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T he rest of the Sarkarnii are loading up a ship docked with the airlock. It means I can’t get much of an idea what Vorostor is like outside of the central hub.

“Aren’t we going in that?” I ask.

“I haven’t stretched my wings in a long time.” Darax grins at me, his fangs longer than I remember. “I will lead, and my warriors will follow. Should we find anything, we can transport it back.”

“From what I’ve seen, you’re all big enough to transport anything back on your own.”

“Claws are not the most delicate of appendages to carry items.” Darax glares at his warriors. “Something we’ve all learnt over the nova-years.”

“And yet, apparently you want me to meet your Sarkarnii form?”

“I do, little mate.” Without any warning, Darax picks me up, pulling me against him as he strides past his warriors, and an airlock I didn’t see opens at his approach.

Hot air hits me, taking my voice and my protestation from me in the blast of heat and dryness.

We’re outside before I have time to blink. There is ruddy sand as far as the eye can see. It runs in ripples over dunes. Here and there, small blue bushes attempt to live in the cracks of sandy rocks.

“Of all the places you could have chosen to live, you chose this?” I say hoarsely as the fine sand goes down my throat.

Darax growls. “It was where we crash landed,” he says. “It seemed like a good place to stay at the time.”

In a swirl, he rises high above me, taking his dragon form. I tip my head back and back as I follow the enormous creature getting larger.

“Are you ready, little mate?”

Hearing Darax’s voice rumble out of the dragon, hollow, dark, and deep, is quite disconcerting. He holds out a massive clawed paw.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, not easily forgetting what he said about claws and delicacy.

“I will put you on my back, between my spines. That way, you’ll have plenty to hold on to,” Darax rumbles, flexing his claws.

The prey inside me balks. The part of me which wants to trust him takes hold of his claw and steps into his paw.

I’m lifted easily up and deposited on his shoulder.

From there, I scramble up onto the spiney ridge which runs from the top of his head all the way down his back, between the huge wings and to his tail tip.

I try not to think too much about the tail tip.

Darax lifts his head, nostrils smoking like a volcano, before the clouds are sucked back with a sudden hiss.

“Kerra, if you are going to scent like that, we will not get very far,” he growls. “I will be required to mate you.”

I’m not entirely sure how that would work, but it’s not going to help, given the way my core squeezes. I concentrate on getting in between two of his spines, and as he opens his massive wings, I hold on for dear life.

In an easy, smooth movement, Darax rears up and then, muscles bunching and contracting, he is in the air, beating in a way which seems too slow to do anything but at the same time we’re rising up above Vorostor Central.

There’s so much to take in as we go higher.

I’m looking at the ground below, a ruddy desert which stretches on for hundreds of miles.

The silvery complex beneath us, growing distance, is also vast, so large I can’t even see the other side of it, and then, suddenly two more dragons and a ship are in formation with us.

I grip harder as Darax puts on a burst of speed, attempting to shield myself from the whipping wind and scouring sand.

I am actually riding a dragon! There are so many humans who would give anything to be in my position.

Only it’s not as much fun as you might imagine, what with the wind, and the movement and the rather uncomfortable sitting position.

I doubt very much Darax would wear any form of saddle, and in any event, I’m not sure where it would fit.

Riding a dragon is not what it’s cracked up to be.

I concentrate on the world, or rather sky, around me, forcing my head to think of flying in a plane rather than on the back of a shape-shifting alien. It means I can look at the ground without feeling too concerned for the height and get a good look at Vorostor.

The ship speeds ahead. One thing Darax didn’t mention is it appears that space ships are quicker than Sarkarnii.

As we fly on, I become aware Darax hasn’t chosen to fly as his dragon for my benefit.

He’s clearly scouring the ground beneath us—what for I am unsure, but it makes more sense than him deciding I need a ride on his back.

I’m not complaining however, as the longer the flight goes on, the more comfortable I feel. I get used to the eddies of wind which push me back and forth, to the movement of Darax beneath me, the rush of air, and the occasional cloud of smoke.

Sarkarnii in battle have to be formidable. No wonder they have become the dominant force since they ended up in this galaxy.

Darax dips a wing, and I spot the wide expanse of forest like grass below us. As he turns towards it, I see another dragon in the sky, and it’s not one of the two warriors who were with us earlier. This is bigger and darker. It hovers, or at least it seems to, before turning and flying away.

I’m not sure who it was, or even if Darax saw, but something tells me it’s not good.

In a whirl of wings and scales, we’re on the ground next to the ship. Darax offers a huge paw, allowing me to descend to the ground. As I get there, Darax the dragon is gone. I’m pulled against a hard, naked, body.

“Flying with you was perfection, little mate,” he rumbles, smoke escaping his nostrils, his eyes filled with fire. “I want you always under me or on my back.”