Page 49

Sandra gasps, shaking her head frantically. Meanwhile, I struggle to suppress the doubt creeping into my mind, gnawing at my resolve. He’s hit close to the mark—my regret over not acting sooner.

“We had no idea what Carmen or Kazumi were planning!” I protest, gesturing wildly between us.

“Sure, I knew Carmen wanted to escape, but how could I know she’d steal a fucking spaceship?

I mean, seriously!” The words tumble out of me, but they seem to bounce off the impenetrable redbrick wall that is Dracoth.

“I think the female raises a valid point, young Dracoth,” Demon Egg-Head interjects, surprising everyone—me most of all. “And those chains...” he glances at the heavy black metal, “will draw unwanted attention.”

“Silence!” Dracoth roars, like a red dragon about to bathe us all in liquid fire.

I squeal, almost leaping out of my skin at the sudden, terrifying noise.

“Put it on. NOW!” he demands, his eyes blazing like rubies in the dark with his fangs bared in a menacing snarl.

“I... I mean... I’ll...” I stammer, scrambling for the words, for anything, as my mind whirls in a stunned panic. My hands reach for the collar, but my fingers are trembling so badly it slips right through them.

“Butter... fingers...” I mutter, my voice barely more than a squeak.

“Butter?” Demon Egg-Head echoes with a snicker. “See, young Dracoth? She’s so starved her first thought is food!”

“I tire of this,” Dracoth sighs, snatching the collar—my collar—from the ground in a flash. “This feigned fragility reeks of dishonor.”

But I’m not feigning anything.

I feel his immensity radiating close as he lifts my chin with his huge fingers. Our eyes lock. His gaze is so intense, so unyielding, it makes me gasp. I try to convey sincerity, silently pleading for understanding.

But he’s as immovable as a mountain. His rough fingers easily wrap around my neck, and panic seizes my chest. I close my eyes, bracing for the worst, fearing he’s about to kill me. His incredible strength simmers just beneath, barely restrained; he could snap my neck like a twig.

Then, to my amazement, he strokes my throat with surprising gentleness. His warmth draws me like a moth to a flame. The perfect heat I need to stave off this cold that clings—I shudder, leaning into his touch, almost groaning.

“The collar?” Demon Egg-Head snaps, breaking the spell that entranced us both. “I swear, you leave these youngsters alone for two seconds and they lose all sense!” He cackles madly, like he’s escaped from an asylum.

Cold metal replaces the fleeting warmth as Dracoth clamps the heavy collar around my neck, brushing my hair over the edge.

The click of the lock—the finality of it—churns my stomach with despair.

My fingers touch the black metal, scarcely believing it’s real—that I’m chained like some wild beast. Injustice burns inside me, filling me with helpless rage.

I did nothing to deserve this! But, of course, that doesn’t matter.

It never does. I’m always misunderstood, always under attack—I’m sick of it!

The thick chains of the heavy collar jingle loudly as I shift to watch Dracoth place one on Sandra. She stands trembling, her eyes squeezed shut, trying to muster some courage. But her fear is obvious. She feels it too—this humiliation, this punishment for our goodwill and trust.

Dracoth steps back, looping the ends of our chains around his disgusting belt.

“Come,” he commands, turning to exit the cell. Sandra and I exchange a fearful glance before the chain pulls taut, painfully yanking me forward and threatening to pull off my head. We follow in his wake, almost stumbling to keep up with his long strides and thunderous pace.

“Isn’t this just lovely?” Demon Egg-Head chimes, his ancient voice mixing with the loud clanking chains and pounding footsteps echoing through the dim, purple-lit corridors. “Just the four of us out for a nice, quiet stroll.” He winces as the chains slacken, clanging against the metal floor.

“Where... are we going?” I manage to gasp, struggling to keep up with the relentless pace.

“We’re...”

Clink!

“Going...”

Jingle!

“I cannot think with this accursed racket!” Demon Egg-Head’s pleasant facade twists into a sneering rage. His sudden shift is terrifying, and I’d step back if the chain allowed it.

“This is madness, boy! ” he spits, turning to Dracoth, who thankfully has stopped walking. “A giant displaying Hemo-Tok? Jingle jangling with two exotic females in tow? You invite disaster!”

Excitement and unease send my heart fluttering at his words. We’re leaving the ship? Maybe it’s to Dracoth’s home planet! But I thought he was the leader of his planet—why’s he afraid?

“Hold your coward’s tongue,” Dracoth sneers down at Demon Egg-Head, his eyes flashing like molten lava. “No one forbids me anything.”

“We’ll be sealed in the bowels of Scarn if you insist on this folly!” Demon Egg-Head persists, meeting the red titan’s malevolent gaze.

“We?” Dracoth retorts. “Stay behind. Where you belong.” He turns sharply and resumes his stride, yanking Sandra and me forward with a painful jerk.

“Would that I could, boy, ” Demon Egg-Head scoffs. “But promises were made. Trust still needs to be earned, it seems.”

Their exchange sends a chill down my spine.

This doesn’t feel like the triumphant return of a warlord—it feels like two smugglers sneaking across the border.

I was right from the start: these guys are just space hillbillies with delusions of grandeur.

I shake my head, feeling the heavy collar press down further, chafing against my skin with every step.

God , what does this mean for us? Double arrested.

.. or maybe the Clown-dathian police force will rescue us!

They might even return us to Earth... Wait, do I even want that?

Earth, where I’m poor and live on the streets?

Abandoned by the people who are supposed to love and care for me? I frown, pushing the thought away.

Bitterness oozes within me like vile poison, as I wonder if their stupid lies were nothing more than fake hope to keep us in line. They have laws against these sorts of things back home!

“I thought you were the great and powerful War Chieftain!” I shout to be heard over the clinking chains and heavy footsteps. “Is that just some corny line you use on alien women? Turns out—”

Dracoth growls and whips around with terrifying speed.

His immense hand clamps over my mouth, stifling my words, and before I can react, he lifts me effortlessly with his massive arms. I let out a muffled squeal as he presses me against his armored chest, held like a child, my cheeks burning with shocked outrage.

“That’s one less chain,” Demon Egg-Head titters.

I try to scream, to shout, to do anything , but only a muffled noise escapes Dracoth’s iron grip.

The urge to bite his hand is strong—until I remember how poorly that went last time.

It’s infuriating that he’s so big, and there’s no police or justice here.

He’s free to bully me, throwing his weight around, and I’m powerless to stop him.

Silence falls over our strange procession as we continue toward the end of the immense ship. The warmth of Dracoth is oddly soothing, and even his loud, rhythmic breathing almost lulls me to sleep.

My eyes open, and I recognize this area—the docking hatch. A shiver runs down my spine, and I force myself to breathe as images of Kazumi’s last moments flood my mind. The panic, the helplessness, the terror—all of it crashes over me with gut-wrenching clarity.

“I hope this door is still operational,” Demon Egg-Head grimaces, staring at the solidified blue-black puddle of metal on the ground. “Must you break everything, young Dracoth?” He shakes his bald skull gleaming like a bloodstained pebble , his fingers dancing over the blue-glowing wrist device.

I remember this too—Dracoth tearing through that thick door like a frenzied monster.

The thick, twisted metal groans in protest as it stutters open, bent near the hinges with the central area partially melted, leaving gaping holes.

“It works!” Demon Egg-Head crows, however his satisfaction quickly fades.

“Though it’s not exactly airtight now, is it?

” He adds, shooting a scathing look at Dracoth.

My red radiator doesn’t even flinch. Not a word, not a wrinkle.

I almost admire it in a way—if it wasn’t so irritating being on the receiving end of it.

We move toward a small, gray-colored ship that rests in the center of the bay, and I frown. Somehow, it appears even junkier than our current ship, like they picked it from a shifty, used-car dealer who operates out of a creepy junkyard.

I struggle to shake my head, still held in Dracoth’s grip. This just keeps getting worse and worse. What’s next—a hole in the ground for a toilet? Oh, wait, that’s old news now. God, these indignities are endless! Why does it feel like we’re arriving at a red-carpet event on a donkey?

Demon Egg-Head manipulates his holographic wrist device, and the creaky door of the ship sputters open—sticking halfway. “They don’t make ships like they used to,” the old Clown-dathian sighs.

Dracoth stretches, yanking down the hatch, which screeches in protest like a cat in heat. “It only needs to carry us a short distance,” he says

Assuming the door doesn’t decide to open itself in the vacuum of space! I’d complain bitterly if my red radiator wasn’t still holding me tight.

Our chains jangle as Dracoth stoops inside the ship, his immense height too much for the doorway. The inside looks like a frat house after a bender—rubbish, dust, and grime litter the cramped gray metal walls. The countertops and furniture look like cheap plastic knock-offs.