Peter yelled, and I saw his biceps flex as he pushed himself up. With more speed or movement that could be healthy for an exhausted Femeni or one with a child he stumbled as he approached. He grimaced then shouted loud as his hand went over his wide stomach. “NO! Don’t kill him.”

He still didn’t understand politics, and it nearly got him killed. The blade arched down, and I stopped short of striking Fuath. Peter was uncomfortably close to the vibrating blade.

“Matros… don’t. That’s what he–”

My forehead scrunched at the insanity before me. My Femeni was with child and kidnapped. Yet, he still wanted me to stay my blade.

“Why?”

I never heard the answer. Fuath held out his green, right webbed hand. Five black, curved claws extruded and then slashed over Peter’s face. It took less time than a water drop to hit the floor but I saw it all in slow motion.

With my other hand, I picked Fuath up and threw him to the other side of the wall. For an instant, it seems like his short, body stuck in place before he slid down.

With other men, their hands would’ve gone to their face after an attack. Instead, Peter staggered back, and his hand went over his wide belly. He stumbled out of my reach and then fell back with a moan. Both women ran to his side yet made no attempt to hurt him further.

Peter moaned while he leaned forward in a fetal position – or as close as he could get. His bloodied, torn face looked up. “It’s coming… and it feels wrong.”

***

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

PETER

If it wasn’t for the intense burning pain inside mixed with dull throbs I might scream about my sliced face. Through half-lidded eyes, I saw my Alpha run toward me and pick up one guard. “Surface now.” He would never hurt me, but I still jerked to his voice.

She was in the air and her feet didn’t touch the ground. Yet to her credit, she spoke without panic. “We cannot.”

“Do it or die. There is another I can ask after you.”

“You don’t understand, Volardi. We do not control the ship. It’s the personal craft of our leader.” She jerked her head where Fuath laid.

Matros went to my side, and I moaned as waves of pain slammed through me. Describing the pain was almost impossible, because there wasn’t a single type. It was pressure along my spine. Then ‘something’ that felt like my insides being twisted. Then my face of course. Between my moans, I heard Matros speak.

“Lies. The ship would never be set up in such a way. Your rulers die from time to time. What then?” He lowered her enough for her feet to touch the ground.

The other spoke. “He’s not dead.”