Grace Goodwin - Fighting For Their Mate

“I accept.”

Warden Egara looked down at her tablet, swiped her fingers. “Good. Hands back on the arm rests. Yes, thank you. Don’t mind the restraints, they are required so you’ll remain still for preparation and transport.”

Preparation? Transport? I’d never transported in a chair before. Never in a hospital gown. I tested the restraints, but it was more practical than panic—like preparing for battle.

She swiped her screen again and to my shock, the chair slid toward the wall where a large opening appeared. The examination chair moved, as if on a track, right into the newly revealed space on the other side of the wall. The tiny room was small, and glowing with a series of bright blue lights. The chair lurched to a stop and a robotic arm with a large needle slid silently up to my neck but paused, one of the lights turning red.

“What?” The Warden was looking down at her screen with a frown, so I saved her a few minutes of confusion, telling her what I could.

“I don’t need an NPU. I already have one—sort of.” The thing implanted in my skull wasn’t the standard issue NPU, but I wasn’t allowed to tell her that either.

She lifted her gray eyes to mine, curiosity and calculation in her gaze. “And why, exactly, is it not showing up in my scanners?”

I shrugged. “I really couldn’t say.”

“Of course, not.” She looked annoyed now, and I grinned at her to ease the sting. My NPU translated all the languages in the Coalition Fleet, just like everyone else’s, but it was…more. Doctor Helion, the Intelligence Core’s specialist on neural implants, told me the experimental Neural Processing Unit was coated in a specialized material meant to evade detection by Hive Integration Units in the event I was captured.

Thank God that had never happened.

“Fine, Ms. Phan. Good luck out there.”

A sense of lethargy and contentment made my body go limp as I was lowered into a bath of warm blue liquid. I was so warm, so numb…

“Just relax, Chloe.” Her finger touched the display in her hand and her voice drifted to me as if from far, far away. “Your processing will begin in three… two… one…”

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