A PACIFICATION MEASURE #2
As we approach, I notice the shimmer around the ramp intensifies. It's subtle, but it sets off warning bells in my mind.
I stop right at the shimmer and look up at Drenz, confused.
Why have they raised the shields before we’ve boarded?
The lead Concord delegate's hand shoots out and grips my arm. The shield ripples, yanking me forward and through as Drenz’s fingers brush the edge of my sleeve. I stumble into the shuttle as hands catch me from the other side.
Drenz’s fingers close on nothing. He brings up his weapon, aiming it at the shuttle’s nose. Then the shuttle emits a pressure that hits the inside of my skull like a fist and keeps pushing. I double over in the shuttle doorway, hands clamped to my ears. Someone pulls me into the shuttle.
Through the pain I see what the pressure does to the men outside the shield.
They all clutch their heads and drop. Drenz staggers sideways, blood running from his nose and the corners of his eyes.
He goes to one knee. The warriors behind him are down flat, some curled on their sides, some not moving at all.
One is seizing, his body jerking against the landing pad, dark fluid leaking from his ears.
Drenz fights it. His hands are on the ground, arms shaking, trying to push himself up.
Blood drips from his chin onto the stone.
He raises his head and looks at me through the shield, and the look on his face is not pain.
It's fury. Pure, helpless fury, the kind I've seen on the faces of soldiers on New Terra when the wounded are being carried away and there's nothing left to shoot at.
He reaches for the shield with one hand.
His fingers make contact and the charge throws him onto his back. He doesn't get up again.
I fight. Not well, not effectively, but I fight.
An elbow connects with something hard. A hand catches my wrist and bends it back until I stop swinging.
They force me into a seat. Straps snap closed across my chest, waist, and thighs.
I scrabble at the straps, but they’re locked so tightly that I can’t get my fingers under them.
The hatch finishes shutting, and the shuttle lifts off. I stop pulling at the straps because there's nothing to pull, and my fingers are already raw. Last time I took off on a shuttle, it ended in a crash landing on this planet.
But at least I was with friends.
Now, I’m with enemies. And Drenz and the other warriors are lying on the landing pad with blood running from their eyes.
I breathe. Count to five. Assess. Three delegates, two in front, one beside me. No weapons visible, but the one they just used dropped all of Rythar’s warriors.
"You lied." I say. My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Drenz was supposed to come with me. You killed him.”
The delegate beside me remains impassive. His eyes are cold and indifferent.
“Drenz did not follow protocol. No biome ruler would allow his second-in-command to travel with his mate.
We merely deployed a pacification measure to correct his error.
The shield is keyed for female biological signatures," he says calmly.
"We turn the shield on after we are within its boundaries, and then it allows passage only for females. "
My mouth goes dry at his casual explanation.
"A safety feature," he continues with the same infuriating detachment. "Designed to prevent escalation. To separate fertile females from a hostile male presence."
A laugh escapes me. "Convenient," I say.
"It served its purpose well.”
"They'll come for me," I say tightly.
"And do what?" he asks. "Shoot us down? With you on board?"
"They won't give up," I say.
"You're right. And that's why Rythar will fall, and his biome will pass to a new ruler."
“So that’s your plan? It won’t work,” I say, forcing confidence into my voice.
He scowls. “We’ll keep you safe while the transition happens.”
I look away from him, out the window, thinking about the weapon they just used on Rythar’s warriors.
I’m not certain what it will do to Rythar.
Or if he can get through their special shield.
We’re moving fast. Below us, I watch as the jungle blurs, the green giving way to darker stretches.
The once-lush canopy is now broken by black rivers and long scars of dead trees.
Safe, I think numbly, as a cold dread settles in my stomach like dead weight.
Safe while Rythar's biome burns. Safe while the men left behind are forced into a war they didn't choose. I have to find a way to fix this.
Casually, the delegate adjusts something on his console. "We have a brief detour," he informs me curtly. “It would be best for you if you cooperate.”
"Where are we going?" I ask warily.
"Reach's End."
Vorak’s territory. Not the Astral Spire. Not the High Lord. Not Maya.
I turn back to the window, numb.
The landing pad comes into view. It’s a desolate island surrounded by decay and shadows. No med teams rush forward. No guards stand at attention. There are no signs of activity at all. Almost like this is a secret.
The shuttle sets down with a thunk.
The three Concord reps stand as the straps holding me release. The lead gestures for me to go first.
I pause, one foot on the deck, then step out.
There’s no escort waiting.
No sign of the High Lord.
Instead, a figure stands at the end of the platform, backlit and broad-shouldered. Even from this distance, the posture is familiar. The same self-certainty, the same tilt of the head.
It’s Vorak.
The trap closes around me. I can’t outrun any of these large males, and I won’t give them an excuse to touch me.
Vorak doesn’t approach at first. He stands at the end of the platform, arms folded, the set of his jaw daring anyone to come closer.
The Concord men herd me down the ramp and into the corridor. It looks just like the ones in Green Reach, but the pretense of nature is less. Every edge and line is military-grade.
They march me through two more checkpoints, then up a stairwell to a command center. The door opens and I see the design. The same hexagonal room, the same orientation of consoles, but instead of feeling lived in, this place feels like a showroom.
Vorak waits at the head of the table. The three Concord men stand at attention, but their bodies angle subtly away from him, as if even they know not to turn their backs. He doesn’t acknowledge them. He studies me, eyes flicking from my face to my fingers.
“Leave us,” he says.
The Concord men hesitate. The lead looks at me, then at Vorak. “She is under the Council’s—”
Vorak lifts his hand. The motion is elegant and final, the way a guillotine drops. “I’ll be accountable for her safety. I won’t be accountable for yours. It would be a shame if the other biome lords knew about your pacification device.”
Vorak’s warriors are all around, looking ready to fight. But truly, Vorak himself looks like he could take the three Concord delegates on by himself. Rythar has told me that Vorak is not quite a biome ruler. But he’s also not an ordinary warrior.
The lead Concord delegate glances at his colleagues, and they leave without another word.
For a long moment, Vorak doesn’t move. I stand just inside the threshold, resisting the urge to back away. I refuse to show him fear.
His gaze is heavy and far too close. He circles slowly until he stands a meter behind me.
“You are aware,” he says, “that your value is the only reason you’re still alive.”
I don’t answer. I keep my eyes forward, tracing the monitors, the security feeds. I see no sign of Sophia, or anyone else.
“I won’t cooperate.” I say it firmly, and I mean it.
“You think,” Vorak continues, “that if you simply refuse, or resist, or threaten to harm yourself, we will let you go?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You are far too valuable for that.”
He walks closer. My scalp prickles, but I don’t move.
“You’re mine now,” he murmurs. “I don’t care what any Stone says. You belong to the one who is strong enough to take you. And keep you.”
"Where is Sophia?" I ask.
"She is resting," he growls.
"Show me," I demand.
His mouth curves. "No." His hands land on my shoulders from behind. "My bride did not cooperate." His fingers tighten. "But you will."
The mate bond snaps to Rythar. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or the proximity, but my hand suddenly pulses, heat radiating up my arm.
I try to suppress it, but the harder I try, the more intense it gets.
The connection to Rythar is no longer a thread—it’s charged with fire and its own kind of venom.
Vorak’s eyes are on me. “He’ll come for you, of course. That’s the point.”
He releases my shoulders, steps back. “But you’re not in his jungle anymore,” he says. “You’re in mine. And here, he’ll meet his end.”