My entrance was so careful and quiet that, for a moment, no one looks my way. One of the blasters pointed at the villagers is shaking. My eyes make their way up the arm, past the shoulder, and to the person’s face. I am not surprised to see that it is Jackson, face pale, biting his lip with worry. Admittedly, I take some small consolation from the fact that he does seem to be enjoying himself. I have always kept him far from direct involvement in things of this sort. Usually, the two of us ferry supplies to the ship or search the nearby houses. Without me here to stop it, Lukas must have decided he needed an extra hand and convinced Jackson that it was his duty to his family. When I recognize him, my gasp is involuntary. Several sets of eyes turn toward me. I hear Jackson say my name, a shocked, shaky, “Anna?”
Lukas looks then, eyes already narrowing in suspicion. I can’t risk him realizing too soon that this is not a homecoming. If he does, it will almost certainly result in disaster for everyone. “Lukas,” I say, my voice barely rising above a whisper, as though I am too relieved for real speech. If he doesn’t hear it, then he at least sees my lips form the words.
I run to him, sprinting across the length of the warehouse, carefully avoiding both the hostages and the blasters, and fall into his arms. He wraps them around me, though the action seems more reflexive than passionate. It is not until then that I realize I have wholly forgotten to signal Mathios that I have found them. My hands still locked behind Lukas, I press down the correct button on the band around my wrist. Lukas holds me for only a moment, my skin crawling all the while, before he grips me by the upper arms and pushes me back.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. The words are not snarled or spoken harshly, but there is the slight undercurrent of a threat there that tells me I should chose my next words carefully.
“There were slavers—” I begin, but Lukas scoffs, his grip on my arms becoming painful as opposed to secure.
“Bullshit,” he says. “Sami woke up with a hell of a hangover, rambling about how you stunned him. There was an escape pod missing, and Jackson won’t tell us shit other than that he tried to stop you. You’re damn lucky I like the kid.”
“I’m telling the truth,” I say. “You just didn’t let me finish.”
Lukas loosens his hold, but only just. I look back slightly, peering at Jackson, who has his free hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist.
“I was scared,” I say, because while I am not by any means an expert at lying, especially in such conditions, I do know that the best stories start with a grain of truth. “I woke up and put the dress on and I got nervous all of sudden. I guess before then I hadn’t really considered that what we were about to do was real. I panicked, stunned Sami when he spooked me, and jumped ship.” There are a few chuckles when I get to the bit about shooting Sami, and I know I am on the right track. I only hope I can stay here until Mathios arrives. “I was barely out of sight of our ship when I saw the slavers. I sent out a distress signal, but no one came. Ended up on auction stage a few hours later.”
“How’d you get away?” he asks. My words are working their magic. His hold on me now is only barely there, a formality, really. The blood flows back into them, making my fingers tingle as the feeling returns. It is an old, well-used story—the bride with cold feet. It could be humiliating for him if I don’t spin the ending the right way, but it is nothing to kill someone over. We both know that. I cannot tell if he believes any of my words or if he simply admires my quick thinking.
“The auction was cut short when there was a raid by law enforcement. They had strayed too close to Velorian space.” The Novas were throwing each other nervous looks now. I let them for a long moment, before allowing my face to break into a smile. “Had no idea who I was. Gave them some fake name; they fed me, patched me up, and sent me on my way.”
“Well,” Lukas says, wearing a smirk now, though it still looks unsure. “At least that explains your outfit.”
I nod encouragingly, allow my eyes to hold a touch of shame. “I knew this planet was on your radar, so I’ve been hitching rides wherever I can, trying to catch you guys before you leave the system.” I meet his eyes, pouring as much earnest regret into my gaze as I am capable of. “I should have never left, Lukas. I just needed some time. I’m sure now. I want to stay with you and the Novas.”
The words taste like bile, but you wouldn’t guess it from the tone of my voice. When I am finished speaking, the only ones who still look unconvinced are Jackson, as is expected, and Rirn, the supposed psychic. Lukas lets his hands slide from my arms.
“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses,” he says. “I always knew you were a smart one—maybe too smart.” His hand moves down to grip onto mine. This time, the squeeze he gives is gentle, as if it can make up for the roughness of before. “Our kids are gonna be smart too.”
Jackson won’t take his eyes from me. I meet his in return. They are a different blue than my own, but our eyes have the same shape, our noses have the same slope, and his last name matches mine. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, warning me that he knows my story is not the truth, and that he knows this, whatever it is, will end poorly. There is none of the anger in his gaze that was trapped there at our parting.
Rirn steps forward from his place behind Lukas, eyeing me with undisguised disgust. “Lukas,” he says. “If you are deciding to trust her, I can assure you that you are making a mistake.”
However little stock I place in Rirn and his ‘feelings’ does not matter. Lukas always does exactly what he suggests. I have been anxious this whole time, but now, I feel the beginnings of fear work its way through me, turning my muscles to concrete. I understand why animals freeze in front of headlights, why so many of the slaves on the auction stage had been standing stock still, eyes locked on some unknowable point in the distance.
I try to smile at Lukas, but it feels just as false as my earlier words. The look of pleased relief, of superiority on his face, is fading into something closer to the dangerous look he wears when he is about to taunt someone with a gun, and I know that I have lost. It doesn’t matter what story I make up—Rirn’s word is worth more.
“Jackson,” I say. For a long moment, he will not look at me, but finally, he lifts his eyes to mine once more. I move my eyes to the door, silently asking him to come with me when I run.
He licks his lips, looking nervously at the other Red Novas, and then down at the captives kneeling at his feet. He seems just a second from saying something when Rirn breaks the dangerous silence with another prediction.
The psychic steps too close to me for comfort and grips Lukas by the shoulder. He does not lower his voice when he speaks. “She’s pregnant,” he says, and I feel my stomach drop several floors lower. Rirn wears a smile that grows crueler with every word he speaks. “Early. Impossible to tell exactly how long. It is not yours,” he says.
Those words are not a surprise to Lukas, of course, but no one else would know that. “Her heart is full with love for another—an alien.”
Pregnant—the word is still resonating in my head like the aftermath of an earthquake. I cannot shake it lose, shock clinging to me like static. He can’t know such a thing. Even if Rirn truly did have abilities, surely he wouldn’t be able to sense anything like that after I had spent just a single night with Mathios so recently. I didn’t even know that Velorians and humans were biologically compatible in such a way. I assumed the rumors about the nurse in the tabloids having Velorian blood to be just that—outlandish rumors crafted by people with nothing to do in their own time but speculate. That single word holds such weight that I almost miss the words that come after it.
My heart is full of love.
Somehow, I haven’t truly realized that ‘love’ is the word for this feeling. Funny, that it took such a bastard to point it out. I am still standing with my knees locked to keep them from buckling, stunned, while Lukas’s face morphs from anger to blatant hatred. Even if Rirn’s words are not true, there is nothing I can say to reverse t
heir effect. Lukas physically shoves me away from him. I lose my footing and sprawl on the ground next to one of the terrified villagers. I catch myself with my hands, a mistake that saves me from hitting my head but leaves my wrists throbbing.
“Kill her,” Lukas says, with no trace of remorse at having to give such an order. If anything, his voice only shows his disgust. I am a tool that has rusted, outlived its usefulness. He does not want me now.
It is Myra who steps forward, holding not a blaster, but one of the knives she favors. My fingers twitch toward the weapon at my hip; perhaps, I can pull it free and squeeze the trigger before she closes in. I have just touched the cool surface of my blaster when Jackson’s voice rings out.
“Wait!” he says, looking at Lukas and at everyone else with abject horror. His gun lowers as he speaks, eyes narrowing and widening in turn as his thoughts try to process this turn of events. “You can’t hurt her. She’s family,” he says. The words are insistent, but as no one rushes to agree with him, he wavers. “Right?” he asks, the single word practically begging for assurance.
Lukas laughs, shaking his head. Myra has stopped in her tracks, waiting for a confirmation of the order. “There’s no room for emotion in situations like this, kid,” he says. “Now either shut up or do the job yourself.”
Jackson’s face contorts. He is shaking, eyes filled with angry tears. He rallies, straightening his shoulders and standing a bit taller, staring Lukas down. “Fuck you,” he says, and lets his blaster drop to the floor of the warehouse. He moves away from the civilian he is meant to guard, walking toward me as though he means to place himself between me and Myra. In any other, less lethal situation, I would have been filled with pride. Now, I only feel the urge to stand, grab him by the wrist, and pull him far from danger. I’ve only managed the first part—the standing—when the doors of the warehouse burst open.
Mathios takes no care to make his arrival discreet. The doors open with such force that they dent the walls behind them. Dust rises and concrete crumbles. He does not pause to carefully evaluate the situation before acting. His instincts tell him all he needs to know. He shoots Myra first, the stunning ray of the blaster knocking her to the ground and keeping her there. As a first move, it makes sense; she is the one closest to me, and the only one who, at that moment, has her weapon drawn with intent to use it. With Myra on the ground, no one knows where to point their blasters. Half of the Novas keep them trained on the civilians, too slow to realize that even without an order from Lukas, they no longer pose the greatest threat in the room. The other half of them do not wait for orders.
A few quick, badly aimed shots are fired off in the general direction of Mathios. It is very clear in that moment that Red Novas do not often actually use their blasters, especially on a moving target at a distance of more than several yards. If they use them at all, it is to stun hostages who get mouthy or simply look like they might be up to causing trouble.
Mathios has no trouble with his own aim. The stunning ray of his gun takes out several other Novas, namely the ones that he is closest to. This allows him to gain ground with as little risk to himself as possible.
By the time he stops advancing, there are five Novas groaning or lying unconscious on the warehouse floor, leaving just over half of them standing, Jackson included. Sami, apparently not up to being shot again, has abandoned his post by the window and opted for taking cover behind one of the still full shelves. His blaster has been abandoned in the process.
The relief I feel at the sight of Mathios standing so close is indescribable. I let myself look at him, watching the power in each of his steps as he advances. Pregnant, the psychic said. I press one curious hand to my stomach and wonder.
Rirn could absolutely have said that just to stun me, to anger Lukas—to escalate the situation when it looked like a stalemate. I wouldn’t put it past him, but he doesn’t normally say things so absolute if they might be blatantly untrue, abilities or no.
Mathios’s quick, confident strides falter, his blaster lowers, drops to the floor.
“Anna!”
I never wanted to know what my dragon’s voice sounds like when it is shot through with fear, but I learn right then. Jackson too, has turned to look at me with dismay, his fists clenching and unclenching as his eyes drift from me to his gun lying abandoned on the floor as though he regrets leaving it there.
I don’t understand what’s occurring until I feel the barrel of the blaster nudging at the back of my head. It still feels slightly warm from the shooting I heard earlier. I could almost imagine that it is the muzzle of a friendly dog.
I freeze. My own blaster has not been removed from its holster throughout all this, but I hold both hands up anyway, far out of reach of the gun. Lukas wraps one arm around me and jerks me back, keeping me held with uncomfortable tightness against his chest. His arm falls just below my neck, and I am not sure whether it is the weight pressing against my sternum or my own increasing fright that makes it so difficult to breathe. As everyone in the warehouse, hostages and Novas alike, holds their breath, Lukas moves the gun from my head. I start to sigh, to breathe a little easier, but he merely relocates it to point at my stomach.
His lips are close to my ear, his breath sour in my nose. His words are for me and he is careful not to yell them, but in the hear-a-pin-drop silence of the storehouse, they are audible to everyone.
“I bet it’s that creature’s baby, ain’t it? You always were a strange one. Shouldn’t be surprised...”
Since Mathios entered the building, my eyes have not willingly left him. I see the realization come over his face, watch it shift from shocked to pleased to horrified. A growl moves through him, the frequency of it rising until it makes the walls of the building vibrate. It sounds like thunder or like the roar of one hundred engines. It sounds terrifying, like an unspoken threat, and it is the only warning the Novas are given.
The dragon bursts forth from Mathios in an explosion of rage.
He drops to his knees on the floor of the warehouse, back arching as wings sprout from his back, tearing through the back of his spacesuit like it is nothing more than tissue paper. He seems to embrace it rather than fight it, allowing the beast to take over fully and inhabit his body, making changes as it goes. It happens almost too fast to comprehend. One moment, Mathios is on the floor of the warehouse, halfway through the change, and the next he is on his feet, twice his normal size and fully transitioned into his dragon form. The remaining Novas panic, firing shot after shot from the blasters at a target much more difficult to miss.
Unlike the others, I am too mesmerized by his strange beauty to feel unnerved by the sight of this creature that could rip me in half with a twitch of his spiked tail.
Mathios himself is strangely attractive, but the form of his dragon is utterly fascinating, like something out of a human myth, just as lovely to look upon as he is deadly.
His blue skin has lightened further into something closer to the hue of ice, with only the barest hint of color beneath it. His eyes are golden and luminous as opposed to their usual amber brown. His wings are so wide that they skim the walls of the warehouse on each side.
He seems immune to the blaster fire when it comes, absorbing the shots like they are little more than mosquito bites. He swipes one Nova aside with a sweep of his tail, flinging him across the warehouse.
As the gang members focus on him, they leave the hostages unguarded, all the blasters pointed in the same direction: toward the only true threat in the room. They stand and flee, disappearing either through the windows, which I notice now have shattered at the force of Mathios’s roar, or slipping into the hidden spaces of the building, where Sami had gone to hide.
Not one of them risks going past the grand ice dragon to make it out the door. He dispatches the few Novas still standing with brutal ease, his powerful body flinging them about the warehouse like ragdolls. There is no question of reining himself in. In Mathios’s mind, I conclude, his mate is being threatened and the
threat must be eliminated at all cost.
Lukas remains frozen behind me, his gun still pressed into my stomach. I am afraid his fist might clench as he watches the devastation befalling his gang; it would be all too easy for him to send a ray of the blaster through me without even meaning to. Rirn stands nearby; Lukas’s last standing ally. Lukas has tightened his hold in fear. I feel my ribs protesting the tight, forced embrace.
“Stay back,” Lukas warns. “I’ve got no problem shooting the bitch and her baby.”
It may be the word bitch that does it ... or perhaps baby. Mathios leaps forward with such speed that Lukas has no chance to react. A burst of icy air shoots from his mouth and flared nostrils. Though it is aimed above my head, at Lukas and at Rirn behind him, I can still feel the cold seeping through the air. This is a sort of magic that Lukas wasn’t expecting. He panics, turning the gun away from me and instead shooting at Mathios, who merely continues slowly advancing, breathing out cold air all the while.
I seize the only opportunity I am likely to get, ducking out of his much looser arms, diving out of the ice dragon’s path, and finally pulling my blaster from my hip. Mathios sees that I am safe from immediate harm and seizes his opportunity as well.
He told me when I met him that the dragon was supposed to be indiscriminate, but he certainly seems to know that I am on his side as I fire my blaster at Rirn, stunning the alien before he has time to realize that I now present a threat myself. My aim is much truer than it was on X24. He falls to the ground, shaking like all the others.
As for Lukas, Mathios simply knocks the gun from his hands, and stands in front of him, breathing out the concentrated cold air until his body is covered in ice crystals so thick he cannot move. The dragon whips his tail around once more, knocking him to the floor, where he stays. Mathios puts one huge, clawed foot atop Lukas’s chest, and seems about to bear down with all his weight. In that moment, my hatred for Lukas is so complete that I cannot contemplate telling him to stop.
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