We didn’t fly for long.

That was probably for the best.

Hunter kept admirably stable, gliding as much as he could. But I couldn’t wait to get Shivaya looked after. Her breathing was growing shallower by the minute, and I’d swear I could hear her heartbeat slowing down.

We landed in front of a tall, sprawling building, surrounded by meadows and woodland, away from the prying eyes of city dwellers. I’d heard from Hunter that his family owned a ranch on the city’s eastern outskirts. I’d never actually been there, but I knew they raised horses. The Geraghty horses were internationally famous, apparently.

And didn’t that suddenly make a ton of sense?

As soon as we touched the ground, Hunter’s wings retracted inside his body with an unpleasant slurping and noises of snapping bones. I winced at each crack.

The sound didn’t stop after his wings had gone. His horse head collapsed inwards into his body. Then a human one popped out, followed by a swelling torso from which grew familiar brawny arms.

I stared. This was the single most disturbing thing I’d ever seen. “You’re a centaur too?!” I couldn’t help my exclamation after witnessing that… frankly gross transformation.

“Ah… Well, not really.” Hunter twisted partially around to look at me, sheepishly scratching behind his ear, a nervous tick I didn’t get to see often. “I’m an Iskorn.” I noticed his pupils remained as slits, and his teeth were still sharp points.

It also suddenly occurred to me that Hunter was currently very, very shirtless. My eyes bulged out ever so slightly, and I couldn’t help take in the toned muscles flexing with every motion. This time, I needed no fire breath to make my throat dry. Warmth spread through my body like dye in water. My heartbeat sped up, and suddenly, breathing was a lot harder.

I swallowed again, feeling dizzy. My face flushed. Suddenly, I noticed I was almost painfully hard.

The strength of my reaction scared me. At the same time, my body violently rebelled against it. My stomach twisted, and bile surged up my throat. My vision swam, and I started falling off Hunter’s back.

I would have had Onyx not caught me.

“Terry!” Hunter exclaimed. “Terry, dude, are you alright?! Hey, Icicle, what’s happening to him?!”

Onyx slid off Hunter’s back without answering. She pulled me down calmly and laid me on the cool dewed grass. I was still hyperventilating, blood pumping in my ears. I was uncomfortably warm all over, and sweat pearled off my face and rolled into my eyes. I blinked it away.

Onyx was staring down at me blankly.

I missed her usual quiet concern.

“Onyx…” I gulped. “What’s going on?”

“Your disguise is unraveling, Your Highness. I hypothesize the stress of the Vraex’ein’s attack must have awoken your dormant Draskelite genes, which are now fighting for dominance against your genetic camouflage. The actual process is far more complex, but I vulgarized it for your understanding. It is my utmost failure that I allowed you into enough danger to cause this reaction. I will accept any punishment once the situation has resolved and your safety is assured.”

My head spun. Her words made a weird amount of sense. I closed my eyes and exhaled. I’d worry about all this later. By an effort of will, I pushed myself off the ground and stood. “I’ll be fine… We’ve got no time to waste. Shaya needs help now.”

The world swayed some more before I could find my footing. I felt like I was running a high fever—which sort of made sense if my DNA was rewriting itself or whatever. Maybe.

Hunter was looking at me funny. “Terry’s Draskelite?” he whispered. His voice held equal part disbelief and… Was that fear? Hunter being afraid of me might have been the most unbelievable thing so far. Though, he did look a little pale.

He shook his head and slapped his cheeks. “Get a grip, man. It’s Terry.”

Just then, the ranch house’s front door banged open, and five people marched out, loaded like a small mercenary unit.

I vaguely singled out Hunter’s father, three of his uncles, and an aunt I recognized from a family picture he showed me once. Frankly, the family resemblance was uncanny. Even the aunt was deliciously chiseled like a professional athlete—a fact made all the more evident by their shared shirtlessness. All of them wore only pants… and guns.

That was kind of hot.

I swallowed again. What is wrong with me? Could my self-rewriting alien DNA not make me stupid horny, please? No? Well, shit.

Each Geraghty held a futuristic rifle straight out of a sci-fi RPG: long, chromed, and lit from within. Marching in formation like this, they looked less the part of the happy ranchers from Hunter’s pictures, and more like a nudist lumberjack death squad from the future.

Hunter’s father took in the scene before him, his blue eyes narrowing suspiciously at Onyx’s damaged body before snapping back to his son. “Junior?” he asked sternly. The order to explain was implicit.

Also, I noticed he hadn’t lowered his rifle.

Hunter’s human half straightened to attention. His horse half as well, actually. “We were attacked, sir! A Vraex’ein crash-landed nearly atop of us while we were setting up for our night outing in the woods.”

Hunter Senior reacted to the news with nothing but a facial twitch, but two of the uncles’ faces paled considerably.

“The girl?” Hunter Senior jerked his chin at Shivaya. “Her injuries? Was she bitten? Did the Vraex bleed on her?”

“I don’t… think so?” Hunter faltered, something like panic in his gaze. He sent me a pleading look.

“No,” I said firmly.

The father’s steely blue eyes snapped to me. He hadn’t paid me much heed so far, and for some bizarre reason, that irked me on a fundamental level. But, more importantly, this chatter was delaying Shivaya’s treatment.

“She wasn’t bitten, or scratched, or bled on, or whatever. And that thing’s blood kept crawling back inside her, so we didn’t get any on us.” Maybe. I don’t care. “She protected me when Hunter’s truck crashed. That’s how she got injured. Hunter said you had medical facilities here. So can we please stop babbling and get my sister some help?!”

Hunter Senior’s face darkened. He didn’t look like a man—Iskorn?—used to being talked back to. “And who might you be?”

Hunter opened his mouth. “That’s Terry–”

“Her Imperial Highness Princess Terrikalospekian of the Draskelite, and you will address her with appropriate respect or be terminated.” Onyx’s flat voice dropped like a boulder in a pond. Not helping was her pointing her glowing laser arm straight at Hunter’s father.

I groaned inwardly.

The unengaged social protocols struck again.

Onyx was always rude, but she was usually better at reading the mood and not making things worse—at least not by accident.

And worse things indeed went. All four of Hunter’s uncles and aunt paled and took a step back, their riffles snapping to me.

After their relatively calm reaction to the Vraex’ein’s presence, I felt a little insulted. Granted, the regenerator wasn’t here, but still.

Hunter Senior snarled at his son, the sound not quite human. “You brought a Draskelite to our doorstep!? Are you mad, son?!”

“I didn’t know!” Hunter shrunk back defensively.

“Iskorn, cease hostile behavior at once or be terminated.”

Onyx kept on not helping.

Senior’s head snapped to her—as did his riffle. His teeth had turned into points. “Try me, little slut bot.”

“Hostile detected. Termi–”

“ENOUGH!!” The shout startled even me, and I was the one who shouted.

As if spectator to my own actions, I stepped in the line of fire of both alien weapons—I’d freak out about that later—and glared daggers at Onyx. “Cut off the Dalek shit! We are not terminating anyone!” Before she could respond, I spun around to snap at Hunter’s dad. “And you, macho pony! My name is Terry Barker, and I know jack shit about any of this Imperial Bakelite crap!”

“Draskelite,” Hunter corrected me in a whisper. I glared at him, and he had the good grace to look embarrassed.

I pointed at Shivaya, still unconscious on Hunter’s back, “That’s my sister, Shivaya Barker. She’s wounded, and you have the means to treat her. So get off your high horse and get to it! Or I’ll phone my dad, and he’ll have you canned for manslaughter, magic space unicorn or not!” I was talking out of my rear end and inwardly starting to freak out, but Shivaya was not dying today.

Not on my watch.

And if I had to stare down some kind of anti-tank railgun held by a shapeshifting nudist lumberjack death-squader from the year 3000, then… well, I’d rather not, but I’d do it.

At least once. Since getting shot in the face by an anti-tank railgun held by a shapeshifting nudist lumberjack death-squader from the year 3000 was prohibitive to recidivism.

My tirade left me panting. I was still sweating, still feeling like I’d been left in an oven for too long, and shouting wasn’t in my nature, and even less so shouting at people I clearly should be terrified by. But I held Hunter Senior’s gaze, even though I felt like I might pass out any second.

After what felt like an eternity—but truly was more like a few seconds—the Iskorn lowered his rifle and glanced over his shoulders at the four others. They returned nonplussed stares. The aunt shrugged.

Six pairs of near-identical blue eyes locked back onto me.

I grimaced nervously, an uncertain smile bordering on hysterical.

“Err… please?”

. . . . .