conversation, colorful decorations, and the aroma of familiar and exotic cuisine threatened to overwhelm his senses.

It also overwhelmed the computer. The program was able to trace the traitor to the recreation dome but it was unable to pinpoint his exact location or distinguish his signal from the thousand other communication units on the arms of every person at the Harvest Festival Ball.

Begrudgingly he admired the traitor’s cunning. This mission proved to be more challenging that he anticipated. Good. He hadn’t had a real challenge since he moved all the pieces into position to take down the last warlord.

Warlord Omas Nawk had been insane. No one doubted that he had to go. Twisted by an experimental therapy that saved his life, he gained immense strength and stamina. No warrior was able to challenge the warlord in a fair fight.

So Mylomon made it an unfair fight.

He selected who would be the correct warlord to reshape the damaged clan, Omas’s brother, Paax. Setting brother against brother was impossible. Paax had left the clan to avoid confronting his deranged brother but Mylomon set in motion the events to motivate Paax to challenge Omas.

Devious? Yes.

Dishonorable? He saved the clan, didn’t he? Everything he had done was for the good of the clan.

Like hunting this traitor who leaked security codes to the Suhlik. Betraying his clan to those alien lizards for what? Mylomon’s stomach churned with disgust. What could the Suhlik give a Mahdfel? Nothing. The Suhlik could only take away.

Mylomon’s instinct was to hang back in the shadows and observe. The traitor would appear nervous, glancing at the comm unit too often or appear otherwise distracted. The large room was filled with light and sound. There were no shadows. He needed to move about the crowd and blend in as a festival reveler.

He didn’t revel. Wasn’t in his nature.

He moved through the crowd, trying refrain from stalking, scowling or appearing as a threat. Fortunately, in a crowd of Mahdfel warriors, his size and predatory grace did not set him apart. Unfortunately, he did not have the capacity to appear relaxed, as if he enjoyed the festivities. When someone in the crowd bumped into him, they looked up and their face went pale and they muttered apologies before scurrying away.

Mylomon knew he wasn’t conventionally handsome, attractive or even easy to look at, but he wasn’t that monstrous, was he?

The festival turned out to be the best place for the traitor to hide from Mylomon.

Unable to move through the crowd without drawing attention to himself, he took up a position on a balcony. With a drink in hand, he slouched against the railing and surveyed the crowd.

On the floor, he spotted Medic Kalen dancing with a dark haired Terran female. This is what the medic did when their warlord sent him away for additional training in Terran biology? Well, he certainly did seem interested in that particular Terran’s biology. Mylomon filed away his observation for later use. He never particularly liked or trusted the medic.

A woman brushed by him in a deep purple gown that faded to a bright pink at the hem, arm in arm with a dusky complexion Mahdfel warrior. He paid them no mind, thinking her laugh was too loud.

Then the scent of sunshine and green, growing things hit him.

His head swiveled, tracking the scent back to the woman. She sashayed away with her warrior, continuing to laugh too loud. The movement of the full skirt of her gown was mesmerizing. He could stare at the fabric, and perhaps what was under the fabric, all evening.

His hand rubbed at his chest. Then he paused. He had no tattoos to tingle at the sight of a mate. He had no markings of clan, family or rank but his skin felt like it was on fire.

For her.

Her blonde hair was pulled on top of her head in a bun. He wanted to free her locks and run his fingers through the blonde waves, gaze into her animated face, open and sweet. This Terran was his mate?

Mylomon shook his head to clear his thoughts. Such sentimentality was beyond him. He never believed he would have a match. The Suhlik had manipulated his genetic material as a child, leaving him an abomination. What were the odds of finding a female genetically compatible with his abnormal genes?

Slim to nonexistent. He gave up the dream of having a mate and a family long ago.

But there she was, the only female in the universe for him, hanging on the arm of another.

Mylomon frowned at his rival, disapproving of the way his formal uniform was unbuttoned at the collar. His hair was a wild, untamed mess. Sloppy. He had a scar on his forehead just below the hairline. Sloppy in battle, too.

He should go over there, press his claim and challenge the male. He was confident in his skills, both the legitimate skills and the disreputable skills. His prowess would be sure to impress the female.

The itching, burning sensation returned to his chest. Did Terran females enjoy such displays? He only knew one Terran, his warlord’s mate, Mercy. She was kind and calm and grew upset at most shows of violence. Her eyes filled with tears and her voice shook in distress when she witnessed her mate being injured in the sparring ring. She said it was hor-moans, but he did not believe her. Mercy was kind hearted.

Perhaps such a display of his prowess would do more damage than good when it came to impressing his female.

And the blonde female was his, he had no doubt.

He needed to speak to her. Logic told him to walk over to her and say something, anything, but his feet remained rooted in place. She had him as nervous as an untested youth. Foolishness. He should go over there, pull her away from the sloppy warrior and… what, exactly? Throw her over his shoulder and storm away, kidnapping her and abandoning his mission? He didn’t know much about Terran females but he was positive they did not enjoy being abducted.

He could ask her name.

Yes, her name. This thought pleased him.

He moved toward her.

She grabbed a slender glass off a tray and downed it quickly, her fair skin blushing with alcohol fueled warmth. With a smile, she playfully jabbed the male on the shoulder.

Mylomon froze. After he asked her name, what then? What if he said the wrong thing? A dozen scenarios played out in his mind, each one ending poorly. No, there was too much at stake for him to casually approach his mate. He needed a plan.

He glanced over the edge of the balcony. In a partially hidden corner, the medic was becoming very familiar with a certain Terran’s physiology. Perhaps he discounted the medic too soon. Kalen obviously knew something about females that Mylomon didn’t. He would ask for guidance but his relationship with the medic was antagonistic at best. They may be brothers in the same clan but they were not friends.

He should return to the object of his mission. The traitor remained hidden in the crowd. The Judgment had intercepted several transmissions, including one with the lunar base’s security code. The warlord had decided to remain quiet, to not tip off the traitor that he had been discovered. Now Suhlik forces crowded at the edge of Earth’s system, waiting for a signal. Mylomon needed to eliminate the traitor before that signal could be sent.

The female could wait. She was his match. She did not have the scent of a child or another male on her. Eventually she would submit to the screening process and the match would be formalized. This pleased him. Every eligible female was subjected to the screenings. According to the protection treaty his people signed with Earth, childless, single and otherwise healthy females must comply. No exceptions.

Yes, he would wait and she would come to him. Then he would not have to worry about such details as introductions and conversation. This was a good plan and pleased his assassin instincts. He’d wait for his quarry and prepare all his considerable skill to talk to a girl.

Satisfied, he rubbed at the burning sensation just under the skin of his chest. With preparation, there was no problem he could not overcome.

Alarm klaxons pierced through the music and noise of the crowd, ending the revelry of the festival.

Daisy:

Calm, cool and coping. That was Daisy’s moto. So there was absolutely no reason to be fighting back tears. She was giving her friend the send-off he deserved. It was far from the end of the world, no matter how much she’d miss Vox.

Pilots cycled in and out of the lunar base often. He’d be back.

“Too bad your Terran blood is too weak for weskig,” he said. He quickly downed a glass of something pale and green. He gritted his teeth and hissed in satisfaction.

Daisy grabbed a glass. “I will drink your purple butt under the table.” She tilted her head back and swallowed the liquor in one gulp, coughing as it burned its way down her throat.

The purple jerk in question gave her an appreciative slap on the back. Dressed in his formal black uniform, Vox hardly looked like the unkempt alien with a dusky heather complexion and wild lavender hair. He looked grown-up.

“Tomorrow is your extraction day,” the warrior said.

“We call it a birthday. I was not extracted from my mother.” As far as she knew.

“Your mate could be here tonight.”

Perched on the balcony, Daisy scanned the crowd. She recognized some of the faces. “Maybe. Maybe not.” It didn’t matter. Tomorrow she could be matched and her mate would love her and keep her safe, always. She’d never be alone or scared. It did not matter where he was now because tomorrow he would be with her.

Daisy had wanted to be matched to a Mahdfel warrior for as long as she could remember. When she was young, hostile aliens, the Suhlik, had invaded Earth. Outgunned and outclassed in every confrontation, Earth needed an ally. The Mahdfel arrived, offering such an alliance. The price? The Mahdfel were once subjugated by the Suhlik and genetically altered. They were altered so they were unable to have female children. The Mahdfel constantly sought out new planets, new alliances, for brides.

And Daisy would be one of those brides. She knew it in her bones. She just had to wait.

The Mahdfel didn’t date or court their women like human men. Potential brides—single, childless and otherwise healthy women—were selected through a genetic matching process. Matches of 98.5 percent compatibility or better were enforced.

An attack during the invasion had left Daisy’s sister, Meridan, infertile and exempt from the match. Daisy, however, was hale and hearty.

Daisy could trace the moment her obsession of being matched began back to the attack on Meridan. During the dark days of the invasion, Meridan had been a teen and Daisy maybe eleven, a Suhlik soldier attacked Meridan and their mother. At the refugee camp, an aid worker gave Daisy a cup of salty chicken noodle soup and a package of saltine crackers. She remembered the overwhelming helplessness of the situation as she and her father waited for the medical staff to save her sister. During the long wait, she studied the nurses and doctors. They were not paralyzed by fear. Casualties kept arriving and mortar attacks shook the ground but their work mobilized them. Blood stained the white coats of the doctors and the nurses were just as gory but they were not helpless. They were in control. Daisy wanted to be like them: confident and calm in the face of absolute desperation. That’s the moment she decided to be a nurse.

That was also the moment she decided that marrying an alien warrior was the best way to always be safe. So what if it was hero worship? Having her own personal superhero sounded awesome. Daisy remembered clear as day the tall, athletic leaf green alien that defended her sister from the Suhlik soldier and carried her unconscious body to medical care.

Hero worship, justified. Jarron saved Meridan’s life. He was unable to save their mother but she was thankful for the gift he gave her that day. A real-life superhero. Superman was an alien, too, after all. Just not green.

She worked her way through nursing school and now she worked at the Shackleton Crater Lunar Base, side by side with Earth’s alien allies. The alien males weren’t interested in dating. Sex, yes, and the odd one-night stand but Daisy wasn’t a one-night stand kind of girl. The Mahdfel saw no point in dating if they were going to be matched to a genetically compatible female. Without that compatibility, pregnancy was dangerous for the mother and child, and the Mahdfel wanted a new generation of warriors to carry on the fight against the Suhlik.

Daisy wanted her mate. No one else would do. She wanted fireworks and the earth to move. Every birthday she submitted to the test and waited with desperate longing to be matched to her mate. This could be the year, after all.

She spotted her sister’s dark hair in the crowd with Kalen. As displeased as Meridan was when Daisy set up their blind-date, they seemed to be getting pretty cozy. Making out, actually.

Vox followed her gaze. He snorted in amusement. “The medic has game.”

“Gross,” Daisy said, landing an affectionate hit on his shoulder. “That’s my sister.”

“I see a poker game. I have a powerful need to part fools from their credits.”

“I want to dance. Come on, let’s dance.” She shimmied her hips for emphasis.

“But poker…” The beseeching look was pathetic and effective.

“Fine,” Daisy said. “Poker now but when the music is up tempo, we’re dancing.”

Vox would be gone in the morning. She couldn’t wrap her head around not having his ridiculous presence around. At least she would always have Meridan.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Just as they sat at a table, the alarm klaxons sounded.

Daisy:

Klaxons sounded, filling the rec dome with a shrill, reverberating alarm. Immediately the alarm on her comm unit sounded. Suhlik forces incoming, the message read. All civilian staff report to designated shelters. Emergency personnel report to their assignments.

Daisy’s assignment was the emergency medical bay. Civilians went to underground shelters, to let the Mahdfel and human soldiers do their job of repelling the attack. She would wait in medical, ready to patch them up.

Vox pulled her into a crushing embrace. “I wanted more time,” he said. “But I have to go shoot lizards.”

“Go,” she said, patting him in the center of his chest. “Can you even fly after you've been drinking?”

“I’ll need a scrubber.”

She’d need one, as well. Once in medical, she’d take a course to remove intoxicants from her system and then change into her nursing scrubs. “Be safe.”

Another hug, this one more crushing, more final. “Be safe, sister of my heart.”

“Stop it. You’re going to make me cry and then all the nurses will make fun of me.” She smiled thinly, trying to play off her statement as a joke but they both knew she spoke true.

“I think I need a new scar,” he said, gesturing to his chin. “Maybe here. Terran chicks dig scars.”

Daisy knew what Vox was doing, making her laugh to avoid tears. They would, most likely, not see each other until the all-clear sounded and then he would be gone to his new deployment. This was the moment for goodbyes. “Get your pretty face out of here and go blow up enemy craft.”

“Can’t argue with a direct command like that,” he said, snapping his feet together and giving her a salute.

Then he left, heading down a corridor toward the shuttle bay.

Daisy shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Medical wasn’t far. Above, through the glass dome, small explosions of missiles struck the base’s shields. The shielding would hold for several rounds of volleys.

The occupants of the dome moved efficiently and calmly. Even though the Suhlik had not attacked the SCLB in over five years, they were prepared. Civilians practiced heading to the shelters once a month. Emergency personnel, such as herself, were chosen based on their demonstrated ability to stay calm under pressure. The Mahdfel and human soldiers were professionals. No one should panic. Nothing was amiss.

Daisy took the most direct route to medical.

The medical bay wasn’t a single location but a cluster of buildings housed in a separate dome, arranged around a green space. Emergency medical was housed in a secondary dome with direct shuttle access to accept the incoming wounded. She could cut through the medical dome with its green lawns, and she normally did on a regular work day, or she could save a few minutes and go the back way through the underground service tunnels.

Daisy clattered down the metal stairs. Above surface, SCLB was functional but not aesthetically pleasing. Human and Mahfel design collided in the most boring fashion. Everything was white or grey. That’s what happens when you design by committee: no one is happy but no one can complain. At least SCLB had plenty of green spaces to relieve the monotony of endless grey corridors. Above ground was, at best, functional and inoffensive. Boring.

Below ground was worse. Service tunnels housed pipes and conduits, necessary to maintain the base and life support. Necessary didn’t have to mean pretty, it mean bare bones: exposed pipes, plain concrete, and skeleton stairs that always unnerved Daisy. You shouldn’t be able to see through the grating on the tread. You just shouldn’t.

This particular service tunnel, while warm with steam and illuminated with a sulfurous yellow light from the industrial light fixture, came up right next to the emergency medical bay.

Daisy picked up her dress and ran.

“Female, why are you not in a shelter?”

A loud male voice made her pause. The pronunciation was ever so slightly off. Alien. Some hot-headed warrior intended to shove her in a shelter because she was “someone’s female.” Happened every drill.

Daisy spun toward the sound of the voice, ready to tell the alien warrior off. Words dried up in her mouth as she took in the male.

Big, that was her first thought. Really big. The shadows gathered to him, even in the sulfurous lighting. His deep aubergine complexion was the perfect shade to blend into the dark. Horns curled aggressively from his forehead, coming to a wickedly sharp point. Daisy had the overwhelming urge to run a finger along those horns and test their sensitivity. Theoretically she knew the horns were sensitive but touching a male’s horns was an intimate activity. She never touched any male’s horns, not even Vox’s, but she needed to touch his.

He strode toward her, long legs eating up the distance between them.

He wasn’t handsome, not by any stretch of the imagination. His features were far too sharp. Lips too thin. Chin too hard. Stars, he was compelling. He practically radiated danger and dominance.

She wanted to run her hands over him, explore the broad splendor of his chest, ripples of his abs and strength of his thighs. She just wanted to lick him all over like he was giant purple lollipop.

Stars, that sounded like a good idea.

Excitement fluttered in her chest. Working side by side with alien males for more than two years and not a single one had ever turned her head. Well… she enjoyed the eye candy but none had ever made her weak in the knees. Literally weak in the knees. She needed to sit.

Daisy leaned a shoulder against the wall.

“Are you injured, female?”

“No, I’m fine,” Daisy said.

The male came forward and reached for her. Daisy evaded. “Listen,” she said, “I need to get to emergency medical.”

“You are injured.” His eyes narrowed as if he visually tried to confirm her injuries.

“I’m not injured. I need to report to my station. You know, to do my job.” Speaking of which, why wasn’t this warrior at his station?

“You should be in a shelter with the other Terrans.”

Not this garbage again. “Look, I’m a combat nurse. See.” She thrust her wrist comm toward him. “That’s my assignment. Let me do my job.”

His hand wrapped around her wrist, warm and surprisingly soft. Shouldn’t a warrior have hardened, calloused hands? And why, oh why, did she need to have his warm hands all over her. His thumb brushed against the tender skin of her inner wrist. His eyes held hers, dark and turbulent. “You are too precious to be risked. Allow me to bring you to a shelter.”

For a moment, she was tempted. Going with him seemed like a good idea. A fun idea. And she’d been drinking at the Harvest Festival Ball. She was hardly fit for duty. Her supervisor would understand if she was too incapacitated to make it to emergency medical.

She blinked to clear her head. No. She was a professional, not a giggling school girl ready to go make out with the hot guy while the base was under attack. Plus, if they lingered too long, they risked being sealed into the tunnels.

She yanked her hand away. “No. I need to report to my station.”

He moved to grab her arm. Asking nicely was over, apparently.

Daisy darted away, running up the stairs. The ground shuddered. She clung to the railing but kept climbing. The shielding was down. How were the shields down so quickly? Those things could take a pounding for hours, or so the orientation video had claimed.

The stairs spilled into a nondescript corridor. Grey, of course. Another ground shake. For the first time, Daisy regretted her heels. Keeping her footing in the ridiculous shoes was a challenge she did not need at the moment.

She glanced at the ceiling. It appeared stable. Rationally she knew the domes covering the base were highly resistant to direct hits and the base had fail safes to protect against a breach. Corridors would seal themselves off, isolating the rip or tear, if such an unlikely thing were to happen.

She took a deep breath. Calm. Cool. Collected. She chanted her mantra. The base was safe. Safer than anything on Earth. Safer than the little wooden house her family had lived in during the initial Suhlik invasion. Safer than the bombed-out church basement they had squatted in. There was no safer place to be than on the moon.

She rounded the corner. Not much farther now. The dark warrior continued to chase her. He could easily run her down, tackle her, and carry her kicking and screaming into a shelter. He didn’t want her frightened, she reasoned, so he followed at a distance. It didn’t matter. She was nearly there. Once in emergency medical, he wouldn’t be able to remove her.

One more set of doors and she’d be there. The doors slide open as Daisy approached, only to reveal a corridor full of Suhlik. Tall, gorgeous, deadly Suhlik.

What. The. Hell.

Daisy skidded to a stop. Collectively, their golden, ethereally beautiful faces turned toward her. Their eyes were so large, so intriguing. No being had the right to be that pretty. Or that dangerous. She wanted to lay down at their feet, let them tear out her throat with their two rows of teeth.

The dark warrior shoved Daisy behind him. He growled at the Suhlik warriors. They responded in kind. This made no sense. The Suhlik should not be here, in Earth space or on the moon. Too many sophisticated defense systems were in place to allow a raiding party to just casually stroll into the lunar base. And why hadn’t the shields held?

“What are those lizards doing here?”

“Female,” the Mahdfel warned.

Yeah, yeah. She didn’t like the derogatory word either but if you couldn’t use it when you were moments away from being gutted by a beautiful space lizard, when could you?

The Suhlik hissed. Her implanted chip was slow to translate but she didn’t need it to know it meant nothing good. Then the Suhlik moved as one and rushed toward them.

Her dark warrior pulled her toward him. Then he did the unexpected. They moved toward the wall.

Into the wall.

Through the wall.

The world went fuzzy at the edges—just like when she used a teleporter and was being scattered to the stars. Only this time, she went sideways through a wall instead of across space. Her stomach decided that now was the time for somersaults and then her head hit something solid. Hard.

Darkness.

Mylomon:

Events failed to comply with his plan.

He followed his mate to insure her safety—no other reason. When the alarm first sounded, he hesitated, torn between assuring his mate’s safety and continuing to track the traitor. His hesitation caused the mission to fail and allowed the traitor to slip away in the chaos. He spoke to his mate—unscripted, unprepared and against the plan. His only consolation was that her body responded to his: elevated heart rate, raised body temperature, dilated pupils, tightening nipples. She even licked her lips as her hungry gaze admired his form. Running through the bowels of the base might explain the heart rate and body temperature but not the lip licking. The lip licking was all for him.

Then she ran head first into a cluster of Suhlik warriors.

Suhlik. The idea of that filth daring to set foot on a Mahdfel controlled base enraged him on many levels. He cursed inferior Terran designs, the traitor that lowered the shields, and the lack of hellstone in the structure of the base. No hellstone? What were the Terrans thinking? Hellstone’s unique chemical property prevented teleportation.

The Terrans utilized teleportation technology every day. They knew the Suhlik had the same tech. Why had they failed to add hellstone to the domes, walls and very foundation of the base?

Terrans never listened. They blathered on about budgets and probability and look where it got them: a moon base filled with Suhlik.

His female failed to listen to him, as well. If she had, she would have been safely below ground in a shelter with the rest of the Terran civilians. No. Why should one single thing go smoothly? Better to continue the string of calamity, which he did with a less-than-perfect teleport. Faced with charging Suhlik, his first instinct was to greet his opponent with a smile in battle, but he had to think of his mate. He had to protect her. Terrans were soft skinned and fragile. Terran females were particularly small. Delicate. He could not allow his delicate Terran female to be injured, so he wrapped his arms around her and shifted through the wall.

Teleporting a second person required perfect clarity and concentration. He had neither. The shift was flawed and she injured her head. He injured her with his sloppiness. Unacceptable.

Overhead lighting flickered on and he surveyed their new environment. They were in some kind of a room. Terran sized furniture cluttered the space, giving the room the tedious look of an administrator’s office. The thin door was not designed to withstand enemy fire. This was an unacceptable location. His unconscious mate would not be safe here.

He would find an acceptable location and guard her until she woke.

He lifted his mate and slung her across his shoulders. She weighed next to nothing. A light floral scent emanated from her golden hair. He wanted to bury his nose in it and breath it in but now was not the time. Suhlik were infiltrating the base. A traitor had lowered the shields and allowed them in. His mate was injured. No, it was definitely not a good time to contemplate flowers and his female’s delicious scent.

Mylomon jogged into the hall. His mate wanted to go to the medical bay. He would bring her there. Several warriors would guard the medical facility. She would be safe and a medic could look at her head.

The door at the end of the corridor would not open. Safety protocols had put barricades in place to isolate the intruders. He could teleport through the barrier, bringing his mate along but he was reluctant. He could not risk losing his concentration and injuring his mate again. He would find another way.

Mylomon backtracked and took a different path. This corridor branched into several but lead him away from the medical facilities. The fire of plasma rifles sounded in the distance. The ground shook from missile strikes but the dome continued to hold. Lights flickered but the dome still held. He was glad his mate remained unconscious. She did not have to worry about sudden atmospheric loss.

He rounded another corner, displeased with the growing distance between him and his target location. He had memorized the layout of the base but the rerouting made it difficult to get his bearings. All he knew was where he was not.

The corridor emptied out into a larger common space. Warriors clashed with Suhlik, as they should. His brothers fought well, defending their homes and their own mates. It was an impressive sight, part of him yearned to join the fray, but it was not the way forward.

Mylomon moved to retrace his steps. A Suhlik male blocked his exit. Three more joined their comrade.

He tilted his head to one side. Only four. He calculated the odds. He was faster and more vicious, just as the Suhlik had made him. But his mate’s life depended on him. He could not leave her unguarded, not for a single moment.

Footsteps. More Suhlik approached. Options dwindling, Mylomon pulled his mate down from his shoulders and held her to his chest. The more of her that touched him, the easier the teleport.

The Suhlik closest to him raised a weapon. The plasma rifled hummed as it prepared a charge.

Mylomon sank through the floor, into the unknown, clutching his mate.