“Not at all.”
“But you’ve done this before?”
“Well, yeah.” Lorei has the grace to look embarrassed. “But only on other humans. With their permission. Never on another species. Never ever on an—”
“You don’t have to, you know. We can find another way to save them.”
“He’s our only source of information.”
“And a volatile one.” Arashia rumbles, flashing her fangs.
“I’ll risk it. Are you ready?”
Arashia nods. “I will be ready to break the connection.”
Lorei turns to the Elverkoneg, who glares at her out of half lidded eyes. He is bound to the chair, moss green hands dangling loosely over the arms and she kneels and grasps his fingers.
The transfer of thoughts, en masse, is trying at the best of times. With a completely different species, it’s as if her brain is being pulled apart, with information pouring in like a deluge: random facts and figures, memories of a family not her own, the winding path to their comrades, the death that will befall every one of them—
“Lorei,” purrs a voice and a strong hand squeezes her shoulder, breaks the connection. Lorei slumps against Arashira and the Catling bears her weight.
“Falsteaf Ruins,” Lorei says. “That’s where we’ll find them.”
Xenotransfer. Xeno transfer? I started with Xenotransfusion and jumped from there.