by Lili Zander
“Umm…”
“I’m not opposed to it,” I tell him, my lips twitching at the expression of consternation on his face. “As long as he pulls his weight. I’m counting on him vacuuming.” I picture the techbot zooming around the house like a spider-Roomba-on-steroids, and I choke back a giggle.
“Vacuuming.” He shoots me a grin. “You want a top-of-the-line techbot to clean the floors.” He starts to laugh. “Whatever you say, lovely Lani. I’ll make some modifications.”
Epilogue
Diana
Sometime in the past…
Have you seen the movie Hanna? That was my childhood. My father was paranoid, reclusive, and deeply suspicious of the authorities. He raised me in his image. For the first fifteen years of my life, I lived in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. We had no heat, no electricity, no running water, and above all, no money. We ate what we hunted. If the traps were empty, we went without. I was homeschooled, if you could call it that. I was taught to read and write, but that was about the extent of my education.
When I was fifteen, CPS intervened, and my aunt, my mother’s sister, got custody of me. As far as parental figures were concerned, she wasn’t much of an improvement. She was a scammer, a con artist, a grifter, whatever you want to call it. She wrote bad checks, she conned old ladies of their life savings, she stole from the church collection plate, it goes on and on.
Let’s just say that when the Zorahn scientists abducted us, I was already capable of fighting back. And then I got lucky. Theldre, the Ekton pirate who attacked the scientists’ base, was amused, not angry, when I stabbed him with a piece of broken glass.
He became my mentor. In six months, he’s taught me everything he knows. And, for the last month and a half, he’s been making noises about retirement. “I didn’t grow up in space, Diana,” he said to me last night. “I grew up on a planet. Before I die, I want to feel the ground under my feet again.”
I adore Thel. The thought of him not being around makes me want to break down and bawl, but Behrmans never cry. I’m his second-in-command. If Thel retires—when he retires—I’ll become the captain of this outlaw pirate ship. “I’m not ready to take your place,” I’d responded.
“You’ll be fine. You’re smart, you’re a quick thinker, and the crew respects you.”
“Lisa’s smart,” I reply, but I know what he means. Lisa Kwok, the other woman abducted by the Zorahn scientists, is smart as hell, but she’s not a fighter, and the crew doesn’t have much use for book learning. I almost killed Thel. I can hold my own in a knife fight. I have nerves of steel. Aunt Debbie taught me to cheat at cards, and the third day I was here, I taught a few members of the crew to play poker, and I robbed them blind.
That’s the kind of leadership a pirate crew can get behind.
Speaking of the devil, Thel limps onto the bridge. My mentor has an autoimmune disease that has grown resistant to the drugs he’s been taking. His motor skills are deteriorating rapidly. It’s frightening to watch, and it must be even more terrifying to live through it. Not that I’d know; Thel believes in being stoic.
He hands me a screen. I glance down at the message. Blood Heart’s mysterious new leader is on the move again. He’s heard that there’s an underground lab in Kerenis, and he’s headed there.
“The genocide proceeds on schedule,” Thel says soberly.
“Not if I can help it,” I say grimly. “Send word to the rebellion.”
He doesn’t like it. “Diana, this is a dangerous game you’re playing. The rebellion tried to plant a spy in Blood Heart. Nala Darniq is dead. If this madman finds out about you…”
“I’ve taken precautions. Nobody knows who I am, not even Tarish.”
“It’s still an unnecessary risk.”
I hold up my hand. “Thel, I’m going to tell you a story. When my father was a child, his parents were rounded up in Warsaw, loaded on a train, and sent to the death camp of Treblinka. They drove the train into a station. They’d disguised the gas chambers as mass showers. The Nazis made the men, women, and children strip, they herded them into the gas chambers, and they murdered them all. Every single one of them.” How does one even explain the Holocaust to an alien? “Three million Polish Jews died in less than ten years. This is my family history. I will not be a spectator to this genocide. The risk is worth it.”
Warning klaxons blare before he can reply. I rush to a display. A ship has materialized out of nowhere, and it’s trying to lock onto the Mahala. No, scratch that, it’s not trying. It’s succeeded. “What the hell?” I swear. We’re pirates, damn it. We board ships. We don’t allow other people to board ours. “How are they able to do that?”
Our engines die.
A pod detaches from the rogue cloakship and attaches itself to one of our airlocks. “Shut it down,” I snap. Lisa and Parani are at their screens, expressions of strained concentration on their faces. “Don’t let them enter.”
“I can’t stop them,” Parani grinds out.
What the hell? “Guards,” I snarl. “Corridor C. The intruders think they can waltz onto our ship. Let’s give them an Ekton welcome.”
“No need.” A man’s face fills every screen on the bridge. Zorahn, I think. He’s pretty damn good-looking, not that I have time to notice things like that. Hazel eyes, straight nose, a dark beard shadowing his jaw. His biceps are as big as tree trunks, and tattoos cover his forearms. “I come in peace.” A smile curves his lips but doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, that’s not strictly true; my pod is packed with incendiaries, and if I’m harmed, the Mahala will be blown to smithereens in two knur.” His expression hardens, and a shiver runs through me at the look of cold determination on his face. “I have a message for Captain Theldre ab Beni. Surrender the human women on your ship, and I will let you live.”
There’s perfect silence on the deck, and then Thel starts to laugh. “Isn’t this exciting?” he says, turning to me, his eyes sparkling with glee. “Diana, this man is here to rescue you.”
Thank you for reading Draekon Conqueror!
The Rebel Force adventures continue in Draekon Pirate, Diana and Fourth’s story. Click here for more information and to purchase it.
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DRAGONS IN EXILE
Draekon Mate - Viola’s story
Draekon Fire - Harper’s story
Draekon Heart - Ryanna’s story
Draekon Abduction - Olivia’s story
Draekon Destiny - Felicity’s story
Daughter of Draekons - Harper’s birth story
Draekon Fever - Sofia’s story
Draekon Rogue - Bryce’s story
Draekon Holiday - A holiday story
REBEL FORCE
Draekon Warrior - Alice & Kadir
Draekon Conquerer - Lani & Ruhan
Draekon Pirate - coming soon!
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A Preview of Draekon Mate
Crashed spaceship. Prison planet. Snarling, lethal predators. Two big, hulking, bronzed aliens who turn into dragons. The best part? The dragons insist I’m their mate.
The Zorahn wanted women for some kind of super-secret science experiment, and I volunteered. Dumb move, right? But they promised we’d be safe, and they offered a lot of money. Money I needed desperately.
Of course, everything went wrong.
Our spaceship has crashed on a prison planet, one where the Zorahn exile their most dangerous criminals. My friends are injured. I’m all alone on a jungle planet where everything is designed to kill me.
Then I run into the Draekons. When they see me, they change into dragons and burn the predators threatening me to a crisp. They feed me and care for me, and they keep me safe.
But there’s a catch. The Draekons insist that I’m their mate. And the only way they can shif
t into dragons again to save my friends? Both of them need to mate with me. At the same time.
This isn't the space vacation I thought it would be.
CHAPTER ONE
Viola:
I thought it’d be bigger.
This is the first thought I have when I enter the gleaming golden spaceship of the Zorahn.
That’s what she said. I hide my grin at my stupid little joke. I always joke when I’m nervous, and it turns out stepping onto an alien craft to be carried off to a planet several light years away is about a thousand times more nerve-wracking than giving a dissertation to a panel of world-renowned botanists. About several thousand times more nerve-wracking.
It took countless pep talks from my dad and a slug of whiskey to get me over that last hurdle to my Ph.D. It’s going to take a few bottles to get me comfortable on this alien ship. The Zorahn craft isn’t even as large as a commercial airliner. It’s ten feet across, and forty feet long, and the insides gleam with the same golden hue as the exterior. Even more worryingly, there are no seats to be seen.
This is not going to be a comfortable trip.
Then the reality sinks in. There is life out there in the universe—we are not alone. Aliens exist. I’m on a real, live spaceship, heading to the planet of Zoraht, home of the Zorahn. I won’t see Earth again for six months.
I look around, and the faces of the women next to me all betray the same emotions. Awe. Fear. Excitement. Up until a few weeks ago, we were just civilians going about our normal daily life.
Now we’re astronauts. Insane.
Major Schultz, the US Army officer who’s been functioning as a liaison between the Zorahn and us, clears his throat for attention. “As you know,” he begins, “this is a momentous day for humanity.”
The woman next to me, a tall, lean blonde, rolls her eyes. “God, he likes to hear himself talk,” she mutters under her breath. Her name is Harper, I remember, from the team-building exercises the Army made us participate in once we’d been chosen by the Zorahn. She’s a swim coach in California who almost made the national team in college.
Hector Schultz either doesn’t hear her or pretends not to. “The ten of you,” he says, “have been chosen by our honored guests, the Zorahn, to travel to their planet and discover the wonders of their world.”
The way Hector Schultz makes it sound, we’re space tourists. That’s not even close to the truth.
The real reason we’re on this ship? Our genes. According to the emissaries, Zoraht, the homeworld of the Zorahn, is being ravaged by a mysterious disease, and their scientists need our genetic material to devise a cure.
We’re glorified lab rats.
“Remember that the thoughts of every single human on planet Earth are with you,” he continues solemnly. “You represent the first step in an alliance that we hope will span generations.”
He looks like he could go on for hours, but one of the Zorahn males clears his throat, and Hector Schultz takes the hint. His voice trails off, and he stands in the middle of the ship, looking uncomfortable and out of place.
The Zorahn male who interrupted Schultz’ monologue steps forward. He’s seven feet tall. His skin is bronzed, his head is clean-shaven, and his body is hard and corded with muscle. Blue tattooed whorls cover his bald head, though the rest of his body is unmarked. I think his name is Beirax. He wears black pants, but in place of a shirt, intricate bands of blue fabric cover his chest.
He’s intimidating as fuck.
He says something, the words harsh and garbled in my ears. I have no idea what he’s saying, and I turn to look at Harper, wondering if she can understand him any better than me. The tall blonde is frowning, her arms crossed over her chest.
Nope. Not just me. The only one who seems to have any clue what the Zorahn said is Schultz.
Noticing our looks of confusion, Beirax snaps a question to the other male on board the ship, Mannix. Mannix is just as tall as his fellow alien, but his tattoos are black and brown, not blue. I’m sure the coloring has some significance, though what it is we don’t know. The Zorahn haven’t bothered to tell us much about their culture. All we know is that the High Emperor rules the entire planet and we will be under his personal protection when we are on Zoraht.
Mannix shakes his head. He holds his palm over a wall panel, and it slides open, revealing a storage cavity packed with mysterious and unidentifiable objects. Pulling a handful of small golden disks out, he hands one to each of us, and mimes that we’re to insert the disks in our right ear.
Ah. Translator. That’s why Schultz didn’t look as confused as the rest of us.
Harper snorts. “No need for the lab rats to understand what they’re saying,” she says dryly. She lifts the button-sized device to her ear. I do the same, yelping as a spark runs through me at the point of contact.
“No kidding,” I mutter, rubbing at my ear. “Also, no need to tell us that the damn thing should come with a warning label. I guess they don’t have lawyers on Zoraht.”
“We don’t.” Beirax’s voice drips with frost. “If you could return your attention to me, Viola Lewis?”
Ahem. The translator’s working then. Good to know that the first alien sentence I hear is a scolding.
A couple of the women giggle, but they stop as soon as they feel the full force of the Zorahn’s glare. “As I was saying,” he continues, “You are passengers on Fehrat 1. The journey to the homeworld will take ten of your Earth days. You will be placed in stasis for the trip. Any questions?”
Multiple hands fly in the air. Beirax sighs in frustration and points to a petite dark-haired woman. “Sofia Menendez,” he intones. “Yes?”
I wonder if the Zorahn understand the concept of a first and last name. The way Beirax refers to us, I doubt it. Voila Lewis. Sofia Menendez. Either that or he has a stick up his butt.
The last of the Zorahn, Raiht’vi, chooses this moment to enter the spaceship. She’s a lot taller than most human women, but her build is similar to ours. She has a narrow waist and wider hips, and her clothing, bulky as it is, doesn’t hide the swell of her breasts.
As tall as the men, she’s the only one with hair on her head. The scarlet tresses are tightly braided and decorated with objects that look like shells, and her clothing is white. “Are we ready to leave, Beirax?” she asks, a forbidding expression on her face.
“The humans have questions, Highborn,” Beirax says apologetically. “According to the orders of the High Emperor…”
She cuts him off. “I’m aware of Lenox’s commands.” She gives us an unsmiling look. “Satisfy their curiosity. We leave in a knur.”
One Knur equals Twelve Earth Minutes, the device in my ear helpfully interjects.
Twelve minutes until we’re off planet. I take a deep breath and wipe my sweaty palms on my NASA-issued clothing, made from a navy material that fits like a second skin. The last few weeks of training and a highly nutritious diet have left me fitter than I’ve ever been in my life, but I still don't care for the government-issued Spandex. “Why can’t we wear normal clothing?” I’d asked when a grim-faced captain handed them to me.
“The suits are specially formulated for space travel. The nanotechnology cleans itself and will help regulate your body temperature.”
“Does it come in pink?” When he didn’t crack a smile at the wisecrack, I’d mumbled, “Navy isn’t really my color.”
“You are a representative of the United States,” he’d replied tersely. “You will dress the part.”
So I stand in the Zorahn ship with the other women, the ten of us looking like an Olympic ski team. If the aliens think it’s weird that we’re dressed identically, they don’t say anything.
Raiht’vi, the female Zorahn, disappears into the cockpit of the spaceship. At least, that’s what I think it is, given the number of instrument panels on the dashboard. It’s also the only part of the ship that has a window.
Look at the blue skies, Viola. You won’t see them again for six months.
<
br /> Sofia, who is fresh out of medical residency, asks her question. “The translator is speaking English to me,” she says. “I’m bilingual. How did it decide what language to use?”
Her question seems to puzzle Beirax and Mannix. “The translator doesn’t decide,” Beirax replies, a confused expression on his face. “The translator translates.”
“Why didn’t it translate to Spanish?” Sofia persists.
Beirax frowns. “The translator translates Zor to English and vice-versa. That is its purpose.”
Not a universal translator then. That shit probably only exists in the imaginations of sci-fi writers.
“Excuse me?” A soft voice at my elbow makes me turn. A stunning redhead with a perfect figure and flawless pale skin stands at my side, biting her lower lip. I blink, and even the alien falls silent.
“Hi, I’m Olivia,” she says, with a little wave of a manicured hand. “I can’t get my translator to work.” She holds the device up and shakes it, all the while wearing an adorable little pout.
If I were going to set up an intergalactic dating service, I’d definitely put bombshell Olivia Buckner’s picture front and center.
“Try sticking it in your ear,” Harper quips. She and I exchange glances as Mannix gets another translator, and Schultz about falls over himself to help her put it in. Even Beirax can’t take his eyes off her gravity-defying breasts. Male interest in a hot female is universal.
My gaze drifts over the muscles of the brown tattooed alien, Mannix. Are Zorahn cocks like human males?
Focus, Vi!
After much attention from the men, Olivia finally has her translator installed, and Beirax signals he’s ready for the next question. A woman with short curly brown hair raises her hand like she’s in grade school. “You said stasis,” she says nervously. “Is that safe?”
