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“Is my female in danger?” Strike’s sole concern was her safety.
If the father and his entourage posed a threat to his fragile little human, he’d fly them away from the warships as quickly as their modified freighter’s engines allowed.
“She isn’t in danger.” Tsadok deleted those fears. “This is about me.” The male looked at the friend. “And it could also be about my mate.”
The two of them clasped hands.
“We’ll explain everything to your father, and it’ll all work out okay.” Strike’s female’s gaze remained fixed on the main viewscreen. “But we should prepare for that confrontation. Ensure our stories match. And…don garments. That would be wise also.”
The friend glanced at her naked male and laughed. “Come on, you hunky male, you.” She pulled the Powluk in the direction of their private chambers. “We have to get some garments on you before Kess shouts at us again.”
Strike and his female were alone once more.
Silence stretched.
Neither of them relaxed.
“I know when you’re worried about something, my male.” His female looked back at him. Their gazes met. “Tell me what it is.”
He would tell her everything. “The first three vessels are Orion 5428 warships.” He enlarged the image. “This wing.” He circled the part barely visible behind the middle warship. “Isn’t from an Orion 5428 warship.”
His female’s forehead furrowed with processing lines. “What type of ship is it from?”
“It’s from a Humanoid Alliance Class A warship.” There was a 97.1256 percent probability Tsadok’s father occupied the ship in the middle of the fleet.
Which meant there was a high probability the male and all of the Powluks were aligned with Strike’s manufacturers, the Humanoid Alliance, his kind’s most hated enemy.
“Fates.” Strike’s female grasped his hands. “What should we do?”
“We watch, listen, and keep the information about the pulsing sound to ourselves until we process the situation.” He would allow the First Zetus to board the modified freighter, but he would position his body armor-covered form between the Powluks and his female at all times.
“We’ll tell Tsadok and Talley not to mention it.” His female nodded. “I’ll protect you, my male.” She squeezed his fingers. “I won’t allow them to hurt you. Again.”
Strike stared at her.
His fragile little human was vowing to safeguard him, a tough, fabricated-for-war, some-would-relay-disposable, cyborg warrior, from damage.
Frag. His chest heated. “You’re the best female in the universe.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’m fortunate you’re mine.”
Strike wouldn’t abuse that good fortune. He would protect her.
His fingertips skimmed over the handles of the guns strapped to his hips.
He would kill the First Zetus, Tsadok’s father, if the being threatened his female.
* * *
Moments later, the four of them stood on their vessel’s side of the docking-connector doors. Strike held his female’s hand. Tsadok held the friend’s hand. They had a plan for the upcoming meeting.
None of them were at ease.
Strike swept his free hand once more over the guns and blades strapped to his body armor. He’d slipped a gun into his female’s front right flight-suit pocket and a blade into her left boot.
The friend fiddled with her garment and her hair.
Tsadok’s face was two shades darker green than his spec.
The first beings through the doors must’ve been the father’s guards. They swung their guns from left to right as they surveyed the space.
