Page 52

My gaze sweeps back to the bustling crowd.

Alien passersby stare at us with open mouths.

Whether because of my fall, Dracoth’s massive size, or the fact Sandra and I are human, I can only guess.

My heart skips a beat as I take in their strange features and colorful, garish clothes.

Some of them are the same species that attacked us on the ship, which doesn’t help my unease.

Still, these aliens stroll about the sprawling, sandy-colored paved streets and buildings in a hurry, like people back on Earth going about their business.

A market area unfolds before me. Tall structures stacked high with blinking neon lights display strange, runic symbols.

Wooden stalls, laden with various items, are hawked by gray-haired Clown-dathians dressed in leather—much like what I’m wearing.

My nostrils flare as the scent of unknown cooked foods wafts through the air, mingling with an earthy smell.

“Um... could I try some of what Lexie had?” Sandra pipes up, licking her dry lips.

God, she must be desperate if she’s asking Dracoth for something.

Dracoth frowns, reaching for a container hanging from his grotesque belt of bones. The faint sound of liquid sloshing inside the almost-empty vessel makes my cheeks burn.

“Ignixis, give her yours,” Dracoth commands, gesturing to Demon Egg-Head.

“Absolutely not! I need mine!” Demon Egg-Head protests as though I’ve asked him to dunk his head in a toilet. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, boy . It’s the plump female’s fault. She drank all yours like a greedy little borack calf.”

My anger flares at his yellow-fanged smirk, glinting beneath his hood. “If you assholes hadn’t starved us, I wouldn’t have needed to drink so much, would I?” I snap, glaring at Demon Egg-Head with clenched teeth.

“Asshole!” Demon Egg-Head cackles. “You humans have the most fascinating insults. It’s like hitting a vipertail’s nest—each barb a unique color!”

I grimace, ready to unleash another torrent of insults when a realization hits me—he likes this. The attention. He feeds off it like some creepy, blood-sucking vampire demon. I’ve dealt with attention-seeking bitches before, and I’m not playing his game anymore.

Summoning all my considerable grace, I turn my head away and flip my hair over my shoulder with a satisfying swish.

Dracoth peers down at Sandra, who meets his gaze with a gentle, earnest smile. For a fleeting moment, something flickers in his crimson eyes... maybe an emotion. I almost gasp.

God, is that... concern?

“We eat,” he declares suddenly, turning with haste.

Sandra and I exchange a quick glance, eyes wide, brows lifting, as our chains yank us forward like tin cans tied to a just-married car.

“You risk our discovery, young Dracoth,” Demon Egg-Head mutters, keeping his voice low while casting a wary glance over his shoulder. “It would be wiser to hasten to Scarn.”

Dracoth whirls on him, stopping so abruptly that I nearly crash into his broad back. “Wiser if the females don’t collapse from hunger. Wiser if you keep your pointless bickering off the streets.”

You tell him, Dracoth!

Because honestly, I’m starving for some actual food, and these delicious smells are making my mouth water.

Demon Egg-Head waves a dismissive hand. “Lead on, oh wise War Chieftain ,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery—probably because the title is a complete fabrication in Dracoth’s head.

We weave our way through the crowded streets, exchanging sharp glances with aliens who glare back.

They’re all so bizarre. Some have scaled skin and spiky heads; others have muzzled, furred faces.

A few green-skinned ones with four arms carry trade goods, and several insect-like creatures with flat heads, blade-like arms, and twitching antennae tinker with a flickering neon sign. The sight of them makes my skin crawl.

Sandra and I nearly jump out of our skins when one of the holographic displays bursts to life as we pass. I gasp, recognizing myself projected with stunning clarity in the simmering red light.

The display shows our likenesses wearing and modeling different clothes. The outfits are the same boring leathers, furs, and overly bright plastic material that looks suspiciously like colorful garbage bags.

But one thing is certain—I make a hot model.

The dazzling display cycles to a long dress with strange high collars that doesn’t look... awful. I wave my hand through the holographic advertisement, watching it distort and ripple, then snap back into place.

“Class!” Sandra declares, grinning.

Before I can reply, the chain around my neck jerks me forward, a sharp pain shooting through my throat. I stumble, turning my glare to Dracoth, who stands a short distance away, gesturing impatiently for us to follow.

“I swear to God, Dracoth! If you don’t stop doing that, I’ll... I’ll...” But my words trail off, like my impotent rage. Dracoth, in typical bore fashion, says nothing, shows nothing, turning away to stride down the street again.

“Can’t even window shop for two seconds,” I mutter, scowling at the ground.

Sandra gives me a nudge with a kind smile—a caring gesture. I attempt to mirror it back, though it’s a brief thing that doesn’t reach my eyes or heart.

“Look over there,” she says, pointing to an open area filled with ornate wooden cages.

Inside, massive beasts shift and snort. Most are huge, brown-furred creatures with six legs, buffalo-like heads, and curved antlers jutting from their skulls.

Aliens crowd around, bartering loudly, arms flailing in animated gestures.

I gasp as I spot even stranger animals: aerial creatures flapping their wings and squawking against the bars, their iridescent plumage shimmering in hues of turquoise, indigo, and deep violet.

Another cage holds small, reddish snake-scorpion things with bulging eyes and spiny ridges running down their lengths.

It becomes clear that much of Star City’s trade revolves around livestock. The air takes on a distinct manure smell, mingling with the more alien scents.

We pass through winding streets, the alien crowds lessening.

Sandra and I exchange frantic glances, drinking in every strange sight.

Adrenaline pulses through me. I’m torn between the urge to flee and the desire to explore every alien wonder.

The deeper we move into the labyrinthine streets, the fewer neon lights and holographic advertisements we see.

There are fewer aliens now, most of them Clown-dathians, but they all appear older, with long gray hair, horrendous facial scars, and mechanical limbs.

My stomach churns as they eye us with unsettling interest. I’m suddenly reminded of how tall and broad they all are.

Even the buildings, with their immense doors and windows, make me feel like a child lost in the wrong neighborhood.

The streets narrow, twisting into an endless warren. I glance over my shoulder, a knot forming in my gut—I have no idea how to make it back to the ship. Not like it matters now.

Some of the sand-colored buildings have female aliens lurking in the doorways, barely dressed, looking like sex workers. Ugh, of course Dracoth takes us through an alien red-light district—the kidnapping perv who runs away from sex.

“Hey, big boy! Bring your friends. We can have a party!” A brown-furred, muzzle-faced alien shouts at Dracoth, laughing as she trails a finger over her exposed breasts, swaying her hips.

“This is so fucking gross,” I whisper to Sandra, who mutters back in agreement.

Dracoth stomps ahead undeterred, like a red mountain that someone drew a frowny face on.

Good, I’m glad he’s ignoring them—I’m way hotter than these bitches, anyway.

I frown, noticing Demon Egg-Head’s hood tilting toward the women as he starts drifting over like a horny dog, only to stop short and clear his throat.

Maybe they’re both pervs?

A shorter Clown-dathian—but still much taller than me—stands in a doorway of a wooden building that looks grown from the roots of an immense tree.

I nearly jump six feet into the air when a holographic display bursts into life, filling the air with lewd noises and flashing scenes of aliens having sex.

I avert my eyes from the barf -inducing scenes, my hands clenching tighter.

“What happened to getting food?” I snap, waving a hand at a pair of glowing blue breasts on the display. “Or is staring at boobs more important than eating?”

The giant prick just ignores me and keeps walking, but the Clown-dathian in the doorway doesn’t. His blue eyes light up as he notices us.

“Oh, would you look at this!” he exclaims, stepping toward us with a wide grin that makes my skin crawl.

“Look at their soft features and that weird skin color. So alluring and delicate.” He reaches to touch Sandra’s cheek, but Dracoth moves like a streak of red murder, clutching his wrist in an iron grip.

“Hands off,” Dracoth’s growl reverberates like thunder, his crimson gaze boring into the Clown-dathian.

“Ah... wait!” The Clown-dathian winces as he tries to pull free, but Dracoth doesn’t let go until he wants to. The alien stumbles back, crashing into the wall when Dracoth finally releases him.

“I merely admire your females, great warrior.” He straightens slowly, dusting himself off before rising with placating hands, wearing a smile that doesn’t touch his wide, shifting eyes. “I’ve never seen their like before. Truly stunning... Where do they hail from?”

“Earth,” I answer, a grin spreading across my face. Finally , some appreciation! My stomach flutters with a mix of excitement and pride.

“Earth?” he echoes, a frown creasing his weathered features. “I’ve heard talk of this place. There are many warriors keen to travel there.” His eyes travel up and down Sandra with a smirk. “Now I understand why... How much do you want for them?” He turns to Dracoth.

The rude prick! My eyes narrow, and I jab a finger toward him. “We’re not for sale, you fucking sex trafficker!” I snap.

“ Fucking sex trafficker!” Demon Egg-Head repeats, cackling uselessly behind Dracoth.

The Clown-dathian’s grin falters as he glances between us, confusion clouding his face. “But... with the chains?”

“What? Did you think he was taking us to the market, or maybe the zoo?” I glare at him, my lips squeezed tight.

“Zoo?” he scoffs, waving a dismissive hand at me, confirming he is, in fact, a rude prick.

Then he leans in closer to Dracoth, lowering his voice.

“I know slavery’s been outlawed, so you’re playing a coy game.

Smart. But we’re all friends here.” He nods between Demon Egg-Head and Dracoth.

“Twenty thousand credits... each!” He holds up two fingers.

My breath catches in my throat, not helped by Dracoth standing like a giant bore, giving no hint of his thoughts.

Oh, crap, he’s not considering it? Is he? Is twenty thousand credits a lot? It better be! I mean, look at us—if Sandra and I actually had proper clothes and a nice glow-up, they couldn’t afford us with all the credits in the universe.

“They’re not for sale, merchant ,” Dracoth spits the last word like it’s a jelly stick, his eyes never leaving the Clown-dathian as he beckons for us to keep moving. “They belong to me.”

“Yeah, you prick! Wait...” I blurt, my cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.

The gray-green-haired Clown-dathian gives a curt nod as we resume our pace.

“Forty thousand credits... a tempting amount,” Demon Egg-Head sighs.

“It’s a pity that black crag you call a heart doesn’t beat for your bonded female yet, young Dracoth.

” He glances over his shoulder at me, his black lips curling into a smirk, and I brace for the inevitable insult.

“If we got her weight in credit chits... well, we’d be set for years! ” He titters like he’s actually funny.

My chest and jaw tighten, shaking to unleash a torrent of abuse at him.

No! That’s what he wants, I remind myself. Instead, I pointedly avert my gaze, refusing to give the annoying creep the satisfaction of my attention.

“Oh? Nothing to say?” Demon Egg-Head presses, leaning closer. “No stream of fascinating insults? No threats? No quivering rage?” He sighs dramatically, his tone thick with mockery. “How dull. I fear she’s taking after you, boy .”

“Good. I won’t have to endure your prattling,” Dracoth grumbles, and I almost smirk—my brilliant plan working flawlessly.

“Prattle you call it?” Demon Egg-Head scoffs, “Boy, you’d be lost without my guidance, rushing off to your death at every opportunity. Would that you heeded my warnings regarding Zyraxis and his foolish attack on Krogoth. Now you carry an all-consuming shame that threatens—”

“Silence!” Dracoth roars, stifling my back with his sudden intensity. “What use is dredging up the past, you old fool?” He stops to face Demon Egg-Head, his eyes glowing red. “Nothing! Only the future matters—my future when I crush the throat of the traitor Krogoth.”

He resumes his long strides, forcing Sandra and me to jog to keep up. A smile crosses my face, relishing the sight of Demon Egg-Head getting put in his place.

“Oopsie. Maybe you do talk too much,” I laugh as I pass him, unable to resist the satisfaction of getting revenge.

“Lexie...” Sandra whispers with a faint shake of her head.

“What?” I shoot back, my expression shifting to disbelief. “He’s always on my case. Screw him!”

I’m no one’s victim!