by Stella Cassy
Surprise registers on her face at my unexpected outburst. Yet, she also seems concerned, judging by her wide eyes. “Where did that come from?”
“My chest hurts when you talk, but the healer reports my medical scan is normal.”
Tilting her head, she looks at my fist, which is still rubbing against my chest. “I’m glad you are well. I also feel a tightness in my chest, particularly when thinking about my mother.”
“You do? In spite of what you might think, her disappearance was not your fault. Being a youngling makes you blameless. Besides, you do not know that anything bad happened to her. She might still be well and living a happy life with a family who has some care for her wellbeing.”
Tears gather in her eyes, making them look glassy. Sitting so close, I can see my proud Drakon form reflected back at me in her sad blue eyes. “It hurts not knowing what happened to her. I wonder if she is locked in a cage of her own somewhere or being forced to breed one child after another for some strange alien. Thinking about such things keeps me awake at night and haunts my dreams.”
The door opens and a member of my crew walks in with two small boxes. I gesture to the floor beside me. He drops the supplies I requested gently onto the floor. His eyes wander over to the brooder and something about that sets my nerves on edge. Forcing the irritation from my voice, I speak without looking at him, “That will be all. Return to your duties.”
“Yes, sir.”
The moment the door closes behind him, I grab one of the boxes and use a sharp claw to break the seal. The silence is awkward, so I speak. “Where did you last hear of your mother being?”
“About five years ago, a miner told me that he saw someone fitting her description on Lamont’s second moon. I wasn’t able to look for her.”
Stacking a fist full of food bars inside her cell, I begin to open the other box. My claw makes a slight hissing noise as I cut through the box top. “Is locating your mother one of the things you wished to do after escaping the Pax?”
She nods at me and I see her eyes fill with tears anew. A new hurt explodes in my chest. Her misery feels like it’s my fault, but I know this cannot be. “You should eat and drink more. Brooders should be plump and happy, not skinny and wretched.”
“Thanks for that stunning insight into the female form.” Her tone of voice is bland and makes me wonder if human women have the capacity to plump up. My sire’s doesn’t seem to plump, no matter how much we feed her. Something about watching her eat strikes me as elegant. Her lips are delicate, and her hands appear childlike wrapped around a Drakon food bar. To know that all this creature thinks about is finding her mother and her next meal affects me in ways I don’t understand.
Words tumble out of my mouth that I don’t intend. “I can well understand how difficult it is to be motherless as a child. I lost my mother when I was young as well.”
“That must have been terrible for you.”
“For a Drakon Prime such as myself, the loss is more disheartening than damaging. For a female child I suspect it is worse.”
“Did your other family members step up?”
“My sire’s brooder, Alana took an interest in me. At the time, I thought it was to curry favor. I now realize the female had no reason to curry favor, for she had always been favored among his females.”
“How many females does your sire have?”
“Many. All Drakon warriors collect something. I collect ancient weapons. Our healer collects rare DNA samples from extinct species. My second-in-command collects Drakon shell fragments. My sire collects exotic females. Collecting is in our nature.”
“Wow, I never knew that Drakons were collectors. What did your mother think of his collection?”
“It bothered her not. My mother was his true and legal mate. All the others were secondary. Drakon females cycle once per year. Though she brooded for my sire six times before she passed into legend, she rarely stayed in our home. She was a free spirit who liked to travel to the far reaches of the known universe.”
“Six is a lot of babies.”
“Hatchlings. We come from a shell. Please remember that.”
“How did your brothers and sisters handle her passing?”
“All five of my older hatch mates perished as well. My sire took the losses badly, for several reasons. Foremost among them was my mother’s death broke the bond between them. Drakons bond securely to their life mate and severing the bond is physically painful. Also lost were the sons who had been destined to be the heirs to his great fortune. He had raised the oldest three to follow in his footsteps. All in all, it was a loss not to be born.”
“I’m so sorry. Do you mind if I ask how she died?”
“It is a sad story. Our ship was attacked and although we were victorious, there was a fire that spread to the family quarters. I was tiny and my mother ripped off the front of an air vent and told me to crawl. After seeing five turnings of the seasons, I was the only one small enough to fit and therefore the only one to survive.”
“I’m surprised the smoke didn’t fill the ductwork. Five-year-olds have small lungs.”
“It did, but she strapped an emergency mask onto my head from our medical kit. If not for her quick thinking, Tarion of the Hielsrane would not be sitting before you. After crawling for what seemed like hours and trying to push open every vent along the way, I stopped in front of the very last one. Even with me pushing with all my might, it didn’t budge. Knowing I was going to die there, I wrapped my tiny wings around my body and broke down crying with my caudal over my face. Even as a young warrior, I was smart for my age. I envisioned my sire eventually opening the vent to find me burned to a crisp like the small clay figurines of Drakon children that decorate my mother’s garden. When I ran out of tears, I remember positioning my wings to their best advantage in case I ended up truly being used as an ornamental piece.”
“That would never happen. You know that, right?”
Taking out several drink pouches, I busied myself, shoving them through the bars. My throat had closed up, and I needed a minute to leash my emotions. “I do know that now, but such knowledge was lost on a young warrior facing death at a tender age.”
“What happened?”
“I’d like to say that I plucked myself up and kicked through the vent like a true warrior. The truth is much less heroic. One of the older warriors heard my weak sounds, tore open the vent with his gigantic claws and got me out. He immediately took me to my sire who was even then grieving the loss of his mate and my older siblings. Holding out his hands for me, he drew me close and made haste for engineering to oversee the repairs.”
Wrapping my caudal in my lap, I rest my hands on it, much like I did all those years ago. “Again, we were victorious, but that victory cost us many lives. Warriors I looked up to during my short life were no more, wiped out of existence by mercenaries bent on stealing our fortune. My sire refused to release me a nice long while.”
Her hands reach through the bars to land on mine, and, for a brief second, the throbbing pain in my chest eases up. Sitting there staring at her hands on me, the idea enters my mind that rather than being the cause of my strange malady, she is the cure. My wings grow stiff as I realize that perhaps she is both. When her quivering voice reaches my ears, I glance up at her face.
“It breaks my heart that you had to suffer through such a traumatic event when you were still so young. No little boy should have to endure something like that.”
Pulling away from her touch, I reply indignantly, “I’m not weak.”
Her eyes get wide and her mouth drops open. “I never said you were.”
Coming swiftly to my feet, I tuck my wings neatly behind me and lift my chin. “Nor do I fear death.”
Slowing standing, she seems thoroughly confused. The words that come out of her mouth hit me square in the chest. “Of course, Tarion of the Hielsrane does not fear death. It is death that should fear him.”
Giving the woman a sharp nod in recognition of her t
ruthful but nonetheless complimentary words, I refuse to succumb to my emotions. “Tarion of the Hielsrane craves battle and has never been defeated.”
A ghost of a smile crosses her face. “It’s because he is a Drakon Prime.”
I relax my wings slightly. “Sleep well, Carissa of the Maeberry.”
“You too, sir.”
Turning towards the door, it takes me a few moments to will my feet to move. I don’t know why it is difficult to walk away from this human brooder, but I force my feet into action. Closing the door behind me, I try to process what just happened between us.
I have never spoken such intimate details of that day to anyone, even my sire. Males do not normally share feelings about the tragedies of their life. What in the hell is wrong with me? I begin to wonder if the human has some type of mental ability to force me to lower my inhibitions.
Surely, my sire never behaved in such a fashion with his human. I think of contacting him but disregard the idea almost immediately. My sire is a clever warrior, and he may be able to uncover my new weakness. No warrior worth his wings would let that happen.
Turning the situation over in my mind, it occurs to me to wonder if this is perhaps the quality that makes human females so coveted. Their innocent allure prompts a warrior to unburden their soul. I know my painful memories have diminished in her company. I’m unsure if I should feel grateful or furious.
I will not allow her to trick me again. In fact, I will go to her cell often and force her to speak details of her life, while I guard my own. Beating her at her own game will prove I’m superior. Yes. That is exactly what I’ll do.
5
Carissa
Good holy God, what was that all about? My dragon captor just turned into a big old softie. First, he shoved tons of food at me, insisting that brooders should be plumped up. Ha, like that would ever happen. There isn’t enough food in the verse to pad my skinny ass.
Tearing into a third food bar, I vow to take advantage of his hospitality. The little voice in the back of my head tells me I’m being gluttonous and ungrateful. I shut her right up by tearing off a big chewy bite of goodness, enjoying the naturally sweet fruit bar. The case has different kinds and I know red means fruit, brown means grain, green means vegetable and black means there is some dodgy form of meat inside. I literally hate the ones made of meat, but I’ll eat them to stay alive. When that little voice persists, I remind her that feeding me well is the least he can do since he intends to make a small fortune off of turning me back over to the Pax.
I wash down bite after bite, opening another hydration pack to quench my thirst. The foolish man left the boxes sitting so close to my cell that I can grab them. Emptying both boxes, I pull all the foodstuffs greedily into my cell. It takes me a minute to rip the bottoms of the boxes open, fold them flat and pull them through the bars. They will make decent padding for the cold, hard cot. I carefully stow the food and drink that will keep me alive for the coming weeks around the room but off the floor. Though I haven’t seen any rodents so far, why take the chance?
Dropping back down onto the floor, I wrap myself in the extravagantly soft blanket he brought to me. Running my hand over it sends shivers up my spine. This warm throw would be considered luxurious by any being’s standards.
Why did he do all this? He could have left me in here to rot and collected the bounty nonetheless. Then again, why did he strut around in ornate clothing and refer to himself as Tarion of the Hielsrane? Probably the same reason he was breathing dragon breath all over my chest and then slapping the shit out me the next. He’s Mister Crazypants. Based in his recent actions, it makes little sense to question his motives. Then again, maybe I’m the crazy one, since I keep swinging back and forth between daydreaming about having sex with him and wanting to put as much distance between us as possible.
Taking the last bite of food from the metallic wrapper, I lick all the sweetness from inside. Looking around, an idea pops into my head. I neatly tuck the wrapper between the cardboard and the cot. Every bit of padding helps.
Sipping the last of my second hydration packet, my mind drifts back over our conversation. Though I went in with the goal of getting him to empathize with my plight and warm up to me, I hadn’t thought in a million years that it would be so easy to get him to open up. What the hell kind of lonely life must the man have to allow all his vulnerabilities to come pouring out at the blink of an eye? Hell, I was beginning to feel something for the horrible creep. I keep going back and forth about him in my mind, wondering when I’m going to come squarely down on one side or the other. Either he’s a hot misunderstood dragon who has never had the chance to care about anyone but his immediate family, or he’s a reprehensible creature incapable of empathizing with my plight.
It occurs to me that my feelings are a muddled mass of curiosity, mild attraction, empathy for his loss, and horror at how casually he talked about being trapped in a vent. The thought of him as a little boy, trapped and facing death all alone, honestly did break my heart. Maybe it even explains why he’s so broken.
Sighing, I close my eyes and give myself a good talking to. Tarion of the Hielsrane is not your friend, Carissa. He abducted you and took away the nice ship you stole all fair and square. You know he’s going to sell you right back into slavery. He’s admitted it.
Of course I already know all that, but continuing to remind myself of what an ass he is seems like a good idea in case I start getting stupid again. He slapped you in the face and threatened to strip you bare and let his men rape you. Stop thinking he’s not so bad because he tossed you a few crumbs.
Again, I know that’s the only sane conclusion to be had in this situation. He’s not to be trusted simply because he’s brought me food and treated me like a person for a few minutes. No one’s ever really been interested in just talking with me before. The last person to show an interest in me was my mother. Still, just because the big stupid dragon showed an interest in my past and demonstrated some kindness is not enough to offset the fact that he’s taken my hard-won freedom away.
Maybe that’s what makes him tick; crushing women under his heel and then picking them up, dusting them off and doing the same thing all over again. That sounds about right. Well, fuck that. Carissa of the Maeberry is not going to be a willing victim.
Just because Tarion can weave a good tale, doesn’t mean any of it is true. The cold hard fact of the matter is, he’s an evil villain and brigand. I can’t trust a word the thug has to say. He’d lie to a woman in a heartbeat to get what he wanted. It’s up to me to keep a clear head.
My mother taught me all about Stockholm Syndrome. Am I learning about my captor and finding out we aren’t quite so different? She said that Stockholm Syndrome encourages a person to empathize with their abductor’s plight and participate in their own degradation. I mull this over in my mind. According to her, the condition occurs when a person is placed in prolonged captivity and in fear for their life. It’s the only explanation for this growing feeling in the pit of my stomach – the feeling that’s currently telling me he’s not all that bad and my situation isn’t all that it seems, when getting abducted and held prisoner is clearly one of those situations that’s exactly what it seems. I’m being exploited and Mister Crazypants is actively making that happen. I’m not about to begin feeling sorry for my ruthless captor.
I climb onto my newly padded cot, pull my blanket over my body and tuck the edges underneath. I’ve never felt this good in my life. It’s probably a combination of having enough to eat and drink and a cozy, warm place to rest my head. I tumble off to sleep within minutes.
An image of a crimson dragon gliding through the clear night sky flashes before my eyes. He’s truly majestic with the pale moonlight showing through his gossamer wings. He seems to glide along, enjoying himself for an endless age.
Suddenly, one huge dragon eye spies a form moving about in the lake down below. Somehow, I know the swimming figure is me. I can see my pale body cutting through the water
, long dark hair trailing in a long stream behind me. In the dream, I don’t see the determined dragon coming.
I try to shout a warning, but nothing comes out. The dreamscape is a strange place that defies the laws of nature. One minute I’m looking down from above, and the next, cool is water lapping against my skin as I swim. A low, deep roar splits the air. I look up just in time to see the huge creature bearing down on me. Unlike in real life, the advanced notice gives me time to get away. Diving deep to get away from him, I’m thrilled at my ability to avoid capture. Looking up, I see a huge dark shadow drifting silently across the top of the water. Somehow, I’m breathing under water and my legs have turned into two long fins. I twirl through the water, giggling and happy, as I make my escape.
Waking the next morning to the clanking of the outer door being opened, I’m disappointed to find that it was all a dream. I’ve been captured by the dragon and my legs are still long, delicate limbs that can’t take me any further than the bars will allow.
Rubbing my eyes, I frown, realizing it’s the Drakon captain again. Trying not to act cross, I attempt a demure smile. His gaze turns suspicious. Damn, I’m not a morning person. Quickly running my fingers through my hair, I try to pull myself together.
The dragon freezes as he watches me handle my hair. I take my time, working the tangles out gently. I make a production of stretching, being sure to turn so he can see my breasts. If our last two encounters were any indication, he’s definitely a breast kind of guy. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as I make a production of throwing my blanket off and sliding my legs over the side of the bed. My cheap, tattered costume designed for seduction leaves very little to the imagination.
“Good morning, Tarion of the Hielsrane.” He smiles slightly when I speak his name that way, clearly pleased that I am respectful of Drakon traditions.
