“What do you mean you’ll be dead? You’re sick?” she asked me. I saw concern fight for space in her heart, right next to her anger. Perhaps there was hope for us after all.
“Commander, may I please speak with my mate… in private?”
The Prillon glanced between the two of us. When Sarah nodded, he walked out without another word, the door sliding shut behind him.
Seeing her worry gave me some measure of hope.
“Mating fever,” I told her. “Atlan males have it, although when it strikes is unique to each individual. It lasts for several weeks, slowly building until it is all consuming. I’m older than most who get the fever, but that is irrelevant. When it takes over, it overpowers logic and reasoning and turns the male—me—into what we call a berserker.” I held up my stained hands. “My body tra
