He yearned for the day he could slay every combatant and return to Adwaeweth. First, he had to find a Terran princess, ensure she reached her eighteenth birthday and train her to fight. Which meant the All War had to motor on, even if he had to start saving combatants. Therefore, he would contain the beast, however necessary. Even if he had to obtain a lover.

Denial screeched inside his mind. He would rather die an agonizing death than touch another woman. But he would rather live with endless guilt than give Aveline what she desired.

I will avenge you, sweet Meredith. Nothing and no one will stop me.

Enough! Ignore the grief. Forge ahead.

Hushed voices drifted from a short distance away. He froze, listening more carefully. Two speakers—his target and another male with a deep tenor. Another combatant. One who’d brought an elaborate suit of armor with retractable spikes that ripped through flesh and bone as easily as melted butter.

Anticipation spiking once again, he stalked around a tree. Closing in...

Behind him, a twig snapped. He ducked and spun, and a sword was swinging over his head with an ominous whoosh—the sword. The one he wanted more than his next breath. Hello, Valor.

“Voice projection,” Bane said. “Nice trick.” Staying low, he flowed with his momentum and kicked Valor’s ankles together.

The warrior dropped, but swiftly rolled to his feet.

Movement to the left. Another warrior approached—a male named Malaki. He jumped from a tree while clinging to a vine, swinging, swooping... The spikes in his armor slashed Bane from cheek to navel, shearing off hanks of muscle. Searing pain. Tides of blood pouring from the open wounds.

The beast snarled and beat at his skull, wanting out of its cage.

Calm. Steady. Both opponents were tall and packed with strength, yet they were no match for Bane, even with the beast under lock and key.

“Did you think we’d make this easy for you, beast?” Malaki landed on his feet, the grille of his helmet splattered with bits of Bane’s face.

Valor grinned with cold calculation. “You murdered my brother during an All War.” He lifted his sword, the metal glinting in a beam of sunlight. “Today, I avenge him.”

Morning had arrived.

Both males spoke in their native languages. Languages Bane had never learned. Because of the translator embedded in his brain, he interpreted every word. They had translators, too, and understood when he answered in Adwaewethish. “I’m sure your brother was a worthy adversary,” he said. “For others.”

A dark scowl replaced Valor’s grin, the taunt hitting its mark. The time for words had ended. With a ragged war cry, the male lunged and swung his sword. Target: Bane’s throat.