WarDog: Book Twelve in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series Alana Khan (i like reading TXT) 📖

compound on planet Fairea. Although the planet is a tourist haven known for what the females call a year-round Renaissance Fair, it has other attractions like relaxed law enforcement and enough traffic coming and going that smuggling is easy.

“Khour’s residence is in a huge wooded area far enough away from the tourism to have privacy, but close enough to the action to oversee his gun, drug, and slave-running empire.

“Turk reports that ever since one of the pirates threw acid on Khour’s face he rarely leaves his home base. He has a parade of doctors and charlatans coming to the planet. They all promise hope in the way of repairing his face, but Turk says if anything, his face is more ruined than it was before the medics began making pilgrimages there.

“Khour has taken up hunting. Turk jokes that it’s the only way he takes out his aggression that doesn’t involve harming sentient beings. He’s a motherdracker of the highest order.”

“Or lowest,” Stryker quips.

“Yes. Lowest. I was thinking there would be fewer guards on his hunting trips than at any other time of his week. It would be the safest time for us to take him out. That way we wouldn’t have to attack his stronghold. I’m told the compound is like a fortress.”

Satellite and drone footage appear on the large vidscreen. They show the compound from the air. It’s impressive and will be difficult to breach. Turk is right.

A picture of Khour cycles through the vids we’re watching and I can’t control my growl. Willa’s small hand slips around my waist and she tucks her hip closer to mine. Although her presence calms me, WarDog is close to my surface, snarling. Still angry and not wanting a replay of his behavior in the dining room, I force him back to the corner. The lingering taste of blood in my mouth doesn’t trouble me, in fact, it spurs me on.

“The forest is thick with trees and brambles. I propose one male go alone for recon. A single male camping alone wouldn’t look threatening if Khour’s males happen upon him. It could look innocent.

“There would be danger. I think the fewer weapons the volunteer brings the less guilty he will look if he’s apprehended and interrogated. No lasers. It might take several days, but the volunteer can gather enough information so our attack can be a surgical strike.”

Erro volunteers, as do many of the others.

“I’ll go,” I say loudly as I stand. “These pictures look a lot like my home planet of Skylose. I lived a simple life there in the forest. This mission was made for me.”

“I know you want revenge, Bayne. But we all want resolution,” Zar says levelly.

“I could hunt in the woods as my cover story. I’m skilled with a bow and arrow and could kill game and keep myself fed until I see him in the woods. I’ll comm the ships when I see him. I don’t even need to perform the kill, although I’d love to. I’ll give you his coordinates so we’re guaranteed a hit. I can protect myself without a laser better than anyone onboard—I can shift to my battle form.”

I look at the pictures scrolling across the vid screens. The geography is so familiar it could be Skylose.

“I think this is a good plan,” Zar says. “It might take days, but we have nothing else more pressing. We can stay in orbit, keep in encrypted communication, and wait until we have the perfect opportunity.

“I’ll give this mission two weeks. If Khour doesn’t go hunting within that time, we’ll have to run with our second plan and attack his stronghold. The hunting ruse will be the best way to avoid loss of life. Does anyone have another idea? Any objections?”

My heart is pounding. I feel proud and excited. I will kill the male who ruined my life, enslaved me for a decade, and destroyed my village. I will make him pay for murdering my mother. I’ll exact revenge just as my uncle urged when his wise words kept me alive on that fateful day.

“I’m going with him,” Willa stands as she says this. Her shoulders thrust back and her chin tips forward as if she dares anyone to argue with her.

“No,” I state it as a simple fact.

“In the dining room, you just showed us that your emotions are involved. Everyone on board this ship has a stake in this mission going smoothly. You’re the male for the job, you’re correct in that. But I’m the female who is going to support the cover story that we’re just hunting. And I’ll help you keep a calm head.”

“It’s not safe. You’re not equipped.”

“I’m from south Texas,” she says as if that explains everything. When I continue to shake my head, she explains, “I know how to shoot a gun whether it be rifle or pistol. I can ride a horse with no hands, hunt and skin my own food, and camp in the woods for weeks at a time thanks to my daddy and my daddy’s daddy who started taking me on hunting trips when I was seven. Don’t tell a Texas girl what she can and cannot do.”

She folds her arms across her chest, spears me with a blistering look, and lifts her chin as if she’s daring me to argue.

Although I wonder if this might make her change what she calls our relationship status, I repeat, “No. It’s not safe. This is a mission for a male.”

Every female in the room makes a noise. Some just say, “Ohh,” some hiss, and others say, “He did not just say that!” or “You’re not going to let him get away with that, are you?”

What did I say wrong? I only want to protect my female.

“You’re too emotionally involved, Bayne. I calm WarDog. I did it at lunch and