There were always more.
“Move out!” Our Commander Warlord Wulf’s voice was the deep rumble of a full beast, like a cannon shot across the battlefield. He stood over eight feet tall, his shoulders and arms larger than the rock column beside him. The specially designed armor that my unit wore adapted and stretched to accommodate our bodies, our fighting style and the metamorphosis that freeing our beasts created.
My feet hit the hard, rocky ground beneath my combat boots like great hammers striking stone as my unit of Atlan Beasts raced toward our last intact transport platform to get the hell out of here.
We were overrun and outnumbered. The planet had a network of magnetic ravines and rocks that blocked our scanners and communication. The drones sent to scout the surface had underestimated the size of the Hive forces here by at least tenfold, or they’d transported more in since we began the assault. It didn’t matter that we were in beast mode. It didn’t matter we could—and would—rip the heads off of any Hive we came across. We were outnumbered. While our beasts fought with blind intent, the Atlans within still used their brains. The combination kept us alive to fight another day. And today, we needed to retreat, regroup, and come back with more weapons, warriors and armor. A lot more.
If we stayed down here, we were all going to die. I’d seen this play out many times before. We would leave and make new plans and be back in a matter of hours. This planet must be returned to the control of the Coalition Fleet so that it could no longer be used as a base station for Hive raids and harvesting missions on protected planets in the nearby solar systems.
The Hive Integration Units, the specialized enemies that tortured captives, injected them with Hive technology and tried to break their minds, would move on to another world. Another solar system. Another underdeveloped or helpless civilization ripe for harvest.
And we would follow. We always gave chase, as did Karter, the Prillon Commander in charge of this battlegroup. Every warrior in the Fleet was here for the same reason, to protect their home world and the people they loved. To protect all worlds from the Hive. The Hive civilization did not conquer, they devoured. They consumed everything and everyone until there was nothing left. Not even a man’s own mind.
The Warlords around me, my friends, all served for some big, noble cause. I served because I had nothing left but honor, and tearing a Hive Scout’s arms from his sockets, his head from his body, gave me a grim sort of pleasure, of purpose in an otherwise empty life.
There were other Atlan warriors here who had families, who had chosen mates waiting for them to return to Atlan and start a new life. They had sisters and brothers, parents and cousins. I had nothing, no family, no mate, no reason to keep fighting except the beasts who fought beside me. This unit was my family, had been for years, and I had no wish to leave.
But my body betrayed me. Even now, as the Hive scurried and chased us, my beast roared inside my head, growing stronger with each passing day. Desperate for a mate. That meant the fever was upon me and that soon, I’d have to find one true mate. Or I would die.
Soon, the beast within would turn against me because of this need and I would kill anything that caught my attention, be that friend or foe. The Mating Fever boiled in my blood like poison, and no amount of willpower nor stubborn pride could defeat the beast that lurked inside me like a monster. Blind to anything but the need to mate. It was perfect for the intensity of conflict, but back on the battleship, it would be dangerous.
“Hive!” Beside me, my friend Angher shoved me with his shoulder as he rushed past to attack three Hive Soldiers that appeared around the side of a large boulder to block our way, or pick us off from behind. These were larger and stronger than the Scouts we’d been ripping apart for the past several hours.
So much harder to kill.
My beast roared a challenge as I raced after Ang, two huge Atlan Warlords riding the razor’s edge, needing to kill. His fragile—and wild—state was the reason he’d gone, just a few weeks ago, and submitted to the Interstellar Brides Program’s processing protocols. I should have gone with him, but the fever hadn’t consumed me then as it did now.
Unfortunately, since the Mating Fever was coming on stronger and more intense than ever, I feared my bride would be too late to save me. Whoever she was. Wherever she was. And based on the killing rage coming from Ang, I knew he might suffer the same fate. He would be matched and quickly mated, ensuring the fever was relinquished entirely. As for me, if I did not find a mate soon, I would be locked up and executed, a danger to myself and anyone who dared come near me.
Nothing save death could stop an Atlan Beast lost to Mating Fever.