4
Jorik, Coalition Fleet Processing Center, One Hour Later
“It’s unacceptable, Warlord,” the center commander said, slapping her hand on the table. A Prillon and close to my height, she had to lean forward to do so. “What were you thinking?”
I sat, arms folded over my chest, stared. I didn’t care. My beast prowled within but wasn’t fazed. “My mate was in danger,” I said, for the third time.
Her golden stare met mine. Held. I might be bigger, but she was not intimidated. I wasn’t the first Atlan she’d dealt with and wouldn’t be the last. And I had a feeling Atlans were easier for her to comprehend than the humans she had to work with on a daily basis. “Your mate? I don’t see mating cuffs on those wrists. And there’s no record of you receiving a match, or even being processed in the Inte
