Treehouse.
I dropped the maramount to the jungle floor with a dull, meaty thud and broke into a run. My legs pumped as I crashed through the undergrowth, my claws tearing through vines, abandoning any pretense at trying to stay silent. Branches whipped across my face and arms, leaving stinging welts, but I barely registered the pain.
Logically, I knew it took only minutes to reach the hilltop that overlooked the valley where the treehouse sat, yet it felt like I ran for eons, each stride stretching into eternity. My heart hammered against my ribs with bone-deep worry that threatened to consume me whole, a drumbeat of fear that drowned out all rational thought.
When I finally broke through the treeline, skidding to a halt at the edge precipice with loose stones scattering beneath my feet, my heart nearly stopped beating altogether.
A small, sleek spaceship had landed nearby, its polished hull gleaming with an otherworldly sheen that seemed wrong against the organic chaos of the jungle. The vessel had completely destroyed the garden that Jolie and Lilibet had worked so hard to cultivate, its landing struts crushing the raised beds into splintered wood and pulverized soil. Trampledvegetables and crushed flowers lay scattered across the earth like the broken bodies of fallen soldiers, the vibrant colors now muted with dust and destruction.
Four towering Wojonik stood near the base of the treehouse, massive forms clad in battle armor that caught the sunlight—red leather the color of freshly spilled blood.
One of the warriors held a squirming, crying Lilibet in his arms, her tiny form dwarfed by his massive hands. Her small fists beat uselessly against his chest as tears streamed down her terrified face, her mouth opened in wails I could hear even from this distance—raw sounds of pure terror that tore at something deep in my soul. Another warrior dragged a struggling Jolie by her arm, his thick fingers wrapped entirely around her slender bicep, the grip leaving angry red marks that stood out starkly against her pale skin. Her face was set in fierce defiance despite her obvious fear, jaw clenched and eyes blazing with fury even as a lone trickle of blood ran from her split lower lip onto her chin like a badge of courage, dripping slowly onto the torn fabric of her dress.
The sight of them in danger broke something inside me.
Not like a bone snapping cleanly in two, but like a dam shattering under impossible pressure. The break was molten and visceral, a sensation of liquid fire igniting in my core and pumping through my veins with each heartbeat, making every muscle in my body twitch and spasm. My vision narrowed to a pinpoint focus, the edges of my sight bleeding red like blood seeping through water.
The rage building inside me—ancient, primal, and utterly consuming—escaped in a thunderous roar that tore from my throat and echoed across the valley like rolling thunder. A sound so raw and feral it seemed to shake the leaves from the trees. The reverberations captured the Wojonik’s attention, their headsswiveling toward me, faces twisted with expressions of cruel amusement.
“Diarvet, run!” Jolie screamed, her voice cracking as she fought against the iron grip that held her captive, her body twisting and writhing like a trapped animal. The Wojonik holding her laughed at her defiance, and the back of his hand met her cheek with a sickening crack that echoed across the clearing. He laughed again, deeper this time, a rumbling sound of sadistic pleasure as she stumbled and fell hard to the ground, her body hitting the earth with a dull thud, dirt and debris smearing across her torn clothing and tangling in her hair.
A tremor began deep in my bones, starting in my marrow and radiating outward like seismic waves. A resonance that seemed to emanate from my very core, from some ancient place buried deep within my genetic memory. Suddenly, searing heat flooded my veins like molten metal being poured through channels too small to contain it. My muscles began to swell and harden, fibers thickening and multiplying beneath my scales. My shoulders broadened, the fabric of my hunting vest straining and groaning before the seams split with sharp tearing sounds, threads snapping like bowstrings.
Each breath I drew pulled more power into my lungs, more strength into my limbs, expanding my chest until it felt like a forge bellows pumping air to feed an inferno. My bones creaked and groaned, the sound like wood under stress, as they reformed and restructured, becoming denser, thicker, more resilient—unbreakable. The transformation wasn’t gentle or gradual. It was raw, violent, and primal, as if my body were remembering and reclaiming a form it had long forgotten. My scales shifted and thickened, each one hardening and overlapping until my skin became an impenetrable shield. My claws lengthened and sharpened to razor points, and I couldfeel my teeth elongate and sharpen, designed for rending and tearing.
I didn’t spare a single thought as to what the transformation meant, what I was becoming, or what consequences might follow. The only thing on my mind, the only thing that existed in my entire universe, was getting to my females. Lilibet and Jolie—my mate and youngling, my family, my entire reason for drawing breath.
A sound of pure rage erupted from my lips, something between a roar and a battle cry that shook the trees and sent birds scattering in panicked flight. I lunged down the hillside, my massive form crashing through the undergrowth like an avalanche of scales and fury.
Mine.
One of the Wojonik pulled a blaster from his hip. The weapon’s barrel trembled slightly as he aimed it directly at my chest while I charged down upon him. The acrid, sharp odor of burnt ozone filled the air as the weapon discharged with a high-pitched whine, releasing a bolt of searing blue-white energy that crackled and hissed. Jolie’s scream echoed through the air as the blast struck my chest dead center. I felt nothing but a strange, almost pleasant tickle as the energy dissipated harmlessly across my thickened scales, scattered into harmless sparks that danced briefly across my hide before winking out of existence.
I was on him in seconds, with a speed and power that felt both foreign and intimately familiar. It took only a single swipe of my claws to rip out his throat in a spray of hot, dark blood that painted the earth beneath us. He collapsed immediately, his body convulsing and twitching in the dirt as his life drained away, eyes wide and glassy with shock and the sudden, terrible understanding of his own mortality.
The next closest Wojonik—a scarred brute with cruel eyes—held Lilibet clutched against his chest like a shield. Panicflashed across his features as he watched his companion fall. With a bellow of challenge, he threw Lilibet aside—actually threw my tiny, precious youngling into the dirt like discarded refuse, her small body tumbling across the ground with a heart-wrenching cry of pain and terror. He drew a wickedly curved blade from his belt, waving it at me in what he must have thought was a threatening display, lips curling back from yellowed tusks in an arrogant, menacing smile that revealed utter contempt and confidence.
That smile died screaming. I seized his arm—feeling the bones crunch and splinter beneath my grip like dry kindling—and ripped his entire limb off at the shoulder in one savage, twisting motion. Blood fountained from the ragged stump, hot and copper-scented, painting the ground and nearby vegetation in grotesque patterns. He staggered backward, his remaining hand clutching uselessly at the wound, his face contorted in a mask of shock and pain, his mouth working soundlessly before another scream tore from his throat and he collapsed.
The third Wojonik—the largest and most heavily armored of the group—gave my beautiful mate a hateful kick as she attempted to crawl toward Lilibet before facing me gripping two scimitars, the curved blades catching the light as he spun them in practiced, deadly arcs. His features twisted with determination rather than fear, his jaw set, and his eyes narrowed with the focus of a seasoned warrior who had faced death before and emerged victorious.
I glanced at Jolie, my gaze traveling over her battered face. Dark purple bruises were already blooming across her delicate cheekbone, the discoloration stark and violent against her pale skin. A thin line of dried blood traced from her split lip down to her chin, the crimson trail an indication of the handling she’d received. The bastard had dared to touch my mate, struck her with his filthy hands. He would die ugly for thattransgression, screaming and broken, his death a message to any who would dare threaten what was mine.
The warrior lunged forward with surprising speed, managing to land a single blow across my torso with both blades in a powerful crossing strike. The impact rang out like a hammer striking an anvil. The force reverberated through the air, but my newly thickened scales, each overlapping plate now as resilient as forged steel, repelled the strike. Sparks flew from the point of impact, and I saw his eyes widen with the dawning realization that his weapons were useless against me.
Before he could recover from his failed strike, before he could even pull back for another attempt, I surged forward, closing the distance between us. My clawed hand punched directly through his armored chest plate as if it were parchment. I felt the resistance of leather, then the wet give of flesh and the brittle snap of ribs breaking and splintering. With a savage, twisting motion that sent fresh waves of hot blood cascading down my arm, I ripped out his still-beating heart. The organ pulsed once, twice in my grip before falling still. His body stood for a moment longer, suspended in that terrible instant between life and death, before crumpling to the earth like a puppet with severed strings.
The final Wojonik—younger than the others—turned and fled, all pretense of warrior pride abandoned in the face of the carnage surrounding him. He made it no farther than the treeline, perhaps twenty paces from where his companions lay, before being impaled clean through by a perfectly thrown Peecha spear emerging from the shadows. The force of the throw was so powerful it lifted him off his feet before pinning him to the thick trunk of a tree, where he hung suspended, twitching and gurgling, his legs kicking weakly before finally falling still.
A small, heartbroken sob turned my attention back to my precious females, cutting through the battle-haze that stillclouded my mind. Jolie had crawled to where little Lilibet lay, her small body curled into itself like a crushed flower. My mate wrapped her trembling body protectively around the youngling, both of them shaking with sobs that tore at my very soul—raw, gasping sounds of terror and relief intermingled.
Jolie held Lilibet tight against her chest, her fingers splayed protectively through the youngling’s pink curls deliberately angling the her tear-streaked face away from the gruesome carnage, shielding her innocent eyes from the broken bodies and spreading pools of crimson.
Suddenly, I felt a crushing wave of shame wash over me at the sight of my rage made manifest, despite knowing every brutal act had been born from my desperate need to protect them.
“Jolie,” I moaned, my voice raw and broken as I collapsed to my knees beside them with a crash that sent tremors through the ground. My body trembled with the aftershocks of battle, muscles twitching and spasming, adrenaline coursing hot through my veins. I wanted to say more, to apologize for the violence they’d witnessed, to swear that I would always protect them, but the words caught in my throat like jagged stones. I reached toward them with hands stained crimson and dripping, desperate to offer comfort yet terrified that my touch might only bring more fear.
Yet before the plea for forgiveness could fully form on my lips, two sets of wide, tear-filled eyes turned toward me. I watched in stunned amazement as the raw terror that had clouded their gazes dissolved like morning mist, replaced by something that made my chest constrict with overwhelming emotion. Without hesitation, without fear, without revulsion for the blood that coated my scales in sticky, drying layers or the carnage that surrounded us, Jolie and Lilibet launched themselves into my arms. The gesture spoke of trust so completeand unconditional it nearly shattered what remained of my composure.
