The other males move toward the cargo doors. Blue light from the lunar shield filters through the windows.
“Yes.” My attention is on the other Mindorans that cluster up on the far side of the cargo hold. None of them are marked the way Carnas and I are. They’re bluer in their short-coat upright forms, and likely allies of the Luna Pack.
“Traditionalists,” he mutters. “Met a few of them before we left.”
“Packs?”
Carnas grumbles. “Durmor, Odus, Lapisla, Kyan, Labrado, and a few from Luna.”
Luna is the oldest and biggest pack. They outnumber all of our combined modern packs alone. “Great.”
“Humans are on our side.”
I sigh. “I know. But I’m tired of Lunas pretending the war isn’t their problem. They’re more than willing to let us all die for them. When we’re gone, I fear they won’t have the teeth to confront the shadows.”
“Then we must find a way to show them the truth.”
I grumble and cross my arms. “Good luck with that.”
“You’ve given up?” he asks.
I move toward the doors. “We never stopped fighting, Carnas. We just stopped having hope. That’s what happens when you sacrifice for your species, and they reject you for it.
“I will fight for our kind, but I will not defend a pack of sniffer snappers that think we’re the ravagers, when they’re the ones blinded to the truth by their beliefs, andthat’swhat’s destroying the world. It’s time I putmyfamily first.”
He sucks on his chipped tooth. “Agreed. And I’m hoping for a thick one. Dark hair. Red banded. You?”
“I’m open. I’ll take anyone who will take me and my proposition.”
“Right.” He pats me hard on the back. “Good luck with that.”
It’s a long shot, and he clearly thinks so, too.
I peer out the door as the Thorians ahead of us turn around.
“Mindorans…” A brutish male in furs reminiscent of our Shifter coats looks us over with his buddy in leather armor decked in talons not unlike our claws. “Good fighting recently. May we have peace, brothers?”
Carnas rumbles in disgust as he sighs.
“In matters of mates and war, yes,” I reply. “But if I find out any of your armor is made of Mindoran flesh or claw, I will skin you and wearyourhide as my own.”
The Thorians grin slowly. The largest nods. “Scarred ones are not traditionalists. Good to know.”
He and his friend jump, leaving Carnas and me to look out at the race grounds far below us.
“Why do you want a mate?” I ask him.
Carnas’ irises shift into predatory diamonds as he scans the women. “Because I am tired of being alone, of feeling directionless.” He glances at me. “You are not shifting?”
“I haven’t shifted in months.”
He cocks his head. “You have forgotten your own needs. You require a female more than I do.”
Then, without more than a slight grin from him in warning, he pats me so hard that he knocks me out of the doorway.
Wind whips by me, scented with the glorious freshness of lush grass and and notes of ionized thruster dust. I spin and flail wildly, pissed at him for the unexpected breach of trust. If I don’t shift, this is going to hurt.
My disorientation fades. My irises tighten. A hot wave cascades over my skin. Muscle and bone adjust. I twist and land on my feet, drop to my knees, and catch myself with my hands. Claws protrude from my fingers, biting into the sod. My dark fur shimmers through my skin before receding again.
