Page 50 of Jarran

“There are more Sifters than you know, Prince,” Durik sneered. “I can give you the human female, if you let me leave with Pella Rin.”

“No fucking way you’re taking him,” Taron roared. “Not again.”

“You’re not taking either of them,” Trak added. “They’re not yours, mate.”

Evie sent a worried look toward Jarran, not liking how his body jerked and trembled. She had a bad feeling about what was happening inside his head, and she couldn’t do a single thing about it.

Durik held her tighter, the blaster still pressed to her temple, as Jarran writhed on the floor. “There he is.” His voice brimmed with satisfaction. “Come back to us, Pella.”

Evie could see the fight from the outside, and it was the worst thing she’d ever witnessed. He was on his knees, hands pressed to his skull, his whole body shaking. Tremors ran through him in waves, and sounds came from his throat that weren’t words. His jaw was clenched so hard she was afraid his teeth would shatter.

But he was resisting. Pella Rin was designed to override, to erase, to take control, and he was holding the door shut through sheer force of will. She could see it in the veins in his neck and the white of his knuckles and bow of his head. He refused to let go.

Then something else began to happen.

The veins on his forearms started to glow red. Faint at first, then darker. His body actually appeared to be getting bigger, and two long, curved horns of yellow fire ignited from his head. The flames licked and undulated. The clothes on his body ignited at the hems and burned off, leaving him a huge, pulsing red, naked inferno. She felt his heat from ten feet away, even through Durik’s grip.

His primal form. She’d heard about it. She’d seen images and read reports, but she’d never seen it happen. The red veins crawled up his arms, over his shoulders, spreading along his neck. The air shimmered harder. The floor under his knees began to discolor from the heat.

He turned to look at her, and she saw the deep green had been replaced with turbulent red. The two forces were fighting for the same body—Jarran and Pella Rin—and they’d come clashing together. But Evie knew from her research that the primal form took over a Virilian when they were protecting something vital to them. Love was usually the catalyst, like protecting one’s mate and offspring. It came from the deepest part of the Virilian male’s ancient biology, and it was the last line of defense.

Pella Rin didn’t know love. He couldn’t. But Jarran did. He loved her and he loved his brother. And even though he knew they would likely be locking him up, if he was lucky, he loved his people. But when his gaze met hers, Evie knew she was the main reason for the primal rage, and she knew then that Jarran was going to win this fight with Pella Rin.

She glanced at the Virilians in the bay. They knew what primal form was and they had gone still, almost reverent. Taron’s blaster rifle lowered. His green eyes, brighter than Jarran’s, filled with something raw and vulnerable. For the first time in tericycles, he saw his brother. He saw the real Jarran.

Durik’s hold on Evie slipped, just a little bit. She surged forward, trying to break away, but Durik snarled in her ear and cranked the device to maximum.

The effect was immediate. Jarran’s body arched backward, a soundless scream on his face, and then he collapsed. He was on hands and knees, a flaming giant, as Durik’s control over him pushed him to the limit.

Evie couldn’t breathe. Durik’s arm was too tight and the bay was too quiet and Jarran was motionless as he held himself off the ground. She stared at him and willed him to move. Get up. Please get up. You stubborn, impossible, beautiful man. Get up.

He got up.

Slowly. His palms pressed flat against the floor. He pushed himself to his feet. One leg, then the other. When he was upright, he rolled his shoulders back. Settled his weight. Adjusted his stance. Everything about the way he moved was wrong.

His posture was different. The wounded leg bothered him and he shifted off it, but the adjustment had none of the stubborn, grinding determination she’d watched him fight through. His body was loose and relaxed, and his hands were still. That wasn’t right. Jarran’s hands were always doing something. Reaching for her. Touching soil. Fidgeting with whatever was nearby. These hands were motionless.

He turned around again. His eyes were still red flames, but there was nothing behind them. His gaze moved over her in an emotionless sweep. His lip curled, giving his face a cold, contemptuous expression. It was the most chilling thing she had ever seen. The male she loved was gone. Pella Rin looked at her through Jarran’s eyes, and she meant nothing to him.

TWENTY-TWO

Jarran could feel his own body moving, his lungs drawing breath, his heart beating against his ribs. But none of it was his. His legs carried him forward and his head turned to scan the docking bay with cold assessment. He commanded none of it. Pella Rin had emerged wearing Jarran’s skin, making Jarran a passenger in his own skull.

But he was still here, and that meant he had a chance.

The primal form remained active. Fire still crackled from his horns and red veins still pulsed under his skin. His body radiated heat that warped the air around him. Pella Rin had seized control of everything else, but he hadn’t been able to extinguish the primal form, and that told Jarran that Pella Rin wasn’t complete. Every small choice Jarran had made on Korath-7 had weakened Pella Rin. He may have won this immediate battle, but he hadn’t won the war.

Jarran could see through his own eyes, even if he couldn’t direct them, but he was grateful when Pella Rin swept his gaze over Evie and lingered on her.

She was still in Durik’s grip, with the blaster pressed to her temple. Her face was ashen and her eyes were locked on him. She knew. He could see the dismay all over her face. She’d spent cycles learning his face, and she could tell the difference between Jarran and the entity that had taken his place.

His entire consciousness erupted in revolt.

He would not let Pella Rin hurt Evie. He would not betray Taron again after his brother had spent half his life recovering from what Pella Rin had done to him. The Virilians had crossed a quadrant to be here. Evie had walked through fire for him, and not the metaphorical kind.

Pella Rin would burn them all. In primal form, he had the capacity to do it. Blaster fire wouldn’t penetrate. Even Harc’s telekinetic metal would melt before it reached him if he pushed the temperature high enough. Primal form was virtually indestructible, and Pella Rin would know that. If Durik kept that remote device active, Pella Rin would stay in control and the people Jarran loved most would die in this docking bay.

Ah! The heat. The realization surfaced through the fog of his imprisonment. If he could increase his fire, push the primal form higher, the temperature might be enough to destroy the implant. Neural devices were resilient, designed to withstand normal Virilian physiology. But primal form was not normal physiology. If he burned hot enough, long enough, the circuitry would melt. Durik’s remote would become useless, and Pella Rin would lose his grip.