It points at my face and then back at the cloth, sharing what looks like a confused glance with its companion.
Realization hits me. It's trying to wipe the freckles from my olive-toned complexion. "They're just freckles!" I shout. "Permanent spots on my skin!"
The insectoid's head jerks back. Dropping the cloth on the table, it steps closer.
Did it understand me? "Do you know what I'm saying?"
It nods.
Hope fills me. "Let me down. Please, let me down. I promise to answer all your questions if you just—“
It presses a button, and my mouth slams shut, an invisible force holding it closed so I can't speak.
Raising four claw-tipped, lethal hands to my face, it tilts its head to the side as if studying my reaction.
My chest rises and falls rapidly as I take in shallow, panicked breaths. I have a strong feeling that no amount of crying or screaming will win me any sympathy from these alien creatures. They've already indicated that they understand me.
They understand, and they do not care.
Something small and metallic glints beneath the light, drawing my attention to the closest one's claws. Without warning, it reaches behind my ear. A sharp sting pierces my skin. Warmth blooms out from the spot; heat builds into a fire that burns throughout my skull.
The insectoid leans in. "Can you understand me now?"
I open my mouth to respond, but the pain steals my breath. Somehow I manage to nod before my eyes roll up in the back of my head, and I fall away into nothingness.
A subtle hissing noise startles me awake. Something cold and wet slicks up my neck to my jaw. My eyes snap open, and I go completely still—paralyzed with fear. Two enormous black orbs stare back at me, mere centimeters from mine. With a face like a cobra and covered in dark crimson scales, the creature's lips pull back in a snarl, baring two large fangs as a red, forked tongue retracts into its mouth. With two arms, two legs, and a long, tapered tail, its entire body is all thick, corded muscle beneath shiny interlocking scales. What little clothing it wears only covers the lower half of its body, and as my gaze travels down its sinuous form, it's easy to see that this alien is male.
It leans in, studying me intently. An involuntary shudder ripples through my body. After at least three weeks of this hell, you'd think I wouldn't be fazed by anything at this point. But this creature is more terrifying than any of my darkest nightmares.
Long black claws tip its three fingers, just like the insectoid aliens—my Zovian masters. Its eyes are large, obsidian orbs with a yellow vertical slit pupil. A second nearly transparent membrane sweeps across them as it blinks to regard me.
"Her scent is intoxicating," it says in a low and sinister hiss. "She tastes delicious. I will take her now."
With the Zovians, it's shock sticks...that's how they take their pleasure. As I study the snake-like alien, a shiver of panic skitters up my spine. There's something lustful in his expression as his eyes rake over my form.
He reaches out to touch my face. The scaled pads of his fingers are rough like sandpaper, snagging my skin as they trace across my cheek.
Disgusted, I jerk my head back.
He takes my jaw in a bruising grip, forcing me to meet his furious gaze as he bares his fangs in a threatening hiss.
I grit my teeth and return his glare with defiance. I will not be a compliant slave.
Surprise registers briefly behind his eyes before they narrow, and he turns a dark gaze to my Zovian master. "This V'loryn shows emotion. She has already been broken. You would dare to sell me damaged merchandise?"
This is the third prospective buyer to mistake me for a V'loryn, but I don't correct his wrongful assumption. V'loryns bring more money on the slave market. Because of this, they are less likely to be sold to the gladiator rings—given as a prize to the champions to be force-mated.
My Zovian master shifts his antennae forward and bows deeply. "I would never sell bad merchandise to you, Sszar." His mandibles click in a frantic cadence. "This V'loryn is small. We believe she is not yet fully matured. She is unbonded...untouched. I offer her to you along with the Aerilon female for the low price of 60,000 credits."
Sszar tips his head to the side, as if considering before he finally nods in agreement.
A heavy metal collar clamps around my neck from behind, and a terror-filled scream draws my attention to the side as another woman is dragged into the room.
Taller than me, with snow-white hair, her skin is a pale shade of violet, and her eyes are a striking golden color. This must be the Aerilon. As Sszar collars her, two large sparkly fairy-like wings shoot out from her back, and I stifle a gasp when I realize that they're broken and deformed.
Sszar looks to the Zovian in disbelief. "You did not pinion her?"
"Aerilons bring more money with wings," he answers. "But I can assure you, her venom sacs have been removed, as well as her claws. She won't put up much of a fight to anyone now."
Appearing pleased by his answer, Sszar nods again before tugging on our chains and dragging us toward the door.
The Aerilon's eyes go wide as she stares at our new master—the snake alien—and then looks back at the Zovian. "Not an Anguis!" she cries out. "Please, you cannot sell us to an Anguis!"
Turning with inhuman speed, Sszar jerks on her chain, pulling her close to his face as he bares his fangs in a twisted snarl. "You think I am the worst thing you have to fear? You have not yet met your true master." He narrows his eyes. "Once you find out who I've purchased you for, you will wish I was your owner and not him. But until I deliver you to him, you will earn me many credits. Do you understand?"
Eyes wide with terror, tears stream down her cheeks, and I know she's so scared she cannot speak. If she's smart—and I suspect she is—she knows exactly how he expects us to earn credits for him.
Fury burns in his gaze as he glares at her, his long tail curling at his feet like a cobra readying to strike as he waits impatiently for her answer.
Something inside me snaps, and I step in front of her, wanting to protect and shield her from him. I meet his eyes evenly. "She understands."
The narrow slits that form his nostrils flare as he regards me, his tongue flicking out so that the tip skates across my cheek.
Fear and disgust twist deep inside me, but I clench my jaw and tilt my chin up in defiance. I will not be afraid.
His thin lips curl up in a tight smirk. "My Lord Talel has a penchant for the difficult ones. He will enjoy breaking you." With that, he turns, jerking the chain attached to our collars.
The Aerilon stumbles forward, and I catch her just in time to keep her from falling, barely avoiding hitting the floor myself in the process as he drags us to his ship.
When we reach the airlock the door hisses open, flooding the entire compartment with the putrid smell of death and decay. My stomach twists and I swallow hard against the bile rising in my throat as he pulls us forward, dragging us past four other Anguis. Long, forked tongues flick out from their mouths as they scent the air, no doubt tasting our fear as they do so.
A dark, musky odor radiates from their bodies, so thick that with each inhalation, I feel as though I'm drowning in it. It reminds me so much of the stench of Terran snakes that I have to force myself not to recoil instinctively as we pass them. I don't want to appear afraid. From my experience with the Zovians, I've learned that most masters are thrilled by the fear they inflict on their captives, and I don't want to become anyone's favorite slave on this vessel.
Sszar presses his scaled palm to a panel, and the doors whoosh open to reveal a cargo hold full of cages—all of them crowded and occupied except for one. Cowering in their cells, some of the species I recognize from my time on the Zovian ship, but many I've never seen before. I take a deep breath and close my eyes briefly, praying that I'll somehow wake up from this nightmare. That I'll open my eyes and be home again.
The painful jerk on my collar brings me back to the present as Sszar drags us to the empty cage.
Roughly grabbing my arm, he throws me inside. Pain shoots through my left shoulder as I slam against the metal bars at the back. Hard sandpaper fingers scrape against my already-raw flesh as he unsnaps my chain before pushing the Aerilon in after me. Shutting the door behind us, he secures the lock and then steps back, hissing angrily at the other slaves.
His forked tongue snakes out, tasting the air before he moves to the cage beside ours and jerks the door open. The alien woman inside cries out as he wraps his hand around her ankle. Gripping the bars tightly, she fights against his hold.
A bloodcurdling scream rips from her throat as he extends long black fangs, dripping with thick, yellow venom, and sinks them deep into the back of her thigh. Her body instantly goes limp, and I watch in horror as he drags her across the floor.
As she slides past, her eyes meet mine, and a tear slips down her cheek. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp as I realize she's conscious but paralyzed as he pulls her through the door and seals it behind them.
Still in shock, I turn to my cellmate, the Aerilon. Trembling, she cowers in the corner. Tears spill down her cheeks as she hugs her legs tightly to her chest.
Gently, I place a hand on her shoulder. "He's gone," I whisper, unable to give her any more comforting words than that because I don't know when he's coming back or what he's going to do. I only know that for right now, nothing is going to happen to us until he comes back.
She shakes her head, staring at the now closed doors with a far-away look on her face as she whispers. "No one survives an Anguis force-mating."
I shake my head in disbelief. "But if he kills her, he would gain nothing. Why would he do that?"
She lifts her gaze to mine. "Didn't you smell his scent?"
“They all smelled terrible. What was I supposed to notice about their—“
"Their musk is stronger during their mating cycle. If there are no Anguis females available, they will take any female to satisfy their need. They choose from the slaves that will bring them fewer credits." Her eyes scan the cargo hold, and her voice drops to a low whisper. "So that means you and I should be safe. For now."
Cold fills me. I press my hands into my lap to still their shaking. I can't break down. Not now. I need to concentrate on surviving, finding a way to escape. I have to find my crew and get back to my family.
Taking a deep breath, I push down my fear and extend my hand to her. "My name is Liana. What's yours?"
She stares at my outstretched hand a moment before finally lifting hers.
I carefully grasp it in mine and give it a gentle shake. A warm buzzing sensation travels across my palm, but before I can ask about it, she answers. "I am Tr'lani. Thank you for protecting me on the Zovian ship."
"You're welcome." I do my best to give her a small smile. "We have to stick together. Maybe we can figure out a way to break free."
Her expression is full of despair as she looks at me. "We will be fortunate if we survive."
"There's always hope," I offer.
She shakes her head. "Anguis slaves do not live long."
Her gaze drifts over the room, and I do the same, noticing all the terror-filled eyes that watch us. I suck in a sharp breath when I realize several of the cages have inhabitants that are already dead and rotting.
Pulling my knees to my chest, I take several deep and calming breaths to focus and push down my fears. If I'm going to survive, I have to stay strong. I place a hand on Tr'lani's forearm and meet her gaze evenly. "We will get through this, Tr'lani. We'll find a way, somehow."
She lowers her eyes from mine. "I hope you are right, Liana."
Chapter 2
Soran
My nostrils flare as the airlock door opens and the scent of putrid air wafts in from Vylax station. It burns my lungs with each inhalation. My silver-gray scales darken to match my already dark-gray wings folded tightly against my back. My dark claws extend, and the muscles ripple beneath my scales as I struggle to suppress the urge to shift into my draken form. Much larger than my current form, I know I'd probably damage much of the station if I were to change right now. Although it is difficult, I force myself to calm.
Releasing a quick puff of air from his nostrils as he wrinkles his nose in disgust, my brother Rowan turns to me. His silver reflective eyes, so like my own, stare at me intently. "I forget how wretched these outer stations can be. I am sorry we had to stop here, but it was the closest place to refuel."
I wish I could forget. I spent three cycles on stations like this while I was a slave. The stench is as familiar to me as my home on Mosaura. If Rowan hadn't rescued me, I'd probably still be in the fighting pits...or dead by now. I was nineteen cycles old when he finally found me ten cycles ago. He refused to believe I was dead, even though our enemies claimed I'd been killed along with my father. I owe him my life.
"I understand," I reply as we walk down the platform. "But the sooner we leave this place and reach V'lora, the better."
Rowan smirks. "I never thought you would be in such a rush to see the V'loryns."
He is right. I detest the V'loryns. But now that the civil war is over, my mother, the Empress, needs to formalize a new trade agreement with them. Our people need their L'sair crystals to power our ships. There is still much dissension among the Great Houses of Mosaura, and my mother's fleet must be prepared if any should challenge her right to rule.
The strong smell of fear permeates the air, and bile burns its way up my throat. I remember this scent well. Every station and port that allows the sale of slaves reeks of it. Clenching my jaw, I look to my brother. "The V'loryns may be a deceitful, duplicitous people, but on one thing, our two races can agree: We both detest slavery. If we can convince them to engage in shared patrols of the neutral zone between our two territories, it will make it harder for slavers to practice their despicable trade."
"I agree. As much as I dislike the V'loryns, at least they enforce anti-slavery laws in their region of space as we do in ours."
When we reach the bottom of the ramp, a dockworker rushes to meet us. "Refuel?" he asks, bowing his head in a submissive manner.
"Yes," Rowan replies. "Work quickly and contact us as soon as the glider is ready."
Regarding us warily, he bows again and then practically runs to the ship to begin the refueling process. Our race—the Mosaurans—is feared throughout every sector of space. We are known as fierce warriors. It is times like these that I am glad of our reputation. I don't want to spend any more time than necessary on this wretched station.
Rowan claps a hand on my shoulder. "It will be at least a few hours until the ship is ready. Let us go find a meal." He grins. "And perhaps I can win a few hands of kartu."
I smirk. "I have a better idea. Why don't you watch me play kartu? We'll lose far fewer credits that way."
He narrows his eyes. "The only reason I lost so much at the last station was because that corsair must have been hiding extra zari up his sleeves. I'm certain of it."
I arch a brow at him. "Is that the story you're going with, for when I tell Caryn about our trip?"
"Yes," he replies indignantly, "because it is truth."
A smile tugs at my mouth. "Sure, it is. You forget that even when we were children, you were unable to hide your expressions during a game of kartu. Caryn and I could tell just by one look on your face if you'd drawn a winning hand or not."
"The two of you always used to team up against me. Why was that? Is it because I was the youngest?"
I laugh. "Don't start this again. I've told you many times before: you're my favorite brother, and Caryn is my favorite sister. Therefore, you are both equal in my eyes."
"That does not mean anything," he huffs. "We are your only siblings."
I spread my hands wide. "Then...what is the problem?"
He purses his lips. "I wish our parents had decided to have more children. Then, maybe I'd have had someone on my side for a change when we were growing up."
Teasingly, I elbow his ribs, and he shoves me
away, slamming me against the side wall.
I make a dramatic show of rubbing at my shoulder as if I've been grievously injured.
His eyes flash with concern but then narrow with anger when I try but fail to suppress a grin.
He smacks my shoulder. "You, maltak. I thought you were really hurt."
I chuckle as he glares at me accusingly for a moment before a smile tilts his lips, and he shakes his head in mock frustration.
As we make our way through the station, our laughter dies and our moods become more somber as we take in the filthy, decaying state of the interior. Rusted metal panels line the dozens of shops along the promenade. Bright flashing signs promise customers all kinds of illegal indulgences, and I fight a wave of nausea as we pass a pleasure house.
A female slave I was offered as a reward for winning in the arena ended up in one of these places. I thought I was being honorable for refusing her. Mosaurans mate for life, but most other species do not know this about us. I believed my refusal would grant her at least one night of peace. Instead, I found out she was sold to a pleasure house the next day.
To be rejected by a gladiator meant she was already considered too damaged to be a prize anymore. I did not know this until it was too late. After I discovered what happened to her, I never refused another female again.
Although I never mated any of them, they still feared me because of my race. Afraid that I would kill them just for sport. Rumors of savagery and violence run rampant about us among the other species. Despite my attempts to reassure the females that I meant them no harm, many cried themselves to sleep on the nights they spent with me in my cell.
When they were returned to their masters, I would lie and say that their "services" had pleased me. After that, they were then given as a prize to another gladiator, the horrific cycle continuing until they were either broken or dead.
I only knew of one other fighter who did the same as I. His name was Grex. A Lacerta. I did not realize they were an honorable people until I met him. He never mated any of the females given to him as a prize. I can only hope he somehow escaped the fighting pits as well. I've searched for any word of my friend, but in the arena, we are all nameless; gladiators are only known by their race and their stats. All slaves are considered expendable and unworthy of being named.
The Edge of it All Page 2
