Page 57

Dracoth

Dare

“ F riends of yours?” Sandra mutters, her voice trembling with unease.

“Stay back,” I command, sweeping my arm to push the females behind me, my focus never leaving the intruders.

Their armor is dull gray, dented and scarred from countless battles.

“Clan Draxxus,” I sneer. “Why do you disturb me?” I growl, my voice low and menacing.

“Where is the coward Ignixis and the traitor Drexios?” demands the veteran with the black eye patch, his voice slicing through the now deathly silent room.

The other two warriors’ gazes roam over me, lingering on the Hemo-Tok at my belt.

I smirk, noticing how even their hardened hearts waver at the sight of it.

If I could, I would add their spines to my collection—the spines of true warriors.

But Ignixis’s words echo in my mind: to kill them is to condemn my soul.

“I do not know,” I reply, shrugging my broad shoulders as I release the females’ chains from my belt—they’ll just get in the way, as they always do.

The one-eyed veteran’s expression tightens, his gaze flicking to the two females. “We know you arrived with Ignixis. Tell us, Magaxus shorthair, and we’ll overlook this...” He gestures dismissively to the chains on the ground. “...indiscretion.”

Shorthair!

He dishonors me right to my face! The Rush spills from my eyes in blazing plumes of crimson as my blood roars white-hot and molten, scorching my veins with unstoppable fury.

Without thought, I lunge, striking with brutal force.

Somewhere behind my haze of battle lust, I hear the gasps and shrieks of the frightened females.

The veteran reacts well, blocking my attack with his forearm. But it’s like trying to stop a rockslide with twigs. His face contorts in agony as his wrist bracers crumple under the impact, bent and misshapen.

“I am no shorthair!” I roar, turning on the second warrior, with blue eyes that falter before my might.

He throws a blow toward my molten heart, but I swat it aside like a znat as my other hand snaps out to chop his neck. His eyes roll back as he collapses, gasping for the breath I’ve denied him.

A blur of movement catches my eye. I spin around just in time to see the last veteran charging with his claws drawn, escalating our conflict, so overcome with terror.

He rushes in, but I’m faster. Before he’s in range, I drive a savage kick into his midriff.

He crashes backward into a table, the sound of snapping wood and pained wheezes filling the hall like a symphony of victory.

I turn to the females, wide-eyed and cowering behind a table. “We’re leaving,” I state, my voice cutting through the lingering tension.

“Fucking hell,” Princesa mutters, hands trembling as she gulps from her tankard.

The inferno in my heart dims, leaving only a loathsome disappointment.

Even three veteran warriors brought no challenge.

These pathetic Draxxus warriors are the weakest of our kind.

Despite Krogoth being their leader—I will break him as easily as I broke these cretins.

Without his miracles he stands no chance against my strength.

I approach the one-eyed veteran, his arms limp and useless. To his credit, he meets my gaze without an ounce of fear.

“You carry shame,” I declare, extending a single claw. I grasp a handful of his silvery-gray hair, sawing through the clumps. I repeat the process with the other warriors, letting their shame be seen by all—as mine is.

“Come,” I command, glancing back at the females.

Princesa seems determined to finish every drink on the table, while Sandra casts frantic glances around the dim room, a hand pressed to her chest. I activate my wrist console, requesting a glider to take us to Scarn immediately.

It won’t be long before more warriors come—and if they bring an Elder. .. that will complicate things.

Sandra obeys, jogging toward me but carefully avoiding the fallen warriors.

“Hold on. I’m nearly finished,” Princesa says, between deep gulps. I reach for their chains, reattaching them to my belt and giving hers a sharp tug.

“Hey!” she snaps, spilling a mug as she’s dragged away from the table. “Such a rude prick!”

We emerge into the dark streets of Star City, lit only by neon lights and the soft purple glow of the moon.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Sandra asks, her hands fluttering over my armor, searching for wounds that never existed.

“No,” I growl, irritated. I turn to see Princesa stumbling behind like a leaf caught in a storm.

This infuriating female!

“Oh, I’m so glad, Dracoth,” Sandra says, releasing a long breath. “I’d be sad if anything happened to you.”

I barely hear her, rushing back to scoop the drunk Princesa off the ground, throwing her over my shoulder like a borack calf.

“Fuck’s sake, Dracoth!” she thumps weakly against my armor. “I wasn’t even doing anything... too naughty!” She giggles, her laughter slurring into soft, drunken murmurs. “Oh, pretty,” Princesa marvels, stopping her feeble strikes, distracted by the black, purple-tinted night sky.

I place my hand on Sandra’s back, urging her forward toward the meat markets. The narrow streets are quiet, filled only with the rowdy, distant din of drinking dens and the calls from lewd alien females in numerous pleasure houses, lighting up the alleyways like stars in a sea of hazy purple.

Some give us strange looks as Princesa resumes her drunken wiggling and slurred protests, her inebriation growing worse with every footstep. My stern glare soon averts the cowards’ eyes—none dare challenge me.

“Where are we going?” Sandra asks, her eyes darting nervously, betraying her fear, startled by every small noise or sight.

“Scarn,” I growl, driving her forward, savoring her petite softness against my hand.

“Probably going to… lock us in a… fucking cage again,” Princesa complains bitterly, her squirming intensifying. “HELP! SOMEONE HELP! WE’RE ENSLAVED BY… THE HOLE-IN-THE-GROUND CLAN!” Her shrill voice wrinkles my brow and echoes through the narrow alleyways.

“Shut up, Lexie!” Sandra snaps over her shoulder, glaring at Princesa’s bobbing backside. I shift the maddening female around, covering her mouth and most of her head with my hand. Her muffled protests are a slight improvement.

“Wait!” Sandra halts just as we turn a corner, her voice tight with concern. “Two metal ones are coming. Should we hide?” She looks up at me, wide-eyed.

“No,” I grumble. The idea is an anathema to my molten soul. Instead, I’ll use Princesa’s inane nonsense to draw them in like znats to feces.

I release my grip from the spitting hydralith. “HELP! PLEASE! HE’S SO BORING!” Princesa shrieks on cue.

“Here,” I say, untangling their chains and handing Sandra Princesa’s. “Keep her close,” I command, pushing her behind me as I press myself against the street corner, ready to descend like an erupting volcano.

“Over here!” a gruff male voice calls out, their footsteps drawing closer. I close my eyes, feeling them approach—their breaths, their steps, their very scent.

Now.

I lash out with my arm, catching an armored warrior across his chest. He cries out in surprise as he slams to the ground.

Without hesitation, I deliver a short, sharp kick to his temple. It’s enough to knock him out but not to kill.

“Gods!” the other warrior exclaims, raising his lone arm, the other severed below the elbow. I almost sigh—these old veterans should have died on the battlefield with honor, not persisted in this pitiful existence.

“Come,” I taunt, disappointed this fight hasn’t even stoked my Rush. The one-armed warrior charges bravely, trying to deliver a punch, but at the last moment feints to lash out with a kick instead.

I catch his foot effortlessly, then swing him like a gray-haired whip into a nearby building. The sandy bricks crack and crumble under the impact. As the dust settles, the warrior lies unconscious, his face bloody and still.

I set about marking their shame, sawing through the warriors’ long hair. A curious thought comes to me: should losing to me carry shame? I’m so obviously above them. A question for Ignixis, next time I see him—assuming I can endure his endless babbling.

“Let me go, you… traitor bitch!” Princesa shouts, her words slurred.

I round the corner to find Sandra straining against Princesa’s chains.

The two are locked in a comical struggle, faces flushed, white-knuckled hands gripping the chains with all their meager might.

Sandra stumbles, unable to withstand the larger female’s force, but before she can stagger away, I clutch the other end of the chain in my unbreakable grip.

“Ah, just fuck off already, Dracoth,” Princesa mutters, her defiance fading into resignation.

Her words are tempting. I could let go of this chain, let her fade into the night. Someone else’s problem. She’d do well here—an exotic, attractive female for the packed pleasure houses of Star City. But I can’t. Not until I know which of the two is my bond mate.

I effortlessly draw her closer despite her frantic pulling and squirming. In seconds, she’s back in my grasp.

“Here, Dracoth,” Sandra says, offering me the end of her chain.

Her expression is submissive, her eyes wide and sincere.

A ripple of something courses through my body.

Suddenly, a realization strikes like a lightning bolt from atop the Peaks of Scarn—this female is worthy.

She fought to obey my orders and now offers herself freely.

A pleasurable mate for any male.

Lost in the sapphire depths of her eyes, I stare at her genuine beauty a moment longer, processing this unexpected scene and my confusing emotions.

“You’ve earned my trust, female,” I say at last, my rough hands removing the collar from her soft, pale neck. It clangs to the ground, and Sandra tentatively touches her throat. Her expression surprises me—not joy or relief, but downcast eyes and tight lips.

She prefers bondage? I frown, studying her, once again perplexed by these unfathomable human females.

“Tha... Thanks,” Sandra mutters, rubbing her neck, still not meeting my gaze.

There’s no time to ponder the imponderable.

An army of warriors could arrive at any moment, led by the Elders, and too much remains to be done before I’m declared an outlaw.

I hurry toward the meat market at a pace Sandra can manage.

She stumbles, gasping for breath, as I guide her with a firm hand against the curve of her back, ignoring the muffled yelping and slaps from Princesa cradled in my other arm.

The streets widen, and the neon lights dim as the closed trading markets and stalls come into view. In the distance, sleek metal gliders soar, almost invisible against the purple-hued night sky. I hope one of them awaits us for the journey to Scarn.

A sudden wet sensation on my palm makes me recoil. A soft, sloppy texture draws my attention—it’s Princesa!

“Stop,” I command, but she moans suggestively, continuing to lick and suck my hand even though I’m no longer blocking her mouth.

“Why?” She fixes her silver eyes on me. “Isn’t this what you want?” Her slurred voice is low and throaty. “Big, scary alien abducting poor, helpless women,” she taunts, writhing against me in a rhythmic, distracting way. “If I fuck you, will you let me go, Dracoth? Or will you only want me more?”

Madness.

“Stop, female!” I command, giving her a sharp shake while my eyes scan the darkened streets ahead for any approaching danger. Nothing appears—nothing as dangerous as the vipertail I carry in my arms.

“Of course!” Princesa laughs bitterly, her voice dripping with venom. “Kidnapped for sex by an alien who can’t even get it up!” Her scornful laughter crescendos, each mocking note feeding the seething rage simmering just below my surface.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t mommy and daddy ever tell you about the birds and—”

“Silence!” I roar, my fangs bared, lips quivering with blood-boiling rage. That she dares speak of my noble father and my... mother.

A memory flashes—sharp and sudden. A white room, a cold chair. The female with sad green eyes and long braided hair. She used to sing to me. I remember now—I smiled at her, even though the tune always sounded so pitiful.

“Never speak of my parents again!” I shout, my voice trembling with fury.

Princesa recoils in my arms, her defiance faltering for the first time, yet she still refuses to fully submit.

“UNDERSTAND?” I repeat, shaking her harder, rattling her entire body like a mere toy.

“Yes!” she cries out, her mocking laughter finally replaced with frightened sobs.

“Good,” I growl. “Because I swear on the ancestors, I will abandon you to the deserts of Nardune if you mock them again.”

The vow escapes my lips, strong and unbreakable—like the one I swore against Krogoth. The oath that sustains me.

At last, we reach the meat market. The once-bustling center of commerce now lies quiet, save for a few sleeping animals curled in their cages. The faint hum of our glider cuts through the stillness, hovering just above the ground, its door open and waiting.

I urge Sandra into the vehicle, her wide eyes flickering with a mix of fear and wonder as they trace the craft’s sleek length.

I lay the weeping Princesa down on the leather seat in the back, deciding it is safer to keep the unstable female away from the navigation controls. Sandra settles beside her, whispering soothing words to the female—the one who brings about her own misfortune.

The blue navigation controls light up, and the glider smoothly lifts into the air, setting course for Scarn.

So much has changed since I fled that place after Zyraxis’s failed attempt on Krogoth’s life—my damning shame.

There is much work to do to restore my honor and reclaim my rightful place as War Chieftain.

But first comes the title of Chieftain of Magaxus.

Outside, the landscape of Klendathor blurs into a streak of darkness and distant lights, the glider moving with incredible speed.

The ride would be peaceful if not for the molten hatred in my chest, urging me to crush Krogoth’s throat.

Every idle moment, every passing second, is consumed by this singular, burning desire for revenge.

My eyelids grow heavy as time fades away, the rhythmic hum of the engines lulling me into a hazy calm. I glance over my shoulder at the two females, both snoring loudly. They look innocent and peaceful curled up with their eyes closed—but I know better.

Princesa is trouble. And trouble never sleeps.