“Never,” I promised with unwavering conviction.
“I can be quite persuasive,” he purred. To prove his point, he flicked the cat-o’-nine-tails toward me. The razor-tipped end of one strand caught me across the forearm, slicing through my skin. Pain exploded up my arm, blood spurting immediately from the wound.
I cried out involuntarily, stumbling just enough to allow Qurbaga to lunge forward and grab me. His arm wrapped around my throat from behind, pulling me against his chest like a shield, his body cold and clammy against my back. Binwee peered through the scope of her plasma rifle, but she had no clear shot with Qurbaga holding me so tightly. The razor tip of one of the cat-o'-nine-tails pressed against my throat, the metal cold and sharp against my skin.
Time seemed to slow into bullet time. I watched Binwee’s eyes narrow, calculating angles and trajectories. Tark leveled his blaster like an expert marksman, his jaw clenched with concentration. From the corner of my eye, I saw Diarvet. His dark blue eyes blazed with fury, muscles tensing against his restraints.
The change began almost imperceptibly. A ripple of darkness swept across Diarvet’s battered scales like ink spreading through water. The beautiful blue and gold hues that normally adorned his flesh began to shift and deepen, transforming into a black so pure it seemed to absorb the light, swallowing it whole. Even with his wounds and the blood coating his body, the transformation was mesmerizing—and a little terrifying.
His muscles bulged against the metal restraints. The thick bands that held him captive groaned under the pressure,metal straining against flesh that had become something far more dangerous than Qurbaga had ever imagined. With a sound like thunder, the restraints shattered, metal fragments flying through the air like shrapnel.
Diarvet rose from the chair like death incarnate, his now jet-black scales gleaming wetly with his own blood. His eyes locked onto Qurbaga with the focus of a predator who had found his prey, burning with the promise of violence and retribution.
Qurbaga barely had time to register what was happening before Diarvet’s massive hand closed around his throat, yanking him away from me with such force that I stumbled and fell to the floor. The cat-o'-nine-tails clattered uselessly beside me, the metal tips ringing against the stone.
“You made a mistake,” Diarvet’s voice rumbled like an earthquake, deeper and more menacing than I’d ever heard it. His grip tightened around Qurbaga’s neck, lifting the prince’s feet clean off the ground. “You touched my mate.”
Qurbaga’s bulbous eyes bulged as he clawed desperately at Diarvet’s grip, his webbed fingers scrabbling uselessly against scales that had become armor. Gurgling sounds escaped his throat as his legs kicked frantically in the air, his body thrashing like a fish on a hook.
With one swift, brutal motion, Diarvet twisted his hands in opposite directions. The wet, sickening crack of vertebrae separating echoed through the chamber, followed by the grotesque sound of flesh tearing—a wet ripping that seemed to go on forever. Qurbaga’s head came free in Diarvet’s grasp, trailing ribbons of blood and tissue, green fluid spurting from severed arteries.
The headless body crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud, green blood spreading in an ever-widening pool across the polished stone, the liquid thick and viscous.
Diarvet stood over the corpse for a moment, Qurbaga’s severed head still clutched in his fist like a trophy, blood dripping from the ragged stump of the neck. Then, with casual indifference, he dropped it beside the body where it landed with a wet splat, rolling slightly before coming to rest with those bulbous eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
For a heartbeat, we simply stared at each other across the blood-soaked chamber. Diarvet’s chest heaved with ragged breaths, his scales still flickering between black and their natural hue like dying embers. The rage slowly faded from his eyes, replaced by something infinitely more vulnerable—relief, love, and the desperate need to know I was real and safe.
“Jolie,” he whispered, my name falling from his lips like a prayer.
I scrambled to my feet on shaking legs and rushed to him, not caring about the blood that covered his battered body or the carnage scattered across the floor. Nothing else mattered except the fact that he was alive.
When I reached him, Diarvet’s arms enveloped me with surprising gentleness, considering the violence he had just unleashed. He pulled me against his chest as if he were afraid I might disappear, his large hands trembling. I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion as he trembled with the aftershocks of violence and relief. The blackness of his scales began to recede, revealing patches of his familiar blue and gold like clouds parting after a storm. His expression shifted, brow furrowing as he took in my disheveled appearance, his eyes lingering on the cut across my forearm. “Why did you come here? I sent you and Lilibet with the Peecha to be safe.”
“I had to come,” I whispered, my hands roaming desperately over his broad shoulders and arms, my fingers tracing every familiar contour as if to convince myself he was truly whole. “I couldn’t stand the idea of Qurbaga hurting you.”
Diarvet snorted, a sound caught between amusement and disbelief, as if the notion of Qurbaga being capable of harming him was absurd. Yet when he spoke again, his voice was thick with barely controlled emotion. “The only thing that could hurt me was if something happened to you and Lilibet.” His muscles tensed beneath my touch. “When they took me, all I could think about was the possibility that he’d find you, that I’d failed to protect you.”
I wrapped myself around him, pulling him close, breathing in his scent—wild and dangerous beneath the copper tang of blood. “You didn’t fail,” I whispered fiercely. “You saved us. You’re here, and you’re alive, we’re together, and that’s all that matters.”
We stood there clinging to each other, while the nightmare that had been Qurbaga lay forgotten on the cold stone floor, his blood still spreading in dark pools around our feet.
“Fuck, did you have to kill him? I wanted to interrogate him.” On the surface, Binwee seemed annoyed, but her tone hinted at something else. Dark satisfaction flickered in her bright blue eyes.
“He threatened my mate,” Diarvet growled as he loosened his grip on me just enough to shoot the Framaddi female a sharp glance, his scales still rippling with residual anger.
She rolled her eyes, utterly unimpressed by his display. “I’m not cleaning this up.”
Diarvet snorted dismissively, his nostrils flaring. I knew as far as he was concerned, Qurbaga could lie there in the pool of green blood and rot.
I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my cheeks as I ran my trembling hands over Diarvet’s broad chest and powerful shoulders again and again, desperate to reassure myself he was whole. The scales changed color under my touch, their surface warm and smooth. The terrible rents in his flesh were no longer visible. Healed as though they’d never existed.
“I am alright, my mate,” he promised. His voice sounded gentle as silk as he captured my hands in his larger ones and brought them to his lips, pressing tender kisses to each knuckle, his breath warm against my skin.
“He tortured you,” I whispered, my voice breaking as I recalled the horrific sight that had greeted me. How bleeding and broken he’d appeared when we’d burst through the doorway.
Diarvet’s smile was achingly sweet, transforming his features into something tender and loving. “It was nothing. Shifting my scales healed any damage he inflicted.”
