by Lili Zander
I have eyes for none of it. When I kiss Ryanna, she sighs softly and presses into my chest, her fingers grazing my thighs. The smell of her fills my nostrils, driving me wild with desire. My heart hammers as I stroke her skin, the warm brown tone reminding me of late afternoon sunlight.
Her breathing catches. “What are you doing?” she whispers, the sound carried away by the wind.
“Distracting you.” I put my finger on her chin and tip her face toward mine. Her eyes are closed. Her lips look soft and pink, and I want nothing more than to taste them. “Should I stop?”
In response, she tips her head up. My heart starts beating in my chest. “No,” she says softly.
I keep one hand around her waist. My other hand curls around the side of her neck, tilting her face toward mine. I trace the outline of her lips with my tongue, and I deepen the contact. Blood rushes in my ears, and she moans softly and responds eagerly. She’s so soft in my arms, so fragile yet so strong.
“Umm.” Raiht’vi clears her throat. “If you two are finished…”
I blink and look up to see that we’ve landed next to the river. Thrax’s hands are clenched into fists, and he avoids my gaze. Raiht’vi just looks bored. “Dennox can’t transform back until the two of you get down.”
Ryanna’s cheeks are pink with embarrassment as I help her down. The air around the dragon shimmers, and then Dennox stands in its place. Thankfully, he’s in too much of a hurry to head back to Harper to make much of my kiss. “The Fehrat 1 is in that direction,” he says, pointing due south. “A two-hour walk at the most. Let’s go.”
We set off in silence. Thrax is still not looking at me, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that this is because I kissed Ryanna.
We will need to have a conversation. If he wants her… well, I’ll step aside. When she discovered my family secret, my mother killed my father, my sister, and herself out of shame. Ryanna isn’t from the homeworld, but even so, I can’t condemn her to a similar fate. I need to tell Thrax that he has nothing to worry about.
And the sudden sinking feeling in my heart at the idea of Ryanna mating with another?
It doesn’t matter.
My entire life is a lie. I’m not Zorux und Saarex ab Rykiel, Highborn of Zoraht. I’m an imposter. For the rest of my life, I will pay for my father’s crimes.
Ryanna:
I walk through the jungle on autopilot. I don’t notice the tiny birds that fly around us. I don’t notice the rivulets of sweat that trickle down my back. I don’t notice that the grass is a strange shade of pink and crunches as we walk over it.
My thoughts are focused on one thing only.
I kissed Zorux.
And I liked it.
So much for iron-clad panties.
Then there was the expression on Thrax’s face. When I saw it, I felt about two feet tall. I flirted with him, it’s true, but we never did anything else. Did I lead him on?
Oh God, what if Thrax gets angry? What if he’s angry enough to hurt me?
Stop. Thrax isn’t Mike.
“What’s the matter?”
I look up in surprise. The person at my side is the last person I’d expect to see. Raiht’vi. “I beg your pardon?” I ask her.
“You’re obviously upset,” she says. “Why?”
I don’t know where to start, and I don’t particularly want to confide in Raiht’vi. I don’t know her at all, and she’s made no effort to be friendly until now. Still, it feels wrong to be blatantly rude. “I feel like I’ve caused a wedge between Thrax and Zorux,” I murmur.
“They’ll get over it,” she replies bluntly.
Gee, thanks for the help. “I hope so.”
She sighs at my unconvinced expression. “Zorux and Thrax are Draekons,” she explains. “A triad is the way they mate. There is no jealousy between pair-bonds. Is Arax jealous of Nyx? Is Dennox envious of Vulrux? No, of course not. It’s counter to their biology.”
I see a flaw in her argument. “How can you be sure Zorux and Thrax are pair-bonds?”
“I can’t be completely sure, of course,” she admits. “But the likelihood is high. Pair bonds tend to be opposites in temperament. Arax is dutiful, and Nyx is carefree. Vulrux peace-loving, and Dennox, a soldier.”
I consider her words. Thrax is cheerful and easy-going, and Zorux is moody and withdrawn. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I reply. “I’m not their mate.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You’re sure of that, are you?”
God, no. I’m sure of nothing. “They can’t be,” I argue. “Arax and Nyx turned into dragons as soon as they saw Viola. You told us the same thing happened with Olivia when she was taken. I’ve known Zorux and Thrax for more than three months.” I shrug my shoulders and spread my arms wide, ignoring the dull ache in my chest. “No shift, no mate.”
Which is another reason I’ve been resisting Thrax’s attempts at flirting. When we eventually find the other girls, there’s a high likelihood that Thrax and Zorux will transform for one of them. If we were sleeping together… Too much potential for heartbreak.
She snorts. “Two examples and you’ve decided you know how the Draekon mating bond works? Generations of scientists have tried to understand it, and we have failed.” She gazes into the distance. “The mating bond is as wild and mysterious as life itself, human.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t create life,” she replies. “We used to be able to take sentient species and combine them in our labs to create something new. That is what we did with the Draekons. But try as we might, when we start from protein blocks and amino acids, we don’t get life.” Her lips twist in a wry grimace. “We get soup.”
I’m not a scientist. Viola would be much better equipped to have this conversation than I am, but the broad gist of what Raiht’vi’s telling me is clear. I shouldn’t presume to know when the two Draekons will shift.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Why did you cut Zorux’s cheek?”
That’s the last thing I expected her to say. “I don’t…” I start to stammer, and she holds up her hand. “Please, Ryanna,” she says. “I’m not a fool. Vulrux and Dennox might have been too distracted to see the truth, but it’s obvious. Why did you do it? Were you quarreling?”
“No.” A red and black bug of some kind crawls on a leaf to my right, distracting me. It’s the size of my fist. Freaky. Thankfully, it seems a lot more interested in the creamy berries on the plant than in the four of us. I grew up on my farm, and I can deal with bugs, but that doesn’t mean I like them.
Raiht’vi’s still waiting for me to reply. “I had a nightmare,” I sigh, bracing myself for her condemnation. “Vulrux tried to comfort me, and I cut him before I fully woke.”
Her expression is strangely understanding. “What were you dreaming about?”
Harper’s theory is that Raiht’vi must be horribly lonely on the prison planet. Everyone else has someone to talk to, except the two Zorahn scientists. Mannix died in the crash. Did Raiht’vi mourn him? I realize I don’t know anything about the woman.
She’s trying, in her own way, to be friendly. It seems churlish not to reciprocate. “A man,” I reply quietly. “My ex-husband. He used to hurt me.”
“A human man, I assume. How fortunate you are, Ryanna.”
That’s news to me. I certainly don’t feel fortunate. “I am?”
“He can’t reach you here. You’re safe from him.”
A sudden instinct makes me look up. “Are you running from someone? We’re on the prison planet. No one can reach you here either.”
I don’t think she’s going to reply to that, and for a long time, there’s only silence between us. Finally, she opens her mouth. “You’re wrong,” she whispers. “There’s no place to hide. He will always find me.”
As if ashamed at her moment of vulnerability, her expression hardens and she strides away. I’m left staring at her retreating back. Who is she running from?
7
Thrax:
Ryanna’s bond mate used to hurt her.
Draekon hearing is razor sharp. I can hear the sesna flap its translucent wings as it alights on a neital bush and scampers toward the creamy berries. I can hear the hoots of a trio of Dwals back at the river as they drink their fill.
And of course, I can hear every word of the conversation between Ryanna and Raiht’vi.
I expect the humans to forget about Draekon hearing, but the Zorahn scientists have always acted with an abundance of caution. Raiht’vi would have known that both Zorux and I would be able to overhear her whispered conversation.
Right now, understanding the motives of the Highborn scientist isn’t important. Rage pulses through my blood and I have to clench my hands into fists to keep it contained. Her bond mate used to hurt her? How can anyone hurt someone so kind, so good? A surge of pure, cold anger bubbles inside me. If her bond mate were here, I would tear him apart with my bare hands.
Once again, we’re cutting through the jungle in single file. Zorux leads the way, and I bring up the rear. He swings his curved machete through the jungles, slashing the branches out of our way. The blade is one of the few metallic objects we own, the diarmod salvaged from the hull of the pod that delivered us to this planet. It’s wickedly sharp and makes short work of any stray vegetation that opposes us. Right now, I’m imagining it slicing open the man who hurt the small human woman.
This sudden, bone-deep need to keep Ryanna safe is new to me, and I don’t understand it.
We run into the Fehrat 1 after a two-hour walk. Dennox and Zorux swing inside the ship, gesturing for the women to remain outside until they make sure it’s safe.
I gawk at the sleek lines of the spacecraft. It’s the first time I’m seeing the ship. Four of us were out hunting when we stumbled upon Ryanna and Sofia trying to fight off a trio of Dwals while protecting a comatose Harper. After that, I went to find others in our exile batch to help with the injured scientists. The rains came almost as soon as the immediate danger had passed, and I never did get to satisfy my curiosity about the crashed ship.
I walk around the exterior, admiring it. Zorahn ships are functional rather than beautiful. They’re bulky and powerful, the hulls made of a diarmod alloy that almost nothing in the galaxy can damage.
But the Ferhat 1 doesn’t appear to be made of the alloy. I’ve been on the prison planet for sixty years. In that time, it seems that spaceship design has advanced by leaps and bounds. “What is this made of?” I ask Raiht’vi, running my hands over the exterior. “It isn’t diarmod.”
“Xarcan alloy,” she replies. “It’s lighter than diarmod, but not as sturdy.” Her gaze rests on the large hole in the hull in disgust. “Obviously.”
I used to be a pilot. Weight does matter. Space fuel isn’t cheap, after all, and the heavier a ship is, the more fuel it needs. And there’s no doubt: diarmod is heavy.
But this doesn’t make sense. Fehrat 1 had two Highborn, including a scientist who wears the white robes. It was carrying ten human women under the personal protection of the High Emperor himself. So why use a lightweight metal hull that can’t withstand a simple crash? “Were you trying to save fuel?”
Her lips twist. “Diarmod comes from Alvi,” she replies. “And Alvi isn’t under the control of the High Empire.”
My head snaps up with shock. The sparsely populated mining planet is only two sectors away from the homeworld. It’s been part of the Empire for generations. “Who controls it then?”
Ryanna’s listening to our conversation, her face wearing a look of confusion. None of this probably makes any sense to her, but I’m reeling. We’ve only been exiled sixty years. In that short period of time, the Empire has a new High Emperor, the scientists have formed a secret alliance with the TechMages of Adrash, and now we’ve lost control of a Sector 2 planet, one critical to the construction of our ships? What the hell is going on back home?
Raiht’vi shakes her head in response to my question. “It is a death sentence to talk about Alvi,” she replies. “And I’m in no hurry to reach the gardens of Caeron.”
Zorux pokes his head out from inside the ship, distracting me from my train of thought. “It’s safe to enter.”
Ryanna:
I haven’t been inside the Fehrat 1 since the crash.
That was more than three months ago. Since that time, the ship has been exposed to deluges. Flooding. For all I know, it’s been home to all kinds of creepy-crawlies. I’m expecting it to look like a wreck.
But it’s surprisingly pristine. There’s some debris in the main cabin, but the door to the cockpit is shut, as are the panels that conceal the stasis pods that we were held in. The large panel on the floor that led to the baggage hold is closed too.
Raiht’vi breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank Caeron,” she mutters. “Those two had the sense to seal everything.”
Thrax explains for my benefit. “Each compartment is airtight. Arax and Nyx were the last ones on the ship. Because they locked down everything, the other compartments have been protected from water damage.”
He’s talking to me again, but he’s not really looking at me, and his voice is tense. Sigh. I really need to hash out the subject of the kiss with Thrax. I don’t want him angry with me. I was broken after Mike. Hell, I might still be broken. But when Thrax teased me and flirted with me, he made me feel like myself again. He made me feel normal.
And that kiss with Zorux has messed everything up.
“Are the doors keyed to you?” Dennox asks Raiht’vi.
She shakes her head. “It was deemed too dangerous. If something happened to me, we couldn’t risk incapacitating the ship. The only area that was coded to me was my storage locker.” Her lips lift in a rare grin. “I didn’t want to say anything,” she says, moving to the back and holding her palm over a panel to the right of the stasis pods. “But if this works…” Her voice trails off as she waits.
A few seconds later, the entire front of the panel turns golden, and it slides open. “Yes,” she exclaims triumphantly.
Zorux comes up behind me. “What’s in it?” he asks, peering over my shoulder into the storage locker.
“This.” Raiht’vi pulls a black box out, about the size of a toaster, and holds it aloft reverently.
The Draekons inhale sharply. “Is that an Adrashian synthesizer?” Thrax sounds astonished.
Raiht’vi nods gleefully, another emotion I don’t associate with the normally stoic Zorahn scientist. “It is.”
I clear my throat, completely confused. Not for the first time. “What’s an Adrashian synthesizer?”
“A food synthesizer,” Zorux replies. “Our technicians make them too, but they don’t work as well. The output is substandard, and they use up too much energy.”
Fancy Highborn way of saying the food sucks. Got it.
Thrax elaborates. “The best technology in the galaxy comes from Adrash,” he says. “But the Adrashian Federation has been at war with the Zorahn empire for generations, and trade is forbidden between the two empires.” He winks at me. “It’s a smuggler’s dream. The Highborn of Zorahn pay a pretty price for Adrashian baubles. Like that one.” He waves his hand toward the toaster.
Raiht’vi doesn’t respond to the provocation because she isn’t paying attention. She’s punching buttons in a control panel on top of the box. As soon as she’s done, there’s a short beep, and then the front of the box seems to dissolve. Inside is a bowl containing something that looks like mushroom soup and smells like a compost bin on a hot summer afternoon, though judging from the excited faces of the four in front of me, they don’t share my opinion.
“Feel free to use it,” Raiht’vi says to us, to my surprise.
Thrax raises his eyebrow. “Really?” He sounds skeptical. “You’re sharing your syn?”
“I was wounded,” the Zorahn scientist replies quietly. “I would have died from the injuries I sustained from the crash had your exile batch not taken me in. You had no reason to help me
, but you did anyway. I owe the Draekons a life debt.” She lifts the bowl to her mouth and takes a sip, her expression relaxing into pure happiness.
Zorux grunts. “We can eat mudur later on,” he says. “We have a locator to find first.”
Dennox nods in agreement. Thrax gives Raiht’vi a questioning look. “Is your syn programmed with Earth food?”
“Some,” she replies. “I loaded the food I found interesting. Coffee and tea. Chocolate. Beef jerky. Deep fried chicken. Curry. French fries.”
My eyes go wide. “Hang on,” I say slowly, unable to believe my ears. “You’re telling me this machine can make coffee. Actual coffee? This isn’t some kind of elaborate joke?”
“I don’t joke,” Raiht’vi replies with a frown. She punches a button for me, and the machine does its magic ‘beep and dissolve’ routine. There’s a mug inside, containing a very familiar beverage. The smell of the caffeine hits my nostrils, and I can’t help it. I moan softly as I reach for it and take a sip.
This is even better than my wildest dreams.
In fact, it might be better than Zorux’s kiss.
Then again, my nipples harden as I remember the feel of his tongue in my mouth, the firm pressure of his hand around my waist, the way his eyes smoldered when they rested on me. Okay, the coffee is pretty damn good. But that kiss?
That was a once-in-a-lifetime moment.
8
Ryanna:
It’s relatively easy to find Beirax’s locator; it’s in his storage locker. For a moment, we think we’re screwed since Beirax isn’t here to open it for us, but thankfully, Raiht’vi, as the senior-most person on the ship, has access to it. She opens it for the three Draekons, and they rummage through Beirax’s possessions until they find the tablet-sized screen.
What am I doing in the meanwhile?
I’m eating chocolate. And a burger, and french fries. Evidently, Raiht’vi didn’t care for things like broccoli and kale, because her replicator only seems to be able to make junk food.
