Page 7 of Possessed by the Dragon Alien (Zarux Dragon Brides #6)

FOUR

Madrian guided Chancellor Taghi away from the fountain with a light touch to her elbow.

The elderly female’s complaints about the Slavik Arena’s profits grated on his nerves, but he kept his expression neutral.

His mind refused to focus on her words about rebellious fighters and property damage.

Instead, his thoughts circled back to the Terian female crouched in the ferns—to the way her green eyes had widened when she realized he’d seen her.

“The arena’s betting fees are down thirty percent,” Taghi said, her thin voice rising.

“We cannot afford to lose revenue in the entertainment sector, not after the loss we just suffered in the Dovan star system. Five S-class warships destroyed.” She hissed in disapproval.

“Incompetent officials should never have engaged. They were completely outgunned.”

“The arena situation will be corrected,” Madrian replied. He angled them toward the tower entrance, hoping to end this conversation quickly. His wings itched to spread wide and fly far from this place.

“Corrected how? We also have a farming penal colony that’s rebelling, a brothel that’s harassing inspectors, and a fekking raider who’s interrupting our trade routes.

” Taghi’s small, ink- blue face pinched with disapproval.

“You need to speak with Emissary Ezi, who promised to get more ships but hasn’t.

He listens to you. We simply don’t have the resources to spread out like this. ”

He let Taghi rant. Even through the leaves, something about the Terian had struck him hard.

Perhaps it was the way she’d gone utterly still, like prey sensing danger, yet her eyes had held steady.

Not the terrified, darting glances of most workers, but a deep, measured gaze that seemed to take in everything.

Her light green hair had caught the artificial evening light, and for a moment, she’d looked like some ancient creature of myth—dangerous and beautiful.

Most unsettling was how his dragon had stirred beneath his skin at the sight of her, as if recognizing something his conscious mind refused to acknowledge.

He’d turned away quickly, but the image of her stayed burned in his thoughts like an afterimage that wouldn’t fade.

“Are you listening , Madrian?” Taghi demanded.

“Every word.” He wasn’t. He was thinking about green hair and golden freckles and eyes that held mystery and secrets. “I’ll tell Ezi and Bendahn to have someone speak to the arena officials to get the fights back on track.”

Taghi’s mouth pursed. “See that you do. I can’t get through to them. I’m concerned that we’ll see a full-scale revolt there. Can you imagine the fallout? Escaped fighters spreading dissent.” She threw up her small hands. “Containing that would be impossible.”

She was right. It would. And since Taghi led all propaganda efforts, the burden would fall to her to hide the Axis’ failure.

They reached the tower entrance. Madrian opened the doors and was grateful when Taghi swept inside without further comment.

He watched the chancellor disappear into the lift before turning back to survey the darkened gardens.

The Terian was long gone, but he could still feel the weight of her presence.

93-A. That wasn’t her name. She had a name she used with those who knew her.

A name that wasn’t a designation stamped on her neck by the Axis.

For reasons unknown to him, he wanted to know what it was.

His feet wanted to carry him down the path where 93-A had crouched among the ferns.

The urge to seek her out, to see her up close without leaves between them, struck him as both foreign and dangerous.

He shook his head sharply. What was wrong with him?

She was just another prisoner. One of thousands under his authority.

He had no business wondering about her name, yet his mind kept circling back to that moment their eyes had met—to the spark of recognition he’d felt, as if some dormant part of him had awakened.

He stalked toward his private quarters, his wings rigid with tension.

The corridors blurred past as his thoughts spun in unsettling directions.

The Terian had broken protocol by allowing her uniform to become soiled.

He should have reported her immediately.

Instead, he’d deliberately drawn Taghi away.

He’d protected this Terian. For the life of him, he didn’t know why.

Inside his rooms, Madrian paced the length of his viewport.

The gardens stretched below, empty now in the artificial night.

Somewhere in the workers’ cells, the Terian female slept.

Or perhaps she lay awake, her heart still pounding from their encounter.

The image rose unbidden—her face smudged with soil, hair tangled with leaves, those remarkable eyes…

“Enough,” he growled. He was acting like an undisciplined hatchling, fixating on a prisoner who should mean nothing. He had real concerns to address—the arena unrest, the growing instability throughout Axis territory. He could not afford distractions.

But even as he opened reports on his datascreen, his gaze kept drifting to the gardens. The desire to see her again clawed at him. To speak with her. To hear her voice. To understand why she affected him so deeply when they hadn’t exchanged a single word.

Madrian raked his fingers through his hair.

In all his cycles serving the Axis, he had never questioned his purpose or his loyalty.

Now, because of one chance encounter, something inside him felt…

misaligned. She had awakened an instinct he didn’t recognize—a need to shield and protect rather than control and punish.

Taghi’s words about the 5-11B penal colony rebellion nagged at him.

Penal colonies weren’t his area of expertise—he dealt with space stations and trade routes—but the mention of a farming penal colony uprising after the arrival of a unique prisoner from that colony, pushed him to investigate.

He wasn’t fond of coincidences. He entered his security codes and pulled up the reports.

The data made his scales prickle. Penal Colony 5-11B, located in the distant Purrik system, was experiencing “destabilization.” It was populated with the last surviving Terians, who were the descendants of a long-lost war and imprisoned.

There were four settlements within the colony, numbered 112-1 to 112-4.

That was likely 93-A’s place of origin. Things were unravelling in that sector.

The overseer there had gone dark. Stopped sending reports. Ignored direct orders.

He sat back, stunned. An Axis overseer questioning the system? Unheard of. He dug deeper into personnel files, searching for the overseer’s identity. When he found it, his blood ran cold.

The overseer’s name was Ellion and he was Zaruxian. An image of the male bore one strong similarity to the one he saw in the mirror. This one had purple scales rather than his light blue ones, but they both had gray-silver eyes. Perhaps all Zaruxians shared this trait.

The file indicated that Ellion had endured not one, but two neural adjustments during the six hundred some mig -cycles he’d been with the Axis.

That made Madrian frown and lean back, rubbing his jaw.

Neural adjustments were a palatable way of saying “memory erasure.” It wasn’t a frequent procedure, as far as he knew, and never, ever voluntary.

The recovery time was lengthy. There was a high likelihood of permanent damage, and, well, the Axis typically just imprisoned or executed individuals who were troublesome.

It meant this Zaruxian had an implant in his skull.

That he’d endured this twice was as odd as it was horrific.

Someone high up, possibly one of the Twelve, had ordered this procedure, but why?

Madrian stared at the data before him, trying to process what he was seeing. He knew he wasn’t the only Zaruxian in a position of power within the Axis, but he’d never encountered another, and never heard of one causing issues.

Yet here was a Zaruxian overseer who had apparently broken ranks and sided with prisoners against the empire. The implications made his head spin. If one of his kind could turn…

Madrian pressed the comm panel. “Rien,” he snapped.

Her monochrome avatar appeared instantly. “Chancellor?”

“The situation at Penal Colony 5-11B. I want everything on it that I can’t read in the official records. Anything that might hint at what triggered this ‘destabilization.’” He ran his fingers along the edge of his desk. “And any additional details on the overseer that you can uncover.”

“The Zaruxian?” Rien’s voice held an uncharacteristic note of surprise.

“Apparently.” His jaw tightened. “And while you’re at it, dig deeper into 93-A. I want to know why she was pulled from her penal colony. There has to be more than what we have. Push on this from every angle, Rien. I don’t care how many favors you have to call in.”

She studied him through the projection. “This is high priority?”

“Highest.” His wings shifted restlessly.

She paused. “Chancellor, why the urgency?”

“I think there’s a connection we’re not seeing. Find it.”

Rien nodded once, crisp and certain. “I’ll begin immediately.”

The transmission ended, leaving Madrian alone with his unease. Something was stirring in the empire—something that made his blood run cold and hot at the same time. He only hoped Rien could uncover the truth before it was too late.

He slammed the screen off. His reflection stared back at him—blue-scaled, silver-eyed, wings trembling with tension. The same features as the rebel overseer. The same blood. The same potential for betrayal.

Is that what the Terian stirred in him? Some buried instinct to defy? To protect instead of control?

He couldn’t allow it. He was High Chancellor Madrian. His loyalty to the Axis was absolute.

Wasn’t it?